One Wrong Step (22 page)

“He said you had a run-in with the Saledos.”

Celie walked into the kitchen for a soft drink. “Turns out, it wasn’t the Saledos. And it was minor, really.” Except for someone getting shot. “The police handled it.”

“And you got fired from your job?”

Celie muttered a curse. He’d told her everything. She returned to the living room and plopped down on the couch. “I’ll find something else. It’s no big deal.”

Feenie gave her a sharp look. She knew full well how much that job had meant to her. “Okay, so I suppose now you’re going to tell me you’re
not
sleeping with John McAllister?”

“I’m not sleeping with John McAllister.” Never again.

Feenie shook her head and gazed down at the baby. Little Olivia had her eyes closed. A lock of damp hair clung to her forehead, and she looked rosy and content. Her tiny, dimpled hand rested on her mother’s breast as she nursed.

“She’s really beautiful,” Celie said softly.

Feenie smiled.

“You make a wonderful mother.”

She tucked the blanket around the baby and gave Celie a skeptical look. “I don’t know about that. I feel like a zombie half the time.”

Celie watched the two of them in the rocker together, surprised to feel tenderness instead of envy. She loved Feenie like a sister, and she really, truly wanted her to be happy.

“It’s not what I expected,” Feenie said.

“What isn’t?”

She glanced up. “Motherhood.” She tipped her head to the side. “It’s wonderful and all that, and I love Olivia so much, sometimes I feel like I’m gonna burst, but it’s not all Kodak moments. And it doesn’t solve all your problems.”

“I know that.” At least, Celie thought she did. She’d wanted a baby for so long, she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to want anything else.

“I mean, it’s definitely the most stressful thing I’ve ever done,” Feenie said. “Being responsible for this other person all the time. Round the clock, no excuses. And the sleep deprivation…” She glanced up. “It’s a lot of work sometimes. And I have
help.
Marco’s been an angel. He’s absolutely enamored with her, but still it’s hard. We bicker a lot.”

“That’s probably normal,” Celie offered. It was, wasn’t it? It never occurred to her that Feenie and Marco might be having marital stress. She’d been so absorbed with her own life lately, she’d hardly stopped to think about her friends and family.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Feenie said. “We’re doing fine. It’s just a lot, you know? The baby, the bills, the housework. I can’t imagine doing it all alone.”

Celie cleared her throat. “I guess McAllister told you, didn’t he? That I’m still trying to get pregnant?”

Feenie glanced up warily. “Are you sure that’s the best thing?”

Celie sighed. No one understood how important this was to her.

“I’m not judging you, Celie.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m really not. If anyone can pull off single parenthood, it’s you. I just…I don’t want to see you disappointed. Or overwhelmed. Why not wait until you meet the right guy and then you can get married and adopt or something? Does this really have to happen right now? And with John?”

“It’s
not
happening with him. I’m not pregnant. We’re not seeing each other anymore. End of story.”

Feenie scoffed. “End of story. Yeah, right. If you really believe that, you don’t know squat about John McAllister. When that man makes up his mind about something, look out.”

“What do you mean ‘look out’? What’s he made his mind up about?”

Feenie shot her annoyed look. “
You,
Celie. Open your eyes!”

“My eyes
are
open, thank you very much. And I see a chronic playboy, relieved as heck to be back on the market after a whirlwind affair with a baby-obsessed basket case!”

Feenie shook her head. “Celie…”

“What?”

“Hon, if that’s what you really see, you need to have your eyes examined.”

Celie slid the Volvo into her reserved parking space and scooped plastic bags off the passenger seat. She’d just completed a bigger-than-usual Saturday morning grocery run, but she was determined to get everything upstairs in one load.

She trudged across the parking garage, the bags strangling her fingers as she neared the door. This wasn’t going to work, especially with her key card tucked away in her back pocket. She started to adjust the bags, and one of the doors swung open.

“Thank you,” she gushed. “I was just—”

She glanced up into John McAllister’s penetrating blue eyes. He held the door open for her and used his free hand to take all her bags.

“After you,” he said, nodding toward the lobby.

C
elie huffed out a breath and went inside. She should have expected this today. He didn’t usually work Saturdays, so of course he’d show up at The Overlook.

Terrance stood up as Celie strode across the lobby toward the elevator bank.

“Mr. McAllister’s already checked in, Ms. Wells, but he can’t go up without your approval.”

Celie grimaced. “He’s fine. Thank you, Terrance.”

The formerly friendly security guard gave her a curt nod. Marco’s report had not been kind.

Carrying all her bags like they were nothing, McAllister reached over and tapped the elevator button. He wore jeans, beat-up running shoes, and a white T-shirt commemorating some beerfest in Shiner, Texas.

The elevator doors dinged open, and they rode up in silence, Celie staring at her feet to keep from making eye contact with McAllister in the mirrored doors. The last time they’d ridden this elevator together, he had been whispering indecent suggestions in her ear the whole way. She wondered if he was thinking about that now.

Her cheeks warmed, and she hurried into the hallway as the doors slid open.

This wasn’t good. He’d follow her into her apartment, help her put her groceries away, and then what? They’d either end up fighting or in bed together. Or both. It was a surefire way for her to get her heart battered.

She stopped in front of her door and rummaged through her purse for the key. She found herself wondering if she’d remembered to make the bed, and feeling grateful that she’d showered and put on a fresh knit top today instead of the stained sweatshirt she’d been living in of late. McAllister stood patiently beside her, pretending not to notice her clumsiness as she fumbled with the locks.

She would be calm. Detached. She would listen as he said whatever it was he’d come to say, and then she’d politely ask him to leave. If she asked him to go, he’d respect her request.

She just hoped she’d have the willpower to ask him.

She pushed open the door, and he brushed past her into the apartment. He went through the old routine of checking all the rooms before joining her back in the kitchen, where he set the bags down on the counter beside her purse.

“Any weird phone calls lately?” he asked.

“No.”

She opened the fridge and busied herself putting food away. Today she’d had a lengthy shopping list. If she drew things out, it would take her a while to unpack. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to look at him while he talked. That would definitely help.

“T-Bone still hanging around?”

“No,” Celie said. “It didn’t seem necessary, what with the arrests last week.” It was also expensive, and she couldn’t afford to keep paying him indefinitely when there was no longer a clear threat to her safety.

Less than a day after the money drop, the Barriolo brothers were apprehended at a border checkpoint. In a dazzling display of stupidity, they were driving a Mercury Cougar that had been reported stolen in Austin the previous morning. The man in black from the Lamar Street Bridge was still in custody, too. Rowe had told Celie the guy was a Saledo employee sent to Austin to intercept the cash. How he’d found out about the drop was another question, but Celie figured it was Rowe’s job to answer that one.

McAllister knew all this, but he didn’t say anything. He just leaned back against her counter, watching intently as Celie arranged yogurt cups on a shelf.

“What?”

“I still think you need to take precautions,” he said.

“Well, Rowe agrees with you. He said they’re keeping me under surveillance for the foreseeable future.”

Celie didn’t really think Saledo would bother with her now—Robert was dead, the cash he’d taken had supposedly been seized by federal agents, and Celie no longer possessed any money or information Saledo could use. Still, she didn’t mind having the FBI looking out for her, just to be safe.

McAllister didn’t seem placated, but he didn’t push it. Celie undid a six-pack of Diet Cokes and lined them up neatly beside the yogurts.

“I talked to Feenie,” he announced.

“So I heard.” She kept her voice cool. “Though I have no idea why you thought it necessary to drag Feenie and Marco up here with their newborn just so they could check on me. I was not in a
funk
or whatever it was you told Feenie.”

“That’s what she said, too. Apparently, you were just studying for finals.”

“That’s right.” She jerked open a cabinet door and plunked some soup cans on the shelf.

“Evidently, you weren’t upset about being in the media spotlight again either.”

Celie shrugged and stacked the cans, making sure the labels faced out.

“And apparently, being hounded by reporters like you were after the rape trial didn’t bother you at all.”

Her hands stilled on the cans. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that. They never talked about the trial. Not ever. After that first time he’d told her how, as a fledgling news intern, he’d witnessed her testimony, they’d totally dropped the subject.

“It didn’t really bother me,” she said. The furor had died down over the past few days. Some aide in the governor’s office had committed suicide this week, and local media outlets had shifted their coverage and unending speculation to the latest big story.

She reached for another bag and began unloading fruits and vegetables into the refrigerator drawers.

“Feenie also told me you’re not depressed,” he continued. “She said that you never expected me to get you pregnant, and that you’re not really looking to have a baby right now.”

Her head snapped around. Feenie told him
that
? No way. She found it impossible to believe on several levels, the first being that her best friend wouldn’t discuss something so personal about her behind her back.

“Feenie didn’t say that,” she stated.

He shrugged. “Not in so many words. Why? You don’t agree with her assessment?”

Celie hesitated, sensing a trap. If she agreed, she’d be admitting a lot of private stuff that wasn’t true. If she disagreed, she’d be admitting she was depressed.

She snagged another bag off the counter and unpacked some condiments into her fridge.

“Yeah, I don’t buy it either,” he said. “I think you’re totally on the edge.”

She glanced at him, which was a mistake, because now she realized he was watching her with one of those X-ray looks, one of those looks that cut straight through all her polite crapola and saw
her,
in all her screwed-up, emotionally damaged glory.

“I’m not on the
edge,
” she told him.

She unloaded another bag and noticed only two more remained on the counter. As soon as they were empty, she’d be forced to give him her undivided attention. She popped open a plastic container of mini-muffins and decided to arrange them in a cookie tin. She took her time digging one out of a bottom cabinet.

McAllister didn’t say anything, but she could feel him watching her. She never should have let him up here.

“So you
aren’t
sad about the fact that your best friend, and your sister, and most of the women you know are having babies right now and you’re not? It doesn’t bother you at all?”

She lined up the mini-muffins in the tin, resenting him for making her feel like an interview subject. “Of course I’m not sad about it. It’s terrific. I’m happy for them.”

“Uh-huh. And although we had unprotected sex pretty much nonstop, for a whole weekend, you weren’t the slightest bit disappointed when you found out you weren’t pregnant?”

“I never
thought
I’d get pregnant,” she lied, “so, no, I wasn’t disappointed.”

“Good, because I have to tell you, I was relieved as hell when I got your message.”

Her chest tightened. Now why did that hurt her feelings? Of course he was relieved. What carefree single guy would
not
be relieved to find out he was off the hook?

“I mean, shit, here I was thinking we were honestly having some fun together, and I come to find out I’m just a sperm donor for you.”

She shot him a look. She hated the term
sperm donor,
always had. “I never thought of you that way.”

“Really?” His eyebrows arched. “That’s good, because my ego was taking a real beating. See, when you came over to my house and
got naked,
I was pretty sure you were hot for me.” He stroked his chin and pretended to think about it. “Yeah, you even felt like you were hot for me. And then I find out you had this hidden agenda—”

“I didn’t
get naked
at your house! You make it sound like I showed up in a trench coat or something, like some…some slut out to seduce you!”

He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “You mean you didn’t plan it?”

“Of course not!” Angry now, she snapped open another plastic carton of mini-muffins and added them to the cookie tin. This wasn’t going well. He was pushing her buttons, trying to get a rise out of her, and it was working.

“Whether you believe me or not, I didn’t plan it,” she said. “Just like all those messages you left me where you said you didn’t
plan
to write that article about me for the
Herald
.”

She met his gaze now and saw the faintest flicker of remorse. Good, now he was on the defensive. “You told me it just happened, because of Kate getting shot,” she said. “I don’t know if I believe you, but—”

“How can you not believe me?” His voice was pure exasperation. “What, you think I
knew
Kate was going to jump in front of a bullet? And what’s with you doubting everything I say, like I’m some kind of pathological liar or something? You’re the one who has a problem with honesty.”

“I do
not
have a problem with honesty!”

“Like hell! If I hadn’t opened your medicine cabinet, I’d never have known you were were on some high-tech single-mommy track! Did it ever occur to you that I
might
have a problem with the idea of women having illegitimate babies? Shit, thank God you can’t get knocked up, or I’d be wandering around ten years from now not even knowing I’m the father of some kid!”

She could barely breathe.
Thank God you can’t get knocked up…
Thank
God
? Thank God for the worst thing that ever happened to her? Thank God she’d never be able to be happy?

“You
jerk,
” she whispered.

He frowned, obviously not even realizing what he’d said that had been so cruel.

He didn’t understand her. Just like Robert. Just like her mom, and her sisters, and Feenie, and Dax, and even her doctors.
No one
understood. Everyone who knew her pitied her because she was the victim of rape, the victim of violence, the victim of a lying, conniving husband. But it was much harder to accept being the victim of her own body. It was like being a victim of God. It was like being punished.

“Get out,” she said.

“What, we can’t even talk about this?”

“No, we can’t. I need you to leave.”

“No.”

“
No?
”

“Not until we talk this out.” He crossed his arms, and he got that expression on his face, that bulldog expression. The one that meant he intended to hang on, relentlessly, until he got his way.

“I really hate you,” she muttered. She picked up a mini-muffin and threw it at him. It bounced right off his nose, and the look of shock on his face was priceless. “Are you listening? I
hate
you!”

She grabbed another muffin and hummed it at him. And another and another and another. He batted them away, staring at her the whole time like she’d lost her mind.

“I wish you’d never
come
here!” she screamed. “I wish you’d leave me
alone
!”

She lunged at him and shoved him, hard, with both fists. “I want you
out
!” He stumbled back against the counter. “Do you hear me? Get out of my house!”

“Hey, hey, hey—”

“Out!”
She pounded on his chest.

“Cool it, Celie—”

“I will
not
cool it!” She pounded again. “I’m
sick
of cooling it! Do you have any idea what it’s like to want a child so bad you’re willing to stick needles in your body every day? To go to dozens and dozens of doctor appointments? To get fat? To spend your life waiting around for pee sticks to turn blue? To have everyone always ask you, ‘Why’s a nice girl like you not married with kids?’ I’m sick of it! And it’s none of your damn business if I’m depressed, or upset, or on the edge, or just plain crazy, so get
out
!”

She pounded and pounded, and then her fist hit his chin, and his head snapped back.

“Ouch!” Scowling, he stepped around her and went to the sink.

She stood in the middle of the kitchen, breathless and horrified.
I’ve totally lost it,
she told herself.
I actually hit another person.

“Shit, Celie.” He dabbed his jaw with a dishrag and eyed his reflection in the microwave. “Are you wearing a ring or something?”

She looked down at her hands. She was wearing the silly friendship ring Feenie had given her in high school. She’d worn it for luck to her final exam yesterday. It had a silver rose on the top, and a tiny piece of red flesh was stuck on one of the petals.

“Oh my gosh.” She rushed to the sink and looked at his face, pulling the towel away so she could see the wound.

“Oh my gosh, I
cut
you!”

He glared down at her. Then he yanked her hand up and examined her ring finger. “Since when do you wear jewelry?”

“I’m so sorry—”

“Forget it.”

She reached up to wipe the trickle of blood running down his chin. “I can’t forget it. I—”

“It’s fine. Quit fussing.” He swatted her hand away and stared down at her, probably finally realizing she was a complete mental case. She bit her lip and wanted to sink through the floor.

“I’m really sorry.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“I don’t know what got into me. You must think I’m crazy. I—”

“Jesus, shut
up
!” He pulled her against him. “I’m not hurt. Just surprised. I didn’t know you were so physical.”