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Vivian turned away. She couldn't deny it, but she didn't want to talk about it, either, because then she'd have to go through the effort of inventing a reason why. The truth, of course, was unrepeatable.
"The nerve of him," Esmé proclaimed, but she sounded relieved. "What an idiot! Couldn't he see how lucky he was? Men! They're jerks. No matter what the species. There weren't any phone calls for me?" she added anxiously.
Vivian shook her head.
"Oh, baby, I know you feel rotten," Esmé said. "But he's not worth the pain. It couldn't have lasted, you know that. You can do better. Much better. You could have Gabriel - someone you can be yourself with. You've had your taste of rebellion, now it's time to get real."
Vivian didn't have the energy to argue. She'd thought she could be herself with Aiden, and now he was afraid of her.
"I'll make some dinner," Esmé said. "I bet you haven't been eating. How about a beer?" She left for the kitchen.
Esmé never offered her beer. It was a bribe.
Beer made Vivian think of Tooley's. The death behind that bar had been in the news all weekend. Aiden must think it was Vivian who was responsible.
What if he told someone about her? She needed to talk to him and convince him the murder was nothing to do with her. She laughed bitterly. And maybe she could convince herself as well. But she kept on putting off the phone call; she couldn't bear the thought of what he might say.
In the middle of dinner the doorbell rang. Vivian inhaled sharply and hope fluttered in her chest, but before she found the sense to rise, Esmé bounded to her feet and went to answer the door. Vivian sat, her hands clenched around her knife and fork, unable to eat. When Esmé came back with Tomas, the newcomer from the Ordeal, Vivian felt as if she'd been kicked in the gut.
"I'm going out, baby," Esmé said. "You gonna be all right?"
"Sure," Vivian replied wanly.
After Esmé left she went to bed early. Sleep was her only escape.
By the next night she could stand it no longer; she waited until Esmé had left for Tooley's, then dialed Aiden's number. She hoped she could catch him before he went to work.
He answered.
"Aiden?"
He hung up.
She waited, a cold lump in her stomach. Maybe he'd regret hanging up on her and call her back. The phone didn't ring. Perhaps he was waiting for her to phone him so it wouldn't look as if he was too eager to give in. Perhaps he needed her to insist. She called again.
He answered.
"Aiden, please ..."
He hung up again.
She called back, stabbing the buttons, barely seeing the numbers through the prickling blur in front of her eyes. A recorded message came on. She slammed the phone down and snatched up a dish and flung it against the wall. Paper clips went flying. The dish crashed to the floor and skidded down the hall. Hot tears stung her raw cheeks.>The sun scorched her head, setting her skull on fire. Her tongue felt thick, and it was difficult to talk. "Was I?" She tried to sound nonchalant.
Rafe chuckled, but his eyes looked cold and eager.
"Got something to tell us, babe? Something we should know about? Huh?"
"You're full of shit, Rafe." She had to get away before the trembling inside broke loose. She couldn't let them see her panic. "There's nothing more to see here. I'm sure Esmé will fill me in on the details after her next shift." She turned to go.
"Don't think you're any better than us, Viv," Rafe called after her. "We saw what you did to Astrid."
She walked back the way she had come, in the knife-sharp, white summer heat, through a neighborhood as alien as the landscape of her dreams.
It wasn't me. It couldn't be me, she thought. But the blood she had scrubbed from under her nails proclaimed her a liar.
Chapter 20
20
