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She didn't say anything, just sniffed and shrugged her small shoulders.
I grasped her forearm and tried to gently turn her to look at me. "I really am sorry."
Slowly she twisted toward me, and my heart broke at the devastated look on her face.
"You know," she whispered hoarsely, "I heard you that day you told me to look in the mirror. I heard what you were trying to tell me - that I had a chip on my shoulder, and that I shut people down without giving them a chance. It doesn't take a genius to see that I reject them before they can reject me. But how can I move past that when there will always be people like you who never consider there might be more to me? You say I sit on my high horse, but you sit in your...your pristine ivory tower ready to launch arrows coated in condescending barbs at those you think are beneath you."
I flinched at her words. God, this woman knew how to deliver a punch and drive me insane, even if she was a bit melodramatic.
"Dramatic much?" Yeah, that probably didn't help my cause much.
She glared at me. "If the shoe fits..."
All my emotions flooded to the surface.
"If I live in an ivory tower, then it was built and dirtied with my own blood, sweat, and tears, sweetheart. And I don't mean just hard work. I've experienced loss and seen the worst of what humanity has to offer." I moved forward until I backed her against the table where she'd been sitting, bracing one arm on the table and one on her chair, caging her until I could inhale her vanilla scent and my breath gently stirred a few wisps of hair across her forehead.
"You think you're the only one who's had a tough life? Get over yourself. That doesn't make you special. It also doesn't need to make you a victim for the rest of your life. You get to choose what you're going to do about it. I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion, but it had nothing to do with your background or you. I said I'm sorry already. Accept it or reject it; I'm not sure I even care. But don't expect me to stand here and feel sorry for you while you push everybody away and hide behind your self-doubt."
We both stood glaring at each other, our chests heaving from our burst of emotions. Several seconds passed before I turned on my heel and walked out on her. Again.
I tried to go back to working in my office, but after my confrontation with Madelyn I couldn't focus at all, her words still playing in my head. She was right; I didn't know anything about her other than she served time for murder.
After pacing my office for several minutes, I typed in a few keywords on my computer. Sure enough, 'Madelyn Stone' turned up on a few sites, mostly newspaper articles. I skimmed through them for the basics: she had been accused of murdering Paul Regis, a regional Vice-President for a national lumber company, and she’d accepted a plea deal and was sentenced to eight years in prison on the charge of second-degree murder. The Regis family made several statements regarding their disappointment in the ruling, saying she plotted the murder when Paul Regis rejected her sexual advances in exchange for a corporate sponsored college scholarship. Madelyn's court-appointed lawyer had tried to claim she was protecting a third person, someone named Charly, but since that person could not be found to testify on Madelyn's behalf, her defense held little merit. I suspected the overworked public defender had done his best, but didn't have the time or resources to investigate fully. And the police thought they had an open and shut case, so they didn't pursue it further.
I drummed my fingers on my desk. I had a lot of pages, but the story still wasn't coming together. There were too many holes. From what I knew of Madelyn, she was smart, witty, and compassionate. She didn't seem capable of hurting anyone, much less murdering someone. Then again, not every murderer came packaged in a burly thug-like appearance. Who knew what someone was capable of when pushed too far? The lack of the supposed witness didn't add up. And where was her family now? Why wasn't anyone there to greet her the day she was released?
I shook my head. This evening had turned out to be too fucked up in the end. I grabbed my jacket and felt for my truck keys and phone. It was only seven-thirty; maybe I could still catch James to have that drink.
"Hey, you've reached James Harrington. You know what to do."
Shit. Of course he wasn't waiting around for me. He was probably balls deep into his girlfriend by now. Not that I could blame him. I briefly considered going to our favorite hangout, even if I had to hang out alone at the bar. But inevitably some chick looking for a free drink and possible hook-up would hit on me, and I wasn't in the mood to be generous, either with my wallet or my dick. At least at home I might be able to drink enough to fall into a drunken stupor and fall into a dreamless sleep.
The storm was moving out, but it was still rainy and had turned noticeably cooler. I turned up the heat against the damp chill as I pulled out of the parking garage. Stopped at a light, I noticed Madelyn standing under a red umbrella at a bus stop. She seemed to be watching an older man trying to huddle under the roof lip of a convenience store. She took a step toward him, then stopped and looked around. She rocked back and forth a few times as if she couldn't decide whether or not to approach him. After several false starts, she dug into her shoulder bag and withdrew something small, and then walked over to the man and leaned down to speak to him, handing him whatever it was she took from her purse. He shook his head, but she took his hand and placed whatever it was in his. She straightened up, handed him her umbrella, and walked into the store.
A car behind me honked. I’d been so caught up in watching her I’d forgotten about the light. I waved my hand in acknowledgment and quickly pulled over to the parking lane at the first opportunity. I clearly had no shame, spying like I was in my rear view mirror. I told myself I just wanted to make sure Madelyn was okay, but I was also curious about what she was doing.
She emerged a minute later carrying a small plastic bag and a hot beverage cup. She handed both items to him. I saw him try to hand the umbrella back to her, but she shook her head, pulled the hood of her jacket over her head, and set off down the sidewalk in my direction. At that moment, the city bus pulled up, and the man stood and looked after her and then stepped onto the bus, still clasping the bag and cup like a new-found treasure.
"What's your story, Madelyn Stone?" I whispered as I watched her walk toward me, huddled in her sweatshirt.
Did I really care? Caring implied an emotional connection, and that entered dangerous territory when it
came to women. In my experience, women seemed to have a hard time stopping at friendship. It would start off as a casual drink or meal together, but it wasn't long before they read more into it. My heart had already been claimed and broken, so there was no point in stringing them along. And so, I put the women in my life into separate categories: family, professional, and those I was willing to fuck, the third of which by far had the longest list. And I never, ever let the second two categories cross each other. If I couldn't put a woman into one of those columns, I basically ignored them.
But something about Madelyn made me want to blur the lines. For the first time, I wanted to know more about a woman than how she might help my case or how she felt coming around my cock. I tried to define my interest as mere curiosity, scrubbing aside any feelings that I was lying to myself.
Before I could stop myself, I lowered the passenger window and called to her as she passed. She hesitated and glanced around, but continued walking without seeing me. I grabbed for my umbrella in the passenger seat, shut down my truck, and hurried after her.
9
Maddy
I could have sworn I heard someone call my name, but at a quick glance the only people I saw were a couple across the street, and they seemed pretty engrossed in each other, laughing and huddling together under an umbrella. There weren't many people out walking in this kind of weather. Shrugging my shoulders, I pulled my jacket tighter around me and kept walking.
I heard the sound of footsteps slapping against the wet pavement fast approaching me. Nervously, I quickened my pace, all of my senses on high alert. When a hand clasped around my forearm, I froze. I tried to scream, but my heart clogged my throat and spots formed in front of my eyes. For once I wished I was in a crowd; maybe there would be someone to help me.
Don't just stand there, my brain frantically communicated through the flashbacks that filled my mind. Fight back!
