Into the Garden (Wildflowers 5)

I sat and he poured the wine.

"Can you imagine her sitting here watching me give you a glass of wine? I do. I imagine it," he said with a very strange, twisted smile on his lips. He nodded at a chair against the wall. "I see her there. I see her bound and gagged. Her eyes are bulging with anger. See her?" he asked me.

I couldn't help but look at the chair. He was nodding at it.

"Her face is bright red and the veins in her neck are popping like they always did when she got really enraged. She's struggling against the ropes. Stop struggling, Geraldine!" he screamed.

I jumped in my seat. He was staring at the chair with a mask of anger over his face that would rival Geraldine's if she really was there.

"You can't stop any of this now, so you might as well sit back and enjoy it." He turned to me. "Drool runs out of the sides of her mouth and down her chin like it would on some mad dog. But," he said, suddenly smiling again, "that won't stop us or even bother us in the slightest, will it? The more we enjoy ourselves, you see, the worse it will be for her.

"Good," he added and sat. "That's fresh goat cheese on the salad," he pointed out, and poked his lettuce with his fork, stabbing it and bringing it to his mouth. "Go on, eat," he ordered.

My stomach felt as if it was filled with rocks, but I forced the food into my mouth and chewed.

"This isn't cheap wine," he continued. "It's French, a merlot recommended to me by one of my more sophisticated clients. That's the good thing about dealing with people of great wealth, Cathy, you learn a lot without having to spend all that money on your own education and experiences. She," he said, nodding at the chair, "used to mock my work. She would say that making money on someone elses-- money is not honest work. When she was frustrated or angry at me, she would call me a financial pimp," he said, laughing. He looked at the chair. "A pimp, nevertheless, who made her financially comfortable." He stared a moment, and then looked at me and smiled. "You haven't tried the wine. Don't be afraid. Try it," he said, and I sipped it. "Well?"

"It's very good," I said, not knowing what would be good and what wouldn't.

"I know. Everything we do is going to be first class from now on. First class!" he screamed at the chair. Then he paused for a moment as if his brain had shut down, his eyes becoming a little vacant.

I didn't move a muscle. His face was so rigid, it frightened me more. I could hear the meat under the broiler.

"Should I look at the steak?" I asked, simply because the silence was terrifying.

"What? Oh, no.I'll do that. Relax. Rest. Recuperate," he said, and jumped up. "You like yours pink, right? Just like I like it."

He took out the meat and set up our platters with new potatoes and string beans.

"I made sure they gave us the best cut," he bragged, and brought the dinner plates to the table. "Go on, cut into it and let me know if it's done enough for you."

I followed his orders,

tasted the meat, and nodded.

"Great, huh? Everything will be, forever and ever. I bet she's hungry," he said, nodding at the chair. He blinked when I just stared at him "Or, I mean, she would be if she was really here. Of course, that's what I mean." He laughed. "I'm so happy that I get carried away sometimes. Don't think anything of it, honey. I'm in tip-top shape." He shoved a thick chunk of steak into his mouth and chewed it vigorously, savoring the flavor and moaning about the pleasure of a good piece of meat.

I ate because I knew if I didn't, he would be very upset, and from the way he jumped from high moments of happiness to hot moments of anger, I was afraid of disturbing him It was better to let him travel up and down the highways of his own emotional journey and just keep as quiet and as unobtrusive as possible, I thought.

My heart had long since pounded itself into a state of numbness. Sometimes a look of his, a touch on my hand, a sudden jerky motion toward me would start it thumping again, but I didn't think it was possible to get my blood pumping around my body any faster than it was pumping now. I took tiny breaths, not only because I was afraid I might just pass out, but because my chest felt as if it was being held in a vise that tightened and tightened with every passing moment.

I ate all that I could force into myself and then I declared I was so full, I would burst.

"But you have room for our pie a la mode, right?" he asked, looking like a little boy who might be terribly disappointed if I said no.

I nodded.

"Always room for the fun things," he declared, and scowled when he looked at the chair. "She was like the fun police or something, ready to pounce on anything that gave us pleasure. You know, she was the only person I ever knew who couldn't be tickled. I used to try, just to torment her, but it never worked. She didn't have a soft, sensitive spot on that granite body of hers. She had so many calluses on her palms. She could have sanded wood with them."

He rose and started to clear the table. Almost by instinct, I began to help.

"No, no," he cried when he saw me gathering the plates. "You don't do anything, remember? I'll tell you what," he said, glancing at the chair. "Let's have dessert later, much later. For now, you go into the bedroom. I have a surprise for you there. Put it on," he said.

"A surprise?"

"Yes. Go ahead. I'll be in after I do this. Go on," he urged, gesturing toward the master bedroom.

Trembling so badly, I almost couldn't