Virgil rubbed his chin and frowned. You sure look familiar for some reason.
You recognize me from television, no doubt. Carrie smoothed her hair, waiting for it to dawn on him.
Virgil busted out with a hoot of laughter. That's it! You're that self-righteous she-devil who gets on TV and tells people to eat right, exercise, and avoid smoking.
Carrie beamed. That would be me.
All right then, Virgil said, apparently satisfied. Now what the hell did you want?
Carrie was intrigued by her surroundingsand thrown a bit off-balance by the wiry, annoyed man who clearly ruled this strange kingdom. She stood next to Mr. Cavanaugh in a standard 1950s one-car garage that served as his studio. The walls were unfinished wood plank; the ceiling was bare wood beams with shelves built into the eaves. She could see where the garage door had been closed up many years before, the wood there a different grain and color, and how most of the entire back wall had been fitted with a picture window to let in the natural light. But it was twilight now, and the area seemed closed in. The shadows were stark.
Ghostly shapes of what looked like unfinished sculptures seemed to sprout out of the concrete floor, surrounded by shapeless hunks of rock not yet touched by the artist.
Sharp tools similar to surgical instruments were scattered haphazardly on top of sketchbooks, tables, and the floor, along with heavy mallets and drill bits. Wooden stands had been tipped over on their sides, and a strange, thin stainless-steel contraption sat near the center of the room, arms askew. She took a step back. It reminded her of a huge praying mantis.
She shuddered.
Mr. Cavanaugh chuckled. It's a pointing machine, honey. It's not going to bite you.
A what?
It measures points three-dimensionally on a sculpture.
Stepping with caution, Carrie moved toward a plywood table and placed her business card on the edge, then reached above for the light fixture chain and pulled it. The sudden brightness didn't cheer the roomit only illuminated the mess.
I didn't say you could turn on a light.
She refused to acknowledge Mr. Cavanaugh's rudeness. No one spoke to her like this. She would not allow it under any circumstances. She was a physician. She was beautiful. She was entrusted with developing policy that impacted thousands of lives. Carrie turned to face him. I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with your work. What kind of sculpture do you do, Mr. Cavanaugh?
He grunted. Whatever the hell I feel like doing. I'll ask you one more time: What do you want? Why did you mention my daughter?
Ah. Well. Carrie looked for somewhere to sit. There was nowhere, except for a rusty, clay-splattered metal stool that he obviously used when he worked, and it looked as uncomfortable as this whole place felt. She folded her hands in front of her body and tried to smile politely. It's about Kat and Riley Bohland.
The old man stared at her without breathing. Slowly, his lips curled into a grimace and he shook his head. Whatever you're fishing for, you won't find it here. I don't talk to Kat. Haven't in twenty years.
That surprised Carrie. I didn't realize the two of you were estranged.
Mr. Cavanaugh chuckled. That's a fancy word for it. He offered her a sarcastic smile. Now what do you want?
I want to know about her connection to Riley.
He waved his hand. I go to Bohland because he's the only doctor in this town. Trust me, it's not because I'm a friend of the family. I never liked any of those idiots.
I see. Now she was getting somewhere.
But your visit has nothing to do with my health, does it?
No.
Mr. Cavanaugh nodded. He studied her as she studied him. Carrie took in the details of that sinewy body and hard face. Though he seemed surprisingly agile for a man who'd just had angioplasty, Carrie was struck at how his face had suffered from aging, the bones sharp under papery, blotchy skin.
She knew Mr. Cavanaugh was sixty-two, but he looked eighty, and the bitterness in him was probably responsible, along with his blood alcohol level. Carrie decided the guy was a walking, talking advertisement for the mean son of a bitch everyone said he was, and he seemed proud of it.
Suddenly, Virgil Cavanaugh shifted his cold eyes from Carrie's face to the rest of her. She shivered as his gaze roamed all over her, from her sling-back pumps, to the hemline of her skirt, to the delicate teardrop diamond pendant she always wore at her throat. She'd had the necklace made from the diamond engagement ring Riley had given her, which she rightly refused to give back. She did not appreciate the old man's gawking, and raised her fingers to touch the necklace, calming herself in the process.
I need to know how to keep Kat away from Riley, she said. Any suggestions?
I suggest you take off your clothes and sit for me.
Carrie felt her eyes bug out. /What did you just say?/ You're going to model for me. I'm going to sculpt you. I've worked with my share of stuck-up brunettes over the years, and I need a new muse.
Carrie snorted in disgust. I so doubt that, Mr. Cavanaugh.
He shrugged. Your call, darlin'. He turned toward the door that led to the side yard and talked with his back to her. Forgive me if I don't walk you to your car. It's been so long since I've had a visitor that it seems I've lost my manners.
Carrie's mouth fell open at the offensiveness of this wretched man. Who did he think he was? She tried to remember why she'd even thought it would be a good idea to come here and talk with him.
Kat Cavanaughthat's why she was here. And she'd been correct to think that Virgil Cavanaugh was just the person to show her how to get Kat where it would hurt the most. The man was ruthless.
Pardon my observation, but you really don't give a damn about your daughter, do you, Virgil? It pleased Carrie to see him spin around as if she'd hit him in the back of his head. It's none of my business why you despise your own flesh and blood, but it's convenient, because I don't like her much myself. So maybe we can help each other out.
Virgil stood riveted to the concrete floor, his expression one of tentative interest.
You look surprised, Virgil. Can I call you Virgil?
You can call me Grover Cleveland if you get naked for me.
If you tell me how to keep Kat from Riley, I'll do it. That will be our arrangement.
He let out a boisterous laugh, one so loud that it seemed too big for the bleak, tight space.
My, my, my. What we have here is a regular old love triangle, isn't it?
Is that what all the fuss is about?
It isn't a triangle, Carrie huffed, despising the way he'd just dismissed her dilemma with a soap-opera clichй. Her eyes fell on the praying-mantis thing. What we have is two points on a three-dimensional masterpiece of true lovecomposed of myself and Rileyand your daughter is doing her best to get between us.
Mr. Cavanaugh laughed again, and this time it sounded downright gleeful.
You are a real pointy-headed piece of work. He scrunched up his nose like he smelled something unpleasant. And how do you know Riley, anyway?
You're not from around here.
We met and dated in medical school. We were supposed to get married, but he called it off because of Kat.
A frown crept over Mr. Cavanaugh's brow. He tilted his head. I don't follow.
When your wife was dying, she told Riley about the baby. Right before our wedding.
The frown intensified, digging deep ruts into Virgil Cavanaugh's forehead. He clenched his teeth. Go on, he hissed.
Well, as soon as Riley was told he'd fathered a baby back in high school, he went searching for the kid. Out of a sense of obligation, of course. Guiltthat's all it was. I didn't even believe there really was a kid until just recently. And now Kat's come back to distract him all over again, and I won't stand for it. So, fine, I'll sit for you if you help me find a way to get Kat out of the picture for good. Agreed?
Carrie waited a moment for him to say something. He didn't. But she watched the anger twist Virgil Cavanaugh's face until it turned flame red. It was the oddest thing how the man's fury sucked the air pressure right out of that cramped garage. An electrical charge passed through Carrie. Her skin tingled. Her sinuses pounded. Her pulse raced.
Get… the fuck… out. He motioned for Carrie to exit the studio, and she did so without debate, not entirely sure what had just happened, but relieved to be stepping out into the fresh air. He locked the studio door, brushed past her, and disappeared inside the house.
Carrie stood in the yard, aware of her own too-fast breath, and it occurred to her that Virgil Cavanaugh hadn't known he had a grandson or maybe even that Kat had been pregnant when she ran away all those years ago. Cavanaugh's wife hadn't told him anything. No one had. How strange.
The wind kicked up. A handful of dry leaves skittered across her shoes.
She shivered again. Then she ran to the car.
Carrie spent the first hour on the road trying to shake the feeling that she'd made a mistake by talking to Virgil Cavanaugh. The feeling wouldn't budge.
By the time she reached the Jennings Randolph Highway in Weston, she realized the encounter had left an icky scum all over her psyche. She decided that as soon as she got back to Charleston she'd take the hottest, longest shower of her life.
When she stopped for coffee in Sutton, Carrie began to ponder whether she should just let this whole mess alone. She had no business telling a sick old man his own family secrets. In fact, maybe she should just back off the Riley situation altogether. Clearly he was going to do what he wanted to do when it came to Kat. Maybe she should just let Riley be an idiot if that was his destiny, and she could stand back and watch his silly reunion fantasy blow up in his face.
Then he would come back to her. On his knees, crawling. Begging. She liked that.
An hour and a half later, Carrie rolled up her driveway, clicked on the garage door opener, and pulled inside the safe cocoon of her townhome.
Only then did her hands begin to tremble. Only then could she admit that Virgil Cavanaugh was far more than just eccentricshe was damn lucky to be in one piece.
Kat's spine tingled with the expectation of plea sure as she hoisted the mallet over her head and brought it down with all her might. The wet clay imploded with a thud, splattering the floor with gray goop. It was satisfying to see how a single swing of the rubber-headed hammer obliterated the whole side of the woman's face, blew apart her left nostril, turned her carefully fashioned cheekbone and jawline into nothing but a pile of muck on the concrete floor.
Good. The slut deserved it. Kat only wished she could do the same thing to her father's face, the real one, the one made of flesh and bone.
She took another swing. And another. The rage came from the soles of her feet and poured out of her hands, liquid and scalding, never ending, always a new rush rising through her to give her the strength for another swing of the mallet. And another. The hate felt like it was cleaning her out, making things clear for the first time in her life.
Her fucking joke of a father had turned off the portable heater before he'd zipped up his pants and walked the governor's wife to her car, so by now the studio was quite cold. The sweat poured off Kat's face anyway. /Thud/. Riley didn't want her anymore. /Thud/. She was three months pregnant. /Thud/. Her father saw her looking through the studio windowhe knew she'd seen everything. /Thud/. Kat's life was overshe was only sixteen and it was fucking /over/.
Stop! Oh God, child! Have you lost your mind?
The voice seemed to come from nowhere and every where at the same time, inside Kat's own head and from another world, and it took her a moment to realize her mother was standing over her back, gripping her forearm so hard it hurt, screaming in her ear. But Kat couldn't stop the swinging.
Katharine! Sweet Jesus, he'll kill us both. What have you done? Oh God, what have you done to his commission?
Kat's fingers loosened. The mallet fell to the concrete floor with a thump. She blinked away a stream of sweat from her eye and focused on what she'd done, but it didn't make sense to her at first. It looked like a bomb had gone off in her father's studio. Clay was everywhere, and smack in the middle of the goopy mess was a pink grapefruit, stuck like a pig in the mud. A box of cornflakes lay on its side, splashed with white globs of cottage cheese that had spewed from the broken container at her feet.
Slowly, Kat raised her eyes, noting her mother's horrified expression.
You dropped your groceries.
Sweet Jesus save us.
I've ruined everything, haven't I?
The spatula hit the kitchen floor, and Kat heard the clank of stainless steel against tile. She blinked. She was home, in her kitchen, in Baltimore. It was now, not then. She had made it out of there.
It's not that bad.
Kat looked up to see the most shocking sightRiley Bohland just out of the shower, all glistening olive skin and lean muscle, a white towel draped low on his hips, and a smile setting up residence on his handsome face. He walked toward her and scooped up the spatula.
Kat's mind scrambled to make everything sane and normal and squeeze it back into the present moment. She was in her Baltimore apartment. Riley had stayed here with her last night, and they'd talked until the sun came up. She would be moving back to Persuasion.
Icy panic had begun creeping through her veins.
I said you haven't ruined anything, Scout. The pancakes look great.
Riley planted a quick kiss on her mouth and rinsed the spatula in the sink, wiped it dry, and handed it back to her. Can I pour you a cup a coffee?
Kat stared at him. I'm sorry, what?
Coffee. Riley had reached into the cabinet for two mugs but stopped cold, his arm in midair. Are you OK?
Yeah. I'm good. Kat shook her head. Wait. No, I'm not. I remembered something. Just now. I was flipping the pancakes, and I remembered all the details from the day I left Persuasion. I Kat couldn't continue. She feared that saying any of it aloud would put breath and life into the events, making it real. Something so terrible…
Come here. Riley took Kat into his arms, pulling her up against his damp chest. She clung to him. She breathed in the familiar yet exotic smell of his skin and rubbed her cheek against his warmth. She felt Riley reach around her back to turn off the stove, then guide her to the living room sofa. Sit for a minute. I'll get us some coffee and you can tell me what you remembered. I want to hear everything.
Kat did what he said, not that she was capable of much else. Her head was swimming. She was shivering, but sweat was forming at her hairline.
Was what she saw in her mind real, or was she making it up? And if it was real, how could she have forgotten so much of it for so long? What else had she forgotten?
She closed her eyes and concentrated. Maybe if she thought hard enough she could force all of it out of hidingevery one of the little ghost memories that she knew lurked inside her brain, just waiting to be named.
Hey, Kat? Riley returned to the couch and stood over her, looking sheepish as he reached down to gently touch her cheek. I don't have a clue how you take your coffee.
Two creams and a sugar, right?
Madeline lifted the silver coffeepot and poured, keeping an eye on Matt during the whole maneuver. She'd made something she knew he lovedbanana-walnut muffinsbut he hadn't even taken a bite. The muffin just sat there on his plate, perfectly plump and golden, just waiting for the touch of his lips. He hadn't even noticed.
Madeline sighed. The women Matt dated had great boobs and/or flat abs.
Her best assets were her baked goods. If Matt couldn't even muster up excitement for her muffins, then she knew with certainty that he hadn't dropped by to ask her out again.
Madeline placed the coffee cup in front of him and plopped down in the opposite chair, unintentionally letting out a heavy sigh. Suddenly, she was exhausted at every levelphysically, emotionally, and practically.
Listen, Maddie. I'm here to tell you to stay out of Kat and Riley's business.
Madeline tried to sit as straight as possible, but all she wanted to do was slump over the table and rest her head in her arms, the way they used to do in kindergarten after they'd had their crackers and milk. She needed a rest time. She needed crackers and milk. Instead, she reached across the table, grabbed Matt's muffin, and immediately bit into its fluffy, sugary, oversized cap.
This was all because of Carrie. Riding shotgun on Carrie's ego trip had turned out to be a giant mistake.
Bits of banana-walnut muffin dribbled onto her shirt, but Madeline didn't brush them off. Who cared? It's not like she had to worry about looking nice for Chief Matt Bohland ever again. Besides, what was she thinking? Did she really believe that a young hunk like Matt would be interested in a divorcйe with kids? She'd always known better.
I like you, Maddie. We've known each other forever, Matt said.
Uh-huh. Madeline took another large bite. Honestly, these were the best damn banana-walnut muffins she'd whipped up in her life.
I've got to be honest with youwhat you did was way out of line.
She shook her head in agreement as she crammed the rest of the muffin through her lips. She realized she was going to choke unless she got some liquid into her as well. She reached for Matt's untouched coffee and slurped it down. You weren't going to drink that, were you?
Matt looked amused. Nope.
Good. Madeline drained the rest and put the empty coffee cup back on its saucer, right in front of Matt.
Matt sighed. So, you had no right lying to Kat like that, telling her that Riley was getting married when you knew he wasn't.
With one hand, Madeline wiped her face with the cloth napkin. With the other, she held up the flat of her palm to stop him from continuing. Let me make this easy for you, OK?
Matt frowned, sinking into his chair. That's all I needed to say, Maddie. There's nothing you have to make easy.
Aren't you going to tell me why you never asked me out again after those three dates? That I'm boring? That I'm a weak, self-serving small-town gossip? That I have so little self-esteem that I have to go around playing Carrie's brown-nosing errand boy?
Matt blinked at her in silence.
Carrie said if I got rid of Kat, she'd book rooms for a spring conference here in Persuasion, so I lied to Kat and told her Riley was engaged. Then I called Carrie's assistant to confirm, and found out there is no conference.
She bribed you.
And I fell for it.
Well, Maddie, you brought all this on yourself when you decided to tell Carrie that Kat was in town. You got her all stirred up.
Madeline laughed. Hey, let's be real. Carrie was a little?stirred up' /way/ before Kat got here, and believe me when I tell you that you don't even have a clue just how stir-crazy that chick has gotten.
Matt crossed his arms over his chest and looked interested. Really? How so?
Madeline was about to give him the lowdown when she felt the weariness wash over her in waves. She had ten guests this morning. Two couples were going to be checking out any minute and the other six people would be here for dinner. She'd planned on making coq au vin with new red potatoes and needed to get back in the kitchen to start preparation. It was already 10:30. Plus, she had no idea where her next sex would be coming from. She could be looking at a dry spell lasting years, if not de cades. At least the sex was good with us, right?
It was hard to believe, but Madeline had just embarrassed Matt Bohland.
He was actually blushing, which she found charming.
Yes, it was. You're a lot of fun.
Good then. No regrets. Madeline got up and refilled Matt's coffee cup, then drank it down. Anyway, she said, returning to the table, Carrie's completely off her nut. She really is planning to marry Rileyas in, she's arranging an elaborate Christmas Eve ceremony and she really believes that Riley will be the groom.
Matt's mouth fell open. Huh?
That's right. She's got the centerpieces ordered. She's hired a disc jockey and picked out bridesmaid dresseswhich sound really pretty, by the wayand she's currently arguing with the caterer over the vegetable selection.
Matt's mouth opened wider, then snapped shut in anger. Vegetables? What the fuck?
Madeline laughed. Yeah. She came over here to model her wedding dress for me. Seriously, Matt, she's one bad-ass Bridezilla. It's all totally sick if you ask me.
Matt knit his brows together, suddenly serious. Where's this event supposed to take place?
I think I heard her mention something about a museum.
I gotta go.
As she watched Matt stand up, grab his ball cap, and pull it down over his dark curls, Madeline felt wistful. It was hard to believe that she'd once had the plea sure of rolling around in bed with that gorgeous man.
He really was something. Generous, enthusiastic, and blessed with the stamina usually found only in battery-operated devices. If Riley Bohland was half the sex god Matt was, then it was no wonder Kat had to come back, even after twenty years. Madeline couldn't blame her.
Hey, Maddie? You mind if I take a few of those muffins to go? I never even got a chance to taste them.
Madeline scurried to place five muffins in a white paper sack, a little embarrassed now that she'd eaten off his plate but truly flattered he was still interested.
Thanks. He kissed her on the cheek. You're all right, Madeline.
She followed Matt to the door, beaming from that kiss. Just before he walked down the steps, she said, Hey, wait a second. How are you? I'm so tacky I didn't even ask you how you've been lately.
Matt turned slowly, holding open the heavy oak door as he twisted to face her. I, uh, I'm good. Real good.
Madeline nodded, understanding immediately all that he'd left unsaid.
So, what's her name?
She's not from around here.
Elkins?
Uh, no. Baltimore. I've only been out with her once, but she's really special.
Madeline saw the gone-fishin' look in Matt's eyes. She managed to plant a cheery smile on her face, but her body began to vibrate, raging inside with the unfairness of it all. She swore to God that if Matt Bohland stood there and opened his mouth to say he was dating Kat's friend Nola Something-or-Other, she would have to scream. That's all there was to it.
Have I met the lucky girl?
Uh… Matt glanced toward the parking lot as if to ensure that his cruiser was available for a quick getaway. It's Kat's friend, Nola D'Agostino.
How nice. Give me back my fuckin' muffins. She snatched the bag out of his hand.
At one point in his life, Riley had made the drive to Charleston to see Carrie at least twice a month, two hours down and two back up, half interstate and half winding, mountainous roads. He always enjoyed the solitude those weekend drives afforded him. It gave him time to let his thoughts wander outside the confines of work and the static of everyone who wanted something from him. Often, during those long, quiet drives, Kat would materialize in his mind.
Riley would concentrate on her memory intensely enough that he could taste her kisses, feel the softness of her hand in his, hear her husky laughter. He would sometimes imagine that she sat right there next to him in the truck. She would be all grown-up, smiling and laughing with the wind blowing her blond curls all around her head like a halo. She'd be telling him story after story about her adventures through the years and how wonderful her life had turned out, despite the rocky start.
He wasn't always optimistic enough to scrape up a happy ending for her.
Sometimes, especially if he was driving at night, her absence would feel like a wound in the pit of his soul, and his mind would torture him with all the horrifying possibilitiesshe'd been raped and butchered before she even got out of Randolph County; she'd become a teenage prostitute and overdosed in a sleazy hotel room in some faraway city; she'd ended up with some beer-swilling asshole of a guy whose way with the ladies reminded her of dear old Dad. Why hadn't she ever called him just to let him know she was OK? It had to be because she wasn't.
Riley turned the windshield wipers up a notch and cranked the defogger.
It was a cold and rainy afternoon, and he was missing a clinic board meeting, where there'd be nothing but more bad news. But he was on a mission that couldn't wait. Matt had practically begged to come along, just for the sport of it, but Riley stood firm. Putting an end to Carrie Mathis' fairy tale was no joke, and it was a job for him to do alonealong with the Jefferson County sheriff's deputies delivering the restraining order.
Matt had already done his part, anyway. Based on what he'd learned from Madeline, Matt did some investigating and painted Riley a full-color picture of just how /kee-razy/ his former fiancйe had become. The ceremony was to begin at 8:00 P.M. on Christmas Eve at the Juliet Museum of Art, reception immediately following. Calvin Klein tuxedos had been rented for himself and Matt and, by the way, the formal-wear shop needed their final measurements. A white stretch limousine would take the happy couple to a three-day retreat at The Greenbrier.
Riley shook his head at his own blindness. Yes, Carrie had always been a driven woman, and he'd liked that in her, as long as her obsession had been medicine. In fact, Riley had always been relieved that she was as consumed with her career as he was with his, that he didn't have to explain the demands of being a doctor. Only recently had Riley understood that that relief had been rooted in the fact that he didn't love Carrie and didn't particularly want to spend time with her.
Riley pulled into the parking garage at the state government office complex, jogged across Capitol Street, and took the elevator to the sixth floor. He walked right into Carrie's suite of offices inside the Department of Health amp; Human Resources.
Hey, Alice. Nice to see you.
Carrie's assistant was an older woman with a sweet, round face. She stared at him for a second, obviously drawing a blank. Then she put a hand to her mouth. Dr. Bohland? Oh my gosh! I haven't seen you in years!
How /are/ you? She hopped to her feet.
Is Carrie in?
Yes, but Thanks. He turned and headed down the carpeted hallway to the double doors of her office.
Wait. Please! Alice scurried up behind him. I hate to be rude, she whispered, but I just wanted to warn you that Dr. Mathis has been very distracted lately and she hasn't been herself. The strangest things have been going on…
You got that right, Riley said.
Alice frowned in concern. Is Carrie in some kind of trouble? Is it the stress of the wedding?
Just then two uniformed deputies arrived. Riley greeted them, and asked that they give him about five minutes before they served the order.
Alice was beside herself. What's going on? Someone tell me!
Riley touched her shoulder. There is no wedding. The deputies are going to serve Carrie with a restraining order.
Alice looked lost. There's no wedding?
Never was one. Excuse me. Riley headed toward Carrie's door.
But… Alice's voice faded into a whisper. Your everyday china pattern was so lovely.
Carrie's eyes shot up from her computer when he opened her door. She let out a startled gasp, but the surprise on her face quickly mellowed to comprehension. She rose from her chair and smoothed her skirt. Hello, Riley, she said.
He made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs near her desk. Hate to tell you this, but The Greenbrier is a little stuffy for my tastes.
Her eyes darted around the room.
I'd like a few minutes of your time to go over the wedding plans, if you don't mind.
Carrie may have been a slight woman, but the size of her vanity could fill an empty airplane hangar, so Riley was fascinated to watch as she curled in on herself at his words, like she wanted to disappear. Riley figured he was witnessing her ego beginning to deflate. She sat down without a peep.
Game over, Carrie.
She stared at him for a long moment. Eventually, she nodded. She made no attempt to argue or put any kind of spin on any of it. She just sat there, the woman he'd once thought he loved, dark-haired, perfectly groomed, and fiercely intelligentwith no fight left in her.
I'm so sorry, she said in a flat voice. I guess I got carried away.
Riley nearly laughed at the inadequacy of that statement but then noticed something near pitiful in Carrie's expression. His anger began to cool. Carrie was manipulative and self-centered, but Riley guessed that at her core she was just another person too scared to face reality.
He leaned forward. Do you have somebody you can go see? Somebody to talk to?
Carrie didn't seem the least bit offended by his question and calmly folded her hands in front of her on the desktop. I've already made an appointment with Mark Gulledgeremember him from med school? He's got a private practice in town. I've heard a lot of good things about him.
Riley nodded. He's a smart guy. I'm sure he can help you figure this out.
It's pretty simple, really, she said with a shrug. Erotomania, delusional disorder, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, maybe even borderline stalker typology.
Riley pursed his lips and nodded, thinking that was one scary-sounding laundry list of /DSM-IV/ diagnostic criteria she'd just spat out, but it was probably spot-on. Carrie was always good with diagnoses. When's your appointment?
Friday.
You need to cancel everything related to the wedding. Immediately. How many people have you told?
Carrie stiffened. Just Alice and Madeline. Even my mother doesn't know about it. It was going to be an intimate affair, only about seventy-five guests. I was going to tell everyone it was a last-minute thing. But I've already canceled it all.
Riley couldn't help but think of the news stories about women who faked their pregnancy and, to keep their ruse intact, went out and stole a newborn when their alleged due date arrived. He shuddered to think what would have happened if, come Christmas Eve, the wedding had been a go, but there was no groom to be had.
It's time you move on with your life.
She sucked in a trembling breath. I am trying.
And you won't interfere with my life or Kat's life ever again.
All right, Carrie whispered.
Sheriff's deputies are outside your door right now with a restraining order.
Her eyes flashed in alarm. Please! That won't be necessary.
You gave me no choice.
She stared at him, worried and embarrassed.
Riley didn't know what else to say. He hadn't expected her to be so malleable. She sat quietly, continuing to look at him.
Did you put yourself on meds?
Of course not. She waved her hand to dismiss the accusation.
Riley wasn't convinced. He frowned at her.
OK, maybe just a little Paxil to take the edge off, but that's it, she said. I've been tossing around the idea of quitting my job, did I tell you? I'd like to give myself a chance to rethink things, see what I really want out of life. I don't even know anymore, because all I thought I wanted was you.
Riley stood up from his chair. It was time to go. This is the end for you and meyou understand that, right?
I do. After a few seconds, Carrie smiled, then laughed. Hey! I got to say those two little words after all!
Riley studied her, thinking that inside this very normal-looking woman lurked a churning chaos no one would suspect. It was sad, but he supposed that made her no different from everyone else.
So why the sudden change of heart, Carrie? Riley hadn't meant to ask that aloud, but his brain was practically screaming the question. What made you decide to stop this bullshit now, after all this time?
Carrie walked him toward the door, obviously weighing her response. I was becoming such a self-righteous she-devil that I'd started to scare myself.
She opened the door. The deputies were waiting.