First Real Kiss

I gazed at the baby bump, allowing myself just a few seconds of self-pity before pushing it back again, as if childlessness wasn’t the biggest thing in my life. “King and Kendy are hashtag-goals for everyone.”

Would I still be married to Case and working on our first forty years together if …?

Not a good path to explore, especially since I suspected the ending of our marriage would have been bumpier than Case’s final moments.

“See you there, huh?” Jane brushed sugar-cone crumbs off her lap.

“But what about the parking garage attack? What were you not saying?” I brought her back online for the conversation topic. Maybe I shouldn’t have, since I suspected its ending, too. “That the victim was none other than … I-know-who?”

Jane had this crazy, all-knowing frown-smile of smugness. “Yup. That’s the one. I bet you’re thinking dude had it coming.”

“Hey, no!” Well, yes, but no! That would’ve been terrible of me. “Of course, I wish the guy would quit his job and take up a position as a clerk at the Motor Vehicle Division where his particular skill-set would be more appropriate, but I don’t want him to go out of this life that way. Was he truly hurt?” The news would have reported the incident either way. Torrey Junction had the lowest crime rate in the state. Maybe the world. Any crime was newsworthy.

“Head wound. Lots of blood. Would’ve been worse if a third doctor hadn’t come along and helped him right away.”

“Thank goodness for that other doctor! And what was up with the first two?” They sounded worse than Luke Hotwell, whose soulful brown eyes flashed up in my mind’s eye, but with hurt in them.

A pain stabbed in my own heart.

“Are you suddenly taking that bozo’s side?” Jane eyed me. “Fine, forget it. I know all about your soft spot for the nearly-roadkill. I thought our sorority sisters were going to throttle you when you brought home that wounded porcupine you found by the side of the road in the desert.”

“Come on. I’m the one who hit the porcupine.” Quills everywhere. What a sad mess. “I was taking responsibility. At least for the short time it survived, post accident.” Blessedly short, the sorority sisters had all said. “Besides, I would put Dr. Hotwell more in the category of wounded armadillo. All armor. Probably impossible to kill.”

That doctor had burrowed so far beneath my skin I should’ve charged him rent.

I handed her another ice cream. “Just how maimed was he?” Wince.

“A head wound from a pipe wrench? How maimed do you think?”

“Ooh.” That was bad. Really bad. The pieces of the puzzle came together, and the picture was terrible. A sharp realization seized me: as I left him, I’d distinctly shouted that he should watch out for karma.

Was this my fault?

Jane was right. I did have a problem with letting wounded, prickly things lay dying. But mostly when I’d done the damage.

I should really take him some soup. Then I could check whether karma had been particularly harsh, and calculate how much I needed to make up for siccing it on him.

Jane yelled something at her kids, giving them a warning about leaving soon. Then she turned to me. “You still okay going out with my colleague at the firm?”

“Uh, sorry, counselor. I believe you’re wresting my words.”

“He’s a fun guy.”

Fungi.

“Come on, you said you’d think about it.”

“Not the same as agreeing to it.” I was a widow. With a lot of baggage. I’d married Case for a specific reason: the fact he seemed immune to my baggage. Whoever Jane was thinking of lining me up with wouldn’t want to tote it all. “I’m probably not his type.”

“He likes beautiful women.”

“See what I mean? Not his type.”

“Snort.” Jane guffawed at her own humor. “I’m not dropping this.”

“You should.”

“Even if I do, your parents won’t. They have to be wanting grandkids.”