The Pocket Wife by Susan Crawford

Author:Susan Crawford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

On her second morning at the hotel, Dana encounters Ronald on the busy street outside. He’s dressed in a business-casual outfit, a tie but no jacket, and he’s heading down the street.

“Ronald!” Dana darts after him. Her heel catches in a grate in the sidewalk.

“Dana?”

“Yes. We keep running into each other.”

“Well.” Ronald stops. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

“No,” she says, “I guess not.”

“What are you doing here?” Ronald looks confused. He runs his hand through his hair in what might have been a suave, rock-band gesture but instead leaves him with a deer-in-the-headlights look. His overgelled hair stands stiff and upright, like a small wall.

“I’m staying here. I’m at the St. Giles. Room 316. They’re fumigating our house.”

“No kidding! I’m staying there, too.” Ronald falls into step beside her. “I can’t use my house until they’ve done everything they need to do with it. But it’s fine. I told Detective Ross to take all the time he needs. I have no desire to go back there. Ever. ‘Take all the time in the world,’ I told him. ‘I never want to see the place again’—my wife’s blood splattered all over the floor, that stupid overpriced vase smashed into smither—”

“Right. So what is ‘everything,’ exactly?”

Ronald shrugs. “Beats me,” he says. “But they’ve still got that damn tape up.”

Dana looks at him.

“The crime tape? The yellow plastic stuff all over our hedges? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. All the time we . . . well, I really. Celia wasn’t all that good a gardener, truth be told—the work, the time, the energy . . .” He sighs. “All for naught.”

“Naught, really. You did have that ‘Best Yard’ sign up for quite a—”

“A month. Yes. Last May.”

“Do you want to join me?” Dana stops in front of a little tea shop. “Cup of coffee?”

Ronald glances at his watch. “Maybe a quick one.”

“Were you on your way to work?”

“Yes,” he says. “Thank God for work. It takes my mind off Celia.”

He tugs at the door, and small bells jingle. Dana minces inside. Her foot hurts from the lopsided heel; it puts her at an odd angle. Inside, the lights are far too bright; their auras vibrate and move in spirals around them. “So many halos,” she says, “so little time.”

“Hmm.” Ronald appears not to have heard her. He scans a blackboard tacked up over the counter.

“I can see the writing on the wall,” Dana quips, but again Ronald seems not to hear.

“Coffee, please,” he says to no one in particular. He turns to Dana. “Two coffees?”

“Sure.” She nods. “Thanks. But decaf for me.”

“D’ja get that?” Ronald says to the air, and Dana wanders off toward a small table near the door. The light glares from the ceiling, making the place mats dance, making the menus glimmer. When she sits, she sees there is a man behind the counter, bent over, picking out pastries, bagging doughnuts and sweet rolls, which he hands over the counter to a woman in a pencil skirt, and Dana feels a little better, knowing that Ronald gave their order to an actual entity.

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