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“We weren’t gossiping, Elle. We expressed to each other our concern for you. That’s all.”
“Well, when one of you has a child, and he gets shot and dies, come back and tell me how easy it was to get over.” The instant the words left her mouth, she wished desperately to recall them. She lowered her head and took several deep breaths. “That was a wretched thing to say. Forgive me, Glenda.”
“You’re forgiven. The minute I came in, I saw that you were upset and distracted.”
Glenda didn’t know the half of it.
After a lengthy silence, Glenda asked how the group therapy was going. “Are you deriving any benefit from it?”
“I suppose I am, because I keep going back.”
“Maybe you should see someone independently.”
“I’ve had a couple of private sessions with Dr. Sinclair.”
“And?”
“They’re private.”
Glenda thumped her forehead. “Right. I shouldn’t have asked. In fact,” she said as she stood up, “I should be going and let you get back to work. Eat the doughnuts. All of them. Gorge. Sugar binge.”
“Glenda.” As her friend walked past on her way out, Elle reached for her hand. “Wait. Don’t go. I apologize. My distraction has nothing to do with you. Something happened yesterday that left me rattled.”
“What was it?”
“A meeting with the detectives.”
“About what?”
“I’m not at liberty to talk about it, which is the main reason it rattled me.”
“Something to do with the investigation?”
“Yes, but please don’t ask me about it, because I can’t tell you. All I’ll say is that my conversation with them brought on the hurt all over again. That’s why I’m not myself this morning.”
“You’re entitled to an off day. To a thousand off days. It didn’t help that on this one I barged in on you.”
“That doesn’t excuse my rudeness. I know that you and Laura aren’t gossiping and that your concern comes from the heart. I haven’t even thanked you for the doughnuts. Stay and have one with me. I’ll brew a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Thank you, but I can’t. I have an appointment in half an hour. But in exchange for the doughnuts, I will take a book.”
“A book?”
“The daughter of one of my sales agents is turning four years old today. For her birthday, I promised her a signed copy ofHeavens to Betsy.”
Elle watched helplessly as Glenda went back to the desk and picked up the copy left there last night by Calder. She hopped off her stool and rushed over to the desk. “That one’s been flipped through several times. I’ll get you a new one.”
“It’ll be fine.” Glenda turned to the title page and was about to pass the book to Elle, when she noticed that it had already been signed. She lifted the book closer to her face, stared at the inscription for what seemed an ice age, then looked at Elle and searched her eyes as she asked quietly, “How many Calders do you know?”
Busted herself, Elle replied huskily, “Just the one.”
“Hmm. And how well do you know him?” When Elle remained guiltily silent, Glenda closed the cover, replaced the book on the desk, and turned back to Elle with an obvious but unposed question.
Elle reminded herself to brazen this out. “The day before yesterday, he came to the group therapy session. It was his first time there. We chatted at the refreshment table. He asked if I would sign—”
Glenda held up her hand. “Lying would be pointless, Elle. First of all, you’re a pathetic liar. Secondly, your dishabille makes sense now. I recognize a rough ‘morning after’ because God knows I’ve had many. So, I’m in no position to judge.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘however’ coming?”
