The dimples disappeared, and he dropped his head as though he was being scolded. “It’s just a formality, ma’am. I understand your concern.”
“Seems to me you’re both more concerned about the Crimson Tide than my husband.” Her eyes drifted to Nascarelli.
“We assure you, ma’am, that isn’t the case,” Officer Nascarelli responded with a slight sneer.
Katharine pursed her lips and said nothing.
“Do you have a photo of your husband we could have?” Officer Freeman inquired.
She stared at him incredulously. Why do they need a photo? They know what he looks like. Katharine gave a subtle nod and moved into the bedroom, returning within three minutes to hand Officer Freeman a duplicate of Carson’s executive profile photograph. “This is a pretty recent picture, taken maybe three months ago.”
Officer Freeman retrieved the photo from her fingers and said, “Mrs. O’Connor, if it’s any consolation, we often deal with situations like this. Your husband may have had one drink too many and checked himself into a hotel or maybe slept over at a buddy’s house.”
Although she was certain Carson would never get drunk, a sense of peace settled over her. His words about the hotel corroborated her earlier thoughts.
Freeman stood. “In any case, the subject has to be missing for at least forty-eight hours before we can delve into a thorough investigation.”
Officer Nascarelli pranced over to the baby grand piano and began tickling the keys.
Katharine was appalled at how easily Nascarelli had made himself at home. She wanted him to leave.
“Uh, Officer Freeman,” Katharine began. “I trust that you and the Department will keep this matter in strict confidence,” she concluded, her eyes shifting between the two men.
He nodded and asked, “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about your husband?”
Katharine had no intention of telling him about the AJA award and watching him gloat in his confirmation about Carson hanging out with the boys.
“No. That will be all, thank you.”
“Well, if there’s nothing else, we’ll be leaving.” Officer Freeman extended his hand and looked into her eyes. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. O’Connor.” He called to his partner, “Let’s go, Nascar.” His sight remained on Katharine as she ushered Nascarelli from the room.
Officer Freeman made his way to the door first. He turned to face Katharine and waved the photo in the air. “We’ll hold on to this picture. If you hear from your husband before the forty-eight hour expiration, let us know.”
“Sure.” Katharine frowned, anxiously inching the policemen closer to the door.
Freeman looked at Katharine one last time and said, “Good-bye, ma’am. I’m sure everything’ll turn out fine.”
The two men moved in slow motion. Katharine didn’t want to appear rude, but she almost had to force them out the door, closing it on the heels of Nascarelli.
Immediately after she shut the storm door and locked it, she regretted calling them in the first place. She was sure they knew this disappearance had the earmarks of an unfaithful husband but wanted to spare her feelings . . . at least Freeman did—Nascarelli couldn’t care less about her sensibilities. He only felt privileged to be in the home of a popular national sportswriter—or so his actions revealed. “Carson, please don’t do this to me,” she whispered to the air, tears stinging her eyes. Turning it over to God and letting Him handle it was what she needed to do. Instead, she headed for the telephone, but something drew her to begin to pray. Falling to her knees, right on the spot, she felt the warmth and safety of a powerful spirit surrounding her.
“Dear Lord, I’m facing a heavy burden. It’s more than I can bear.”
Cast your cares upon me, for I care for you, the voice whispered in her head.
“It’s so hard, Father.”
Daughter, is anything too hard for God?
“No, Lord. But I’m afraid.”
My child, I have not given you the spirit of fear. I will give you strength and wisdom if you will trust Me and not doubt.
Katharine felt a breath of air against her face, and it was almost as if a hand had brushed away her fear. She could feel God’s presence and decided to turn her problems over to Him. But just as she got up from her crouched position, she heard another voice in her head saying, “Surely, God needs a helping hand.” She stood frozen and listened to more of what it had to say. When she’d finally withdrawn from her meditation, she contradicted her own words and decided to solve the problem by herself.
Katharine had no doubt Carson still loved her, but his love had been misguided. In her unsettled mind, time was of the essence. She had to work quickly or else she would lose Carson entirely.
Chapter 5
Katharine picked up the telephone again.
“Hey, Kat, what’re you doing home?” Natalie answered, evidently recognizing the number on her caller ID.
“He didn’t come home last night, and I’m worried to death.”
“He what?” Natalie’s voice became muffled.
“Hello! hello?” Katharine called out.
“Okay, I’ll be right with you,” Natalie said, apparently speaking to a coworker with her hand cupped around the mouthpiece. “Look, Kat, I’ll call you right back.”
Before Katharine could respond, Natalie had hung up.
The phone remained to her ear as if Natalie were still on the line and could hear her thoughts. I know you’re at work and busy taking care of your business, but you know my situation. Did you not hear me when I said Carson didn’t come home last night? Couldn’t you have listened for just a few minutes?
A recorded voice cut into her thoughts. “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again.” She placed the receiver in its cradle.
Katharine squeezed her eyes and rubbed her face in a circular motion. She’d forgotten about the makeup she was wearing. She moved to the bathroom sink and allowed the water to run until it turned hot. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she became disgusted with herself. Saturating her hands with the liquid soap, she smeared it over her face and then splashed it with clear water to wipe away the cosmetics. She blotted her face with a hand towel and replaced the soiled, makeup-stained towel on the circular rack, not thinking about placing it in the laundry basket.
Glancing at her wristwatch, she saw it was eleven forty-five. She dialed Carson’s cell phone and again the answering machine picked up. Instinctively, she pressed and held number three on her dial pad for a few seconds. His direct office number was in memory mode.
“O’Connor,” his voice said in a pleasantly musical tone.
“Carson! Where have you been?” Katharine screeched. Carson didn’t respond. Behind his silence, Katharine heard a voice. A woman whose quick mind, keen humor, and beautiful body had reduced him to puppy love. A woman whose fiery spirit had opened a door to a place he thought he’d never visit again. Katharine had to wave the notion away.
“Sweetheart, is someone in your office?”
She received no response.
“Carson, are you there?”
“Um, yeah. I’m still here. “Listen, Kat, let me call you back. I’m late for a lunch meeting, okay? Bye, now.”
What is this? First Natalie hangs up on me and now Carson.
* * *
Carson always kept clean dress shirts and gym clothes in his car. Back at his office, he and Cindy had been discussing his marital woes. She’d given him a sense of comfort by helping him to communicate his true feelings, but hearing his wife’s voice at such an awkward moment made him feel as if he’d betrayed her.
Carson felt Cindy studying his confused expression. “Really, Carson, two years is an awfully long time to sit in misery,” she purred. “Have you considered couples counseling?”
He leaned back in his leather chair and tapped his pencil lightly across his lips, considering her words. “Actually, I have, but I’d feel uncomfortable sharing my private life and thought
s with a total stranger, let alone our church pastor. Besides, I don’t like the idea of advertising my business where it could easily leak out.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem sharing your thoughts with me,” Cindy answered, a smile of confidence rested on her lips.
“You’re not a stranger. You’re different. I’ve known you for, what, nearly two years now? Talking with you is like talking to my best bud. When I first met you at the State basketball finals, I’d wondered if you were a parent of one of the boys. I’d approached you because you seemed really into the game.”
“I support the boys wholeheartedly. After all, as the guidance counselor, most of them are constantly in my office receiving ultimatums to improve their grades or be dropped from the team.” She raised her eyebrows high.
“It’s good to hear you’re more concerned about their education than their ball-playing.”
“Of course, I am.” She sounded defensive. “Don’t confuse educational coaching with basketball cheering.”
“No offense.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve just seen too many parents who believe that their son has the talent of LaBron James, that he’s the great Black hope of the family. In fact, they think he’s going to be the answer to their prayers of becoming wealthy and debt-free. For the most part, they disregard his education and focus mainly on how much money he’ll make as an athlete. Unfortunately, a very, very small percentage of boys make it to the next level. And most college athletes never get a chance to play professionally. Playing in the NBA, NFL, or overseas is a pipe dream for most kids. I try hard to convince them to do well in high school so that they can get a scholarship and use their college degree to help them succeed in life. Good basketball or football players are a dime a dozen. It’s like everything else—political—it’s all in who you know. It breaks my heart to see these kids reap disappointment.”
Cindy slid behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “You sound stressed. Here, let me work off some of that tension.” Her fingers moved in a circular motion across his shoulders, massaging the exact nerves and muscles that needed to relax.
Carson closed his eyes, tilted his head backwards, and inhaled deeply. After a few seconds, he snapped out of his trance and rubbed his eyes. He slid his hands to his shoulders to remove Cindy’s warm, slender fingers and turned to face her. “Are you trying to put me to sleep?” He tendered a one-sided smile. “Seriously, Cindy, you’ve withstood all my complaining about Kat. You’ve helped me to understand what goes on inside a woman’s head.” He reached for Cindy’s hand and covered it with both of his, holding it captive.
“For instance, when I complained about Kat’s lack of concern for her appearance, you told me that when a woman starts to neglect her looks, it’s because she’s grown tired of her companion but doesn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him, so she shows him instead by making herself unattractive. I would never have known if you hadn’t enlightened me.” He smiled that one-sided smile again.
Carson recognized the soft look in her face. His lips lightly touched her knuckles before he surrendered her hand. “I guess I need to do some work,” he said.
Cindy moved some papers away from his cluttered desk and sat in the cleared space with her leg crossed, causing her skirt to rise higher up her thighs. “I not only have the day off, I also have a surprise for you.” She tapped the tip of his nose lightly.
Carson tried to glance inconspicuously at her exposed thighs. Although he was a Christian, he was tempted nonetheless.
“Yeah?” A rush of saliva pushed down his throat. “What kind of surprise?”
Their eyes connected.
She glided off the desk and slid her purse strap over her shoulder. After draping her linen raincoat across her arm, she lifted Carson’s suit jacket from the coat rack and helped him put it on.
* * *
Following a quick trip to the pharmacy for tampons, Katharine let herself in the back door. The geraniums in the flowerbeds were drooping with thirst, but she felt too exhausted to water them.
Katharine thought she was experiencing perimenopause. Between hot flashes and the unusual January temperature, sunny and warm at seventy degrees, she switched on the air-conditioning and laboriously climbed the few stairs to her bedroom. She turned on the overhead fan to stir the sultry air until the air conditioner could take over.
No longer able to tolerate any confinement, she peeled off her panty hose and changed into a full, loose dress with thin straps. The light blue cotton fabric swirled around her like a big fluffy cloud.
The thought of food was obnoxious, but she went into the kitchen and fixed a glass of iced tea, liberally spiking it with lemon juice.
Glass in hand, she wandered into the finished basement. She paused as usual to enjoy the sight of it. The beige walls contrasted nicely with the white molding. The sofa and easy chairs were also white but were heaped with pillows in vivid shades of blue, green, and tangerine. As if on command, her eyes strayed to the white brick fireplace, one of four in the house.
Carson had lit a fire in that seldom-used fireplace two nights ago. What had been on his mind when he did that? Had he been thinking of Cindy? Had he wished she were there with him? Katharine had to shake her thoughts away.
She sank into an easy chair and put her feet up on an ottoman, looking up at the photograph of her and Carson that hung over the unmantled fireplace. As she sipped her tea, she stared at the picture. Tomorrow she would buy a new frame for it. Something Victorian with filigree around the edges, possibly, or something simple so as not to detract from the photograph itself. She wasn’t sure.
The one thing she was sure about was her love for her husband. She couldn’t wait for him to come home so he could tell her that he’d slept all alone last night and how he’d missed her terribly. She would forgive him instantly, and he would whisk her upstairs and make passionate love to his beloved wife.
Who am I fooling? She wasn’t ready to hear the truth of Carson’s whereabouts last night. She didn’t want to know that his arms were wrapped around Cindy while hers were empty.
Wait on me, she heard the voice of God respond to her thoughts in the quiet recess of her soul.
“Wait on what? For Cindy to steal my husband?”
Wait, I say, on the Lord.
“Why are you allowing this to happen to me, Lord?”
Katharine waited for the still, small voice to answer but was met only with silence. She went through the afternoon in a daze, with Carson’s grim words still echoing in her mind. Looking down at her tent-sized dress, she sighed.
The house seemed emptier than ever before. Katharine’s thoughts strayed to what Carson was doing at that precise instant. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She grabbed her garden tools and headed to the backyard patio to work on her plants. Anything was better than thinking.
Katharine tried to ignore the rerun of the moment when Carson told her how she strolled around the house looking like she didn’t care about herself anymore, but like a bad song that had gotten stuck in her head, it kept going around and around. She tried to focus on the children, but that thought only brought up other concerns. She wished she could just shut off her brain for the rest of the day, but any hope of peace was gone.
Chapter 6
Cindy pulled her cranberry-colored Dodge Charger into a splendidly landscaped condominium community called The Landings at Huntington Ridge. Small, perfectly round bushes lined the entrance, and colorful floral arrangements set off the lush green lawns.
“Uh, Cindy, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to come to your apartment. It wouldn’t look—”
“Sh,” Cindy said. “Just be quiet and let me do this, okay?” She glanced at Carson as she drove her convertible through the gated community and laid her hand on his thigh, squeezing it lightly. He looked at her long, well-manicured fingernails and stroked the nubs on his chin, feeling uneasy.
Cindy drove up to the visitors’ gate and spoke loud
ly into the speaker. “Hi, my name is Cindy Lomax.”
“Um.” The voice hesitated as though its gatekeeper were searching through a list of names before finally saying, “Oh, here we are. Cynthia Lomax. Yes, Ms. Lomax. Your number is seven-three-four.”
“Thank you,” Cindy responded. Within seconds, the gate opened.
She drove through the gate and parked under a covered awning, turning off the ignition and giving Carson a look that said plainly, please open my door for me. Carson stepped out of the car and circled around to open Cindy’s door.
“Who says chivalry is dead?” Cindy smiled, accepting Carson’s hand and grabbing a plastic sack with the other.
Carson looked around admiring his environment. “Is this where you live?”
“Maybe,” Cindy responded with a charming grin.
When she came to building twenty-two thirty-seven, Carson saw what appeared to be a digital home alarm system. Cindy pressed seven-three-four to disengage the alarm and a lock box opened, revealing a key to the two-story condo.
They passed through the ceramic-tiled entryway into a magnificent living room with a gas fireplace. Through an arched doorway, Carson glimpsed a gourmet kitchen with granite countertops and what appeared to be custom-made cabinets. The place was large enough for at least three bedrooms and several baths. He wondered how Cindy could afford such an attractive, expensively furnished home on a freelance counselor’s salary.
“Close your mouth,” Cindy said, chuckling. “This place doesn’t belong to me.”
She sashayed over to the hi-fi system and selected a CD from the extensive collection. The sultry voice of Jill Scott floated around them, warming the atmosphere. “Have a seat,” she offered him. Flicking a switch, a blazing fire in the fireplace appeared, although the temperature inside was already quite comfortable.
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