Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  He exhaled. “Sisters.”

  “Don’t you ‘sister’ me! You’ve been in a coma for two days. You almost died. I heard Turner say that the paramedic who brought you in told him they must have gotten to you in the nick of time, because he couldn’t even feel a heartbeat when he first assessed you. If it hadn’t been for those two skateboarders . . .” She hiccupped. “You’re giving up working for the force.”

  Cary rolled his eyes and looked at Beth, mentally pleading for her to do something to control his out-of-control sister.

  She must have gotten his subliminal message because she spoke up, “You know what, why don’t we let him recover just a bit before we kick his ass?”

  “Now there’s a thought,” he said sarcastically.

  That’s all it took to bring Kelly to tears. Wet liquid sadness filled her eyes, and that’s all it took for him to feel guilty. Eight years his senior, Kelly had put her life on hold after their mother passed away to get both him and Beth through high school and college.

  “I was so scared we were going to lose you.” She grabbed his hand and held it so tight the bones in his fingers cracked.

  “I’m too mean to die,” he said, and again thought about the dream he’d had—crazy old people, a cupid named after pork, and a hot brunette. He recalled the part of the dream about sharing secrets with that brunette and crawling into her bed and kissing her. He recalled how he’d felt when she’d told him about her ex fiancé and how he’d longed to fix the wrong done to her.

  Closing his eyes, he ran a palm over his eyes. Good thing she wasn’t real. He didn’t want a woman like that. Not one he’d be tempted to confide his secrets to. Not one he wanted to bundle up close and protect. Not one he could love. He’d been there. Done that. He wasn’t getting back on that bull.

  The door to his room swished open and in walked Turner and Danny. “About damn time you woke up,” Danny said.

  “Yeah,” Turner said, “You get shot and expect us to find the guy without telling us shit.”

  “That’s in part because he’s quitting the force,” Kelly said.

  Cary turned and glared at Kelly and then sent another begging look at Beth.

  She got it again, and said, “Why don’t we go down for coffee and let these guys argue with him for a while.”

  Chapter Eight

  The moment Chloe pulled up in front of the bakery and saw two Channel 34 vans parked out front next to her friend, Sheri’s car, she smelled trouble. As soon as she stepped out of her car, she smelled something else. Burning cake. Hurrying inside, she spotted Sheri standing in the corner chatting with the news media personnel, and Amber refilling coffee. She bypassed both of them to run to the kitchen.

  Smoke was billowing out of the ovens. “Crap,” she said and hurried to snatch a pair of oven mitts. She knew it was too late to save the cupcakes, but maybe she could save the bakery from burning down.

  Amber came running in behind her. “I’m so sorry. It’s been a zoo here today.”

  Chloe set the extra brown cupcakes on the counter and looked back. “It’s okay. I burn a batch at least once a month.” Or she used to when she was writing regularly.

  “Did you see Sheri is here?” Amber asked.

  “Yeah, I spotted her.”

  “I hope it’s okay. I was going to call you, but I was afraid you were still talking to cops. So I called her when the press showed up and started hounding me with questions. I tried to answer some, but then I got afraid I was making a mess of things, so I called her.”

  Chloe sighed. “It’s okay.” She just didn’t want Sheri to turn this into a promo event. It didn’t seem right.

  “You made the paper today,” Amber said.

  “Oh, crap,” Chloe sighed.

  “No, it was a good article. They even used the picture of you standing in front of the bakery.”

  Sheri marched into the room with a big publicist smile on her face. “This is so freaking great.”

  Chloe frowned. “I told you not to make this into a promo opportunity.”

  “I didn’t. They did.”

  “Why do I find that hard to believe? Who sent the newspaper the picture?”

  “You’re forgetting, they took that picture and had it in their files when they did that story almost two years ago. I didn’t contact anyone. It’s probably hard to believe because you don’t trust anyone anymore.” Her friend actually sounded hurt.

  For some reason, Chloe remembered saying something similar to Cary Stevens. Her Cary Stevens, not the real one. “Sorry. I just feel crazy,” she said to Sheri.

  “Look,” Sheri said, “the little girl you saved has an older sister, too, and when she found out who you were—Chloe Sanders, author of My Best Friend—she totally freaked and wanted to meet you. So they are on their way and the film crew wants to film you serving them cupcakes and signing a book to her and her sister. I know you don’t want the publicity, but honestly, I couldn’t pay for this kind of PR. You have to do this.”

  Chloe closed her eyes and leaned against the counter. “Me saving that girl has nothing to do with me being a writer or the owner of the bakery.”

  “No, but has everything to do with you being Chloe Sanders, and Chloe Sanders is a writer and cupcake connoisseur. Why have you suddenly become afraid of PR? I swear you won’t even let me buy an ad.”

  “I’m not afraid of it.” But the words left a dishonest taste in her mouth. She was kind of afraid. Seeing her name time and time again, and reading about Jerry’s suicide in the papers had been traumatic. Then his death had spurred a week of articles about the signs of depression. It was as if she could read the doubt in the reporter’s mind. Why hadn’t Jerry’s fiancé known he was about to kill himself? How could she have been about to marry a man and not realize he was suffering from severe depression?

  “Then what’s the problem?” Sheri asked.

  I died yesterday and haven’t recovered from my visit to Room Six. “Nothing you can fix,” she said. “Oh, hell, I’ll do it.”

  “Great.” Sheri did a little leap of joy and then stepped back and gave Chloe a long onceover. “Not looking like that, you aren’t. You’re not even wearing makeup. But hey, that’s okay. I brought my purse. Let’s go to the office and get you presentable.”

  “I can’t look that bad,” Chloe snapped as Sheri dragged her into the office. “I got hit on by your cop friend.”

  “What? You met Dan?”

  “Yes,” Chloe said, and when she recalled again all the strange coincidences happening lately, an uncomfortable feeling swelled inside her.

  “Where?” Sheri asked.

  “He came to my apartment this morning,” Chloe said.

  “What? I didn’t give him your address, just your number.”

  “No, he didn’t come because of . . . me. But about the accident.” Chloe debated confiding in Sheri about the dreams, but she didn’t have time to have a meltdown before being filmed.

  “Oh.” Then Sheri did another little joyful jump. “Isn’t he dream-worthy?” she asked.

  Chloe frowned, still trying to fight how insane it all sounded. “He’s okay.”

  “Okay? Please. He’s yummy. Like movie-star good.”

  Chloe studied her friend and heard the soft tone in her voice. “You like him.”

  “Of course I do. Why else would I try to fix you up with him?”

  “No, I mean you like him, like him. Like as in ‘want his body’ like him.”

  “No, I . . . I’m engaged to Kevin.”

  “But you still like Dan,” Chloe accused. Lately, Chloe got the strangest feeling her friend was having second thoughts about marrying Kevin. And maybe not just second thoughts, but third ones. Just last month, she’d postponed the wedding another six months. She blamed it on not being able to get the country club, but now Chloe wondered.

  “I like Dan. I think he’s yummy, for you—not for me.” She pulled out her makeup bag.

  “Are you sure?” Chloe asked, taking the b
ag.

  “Of course I’m sure. I have Kevin. I love Kevin.” But something about the sound of her friend’s voice didn’t sound so confident.

  “Besides, when you sleep with him, you’ll tell me all about it and I’ll live vicariously through you.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with him.”

  “Yes, you will,” Sheri said. “And you’ll be kicking Bob to the curb.”

  “Not Bob. I’m committed to Bob,” Chloe said.

  Sheri laughed. “Come on, let’s get you beautiful.”

  • • •

  As Cary’s sisters walked out, he watched the two detectives from the Glencoe Police department move in. Danny was Cary’s partner. Turner was also a detective, and both of them were as close as friends could be. Having all married and divorced around the same time, they joined together and vowed not to let the others fall for that trap again.

  Of course, Turner had gone against the No Ball and Chain Gang promise and let himself fall in love. Not that Cary didn’t like Reese. Turner actually seemed happy, but Cary didn’t trust happy. He’d been happy with Korine.

  “How are you really?” Turner asked.

  “Fine. You know who did this?” Cary asked.

  “Have we ever let you down?” Danny asked, cutting Cary his cocky grin.

  “Seriously,” Cary said, not wanting to play games. His mind was too busy toying with him about Chloe Sanders—how real the dreams had felt, how absurd the possibility was that they could be—he didn’t need any more games.

  “Seriously,” Turner said. “We haven’t got him in custody, but as we speak, we’ve got people running his last known address.”

  “Who’s last known address?” Cary asked and he started remembering the dream again. His dream girl had described . . .

  “J.D. Andrews,” Turner answered.

  Cary fought not to flinch. “How . . . how do you know it was him?”

  “Because we’re good,” Danny said.

  “No, how?” Cary asked again, feeling the tugs on his sanity.

  “The piece of shit was also involved in a hit and run,” Turner said.

  Those damn tugs grew harder. “How could . . . But that couldn’t . . .”

  Danny’s phone rang. He took the call. “Yeah.” He looked at Cary and nodded his head as if communicating that it was info on the case.

  Probably J.D.’s address. But how the hell had . . . It couldn’t have been . . .

  “Text it to me,” Danny said and hung up. “We got it.” Danny looked at Turner. “You ready?”

  “Let me get my clothes on,” Cary muttered and started to sit up.

  “You can’t go,” Turner said in a serious tone.

  “You just lay on your butt,” Danny teased. “You’re good at it. We’ll get this guy.”

  “No,” Cary said, but the moment he got upright, things started to spin a little and his leg throbbed. “Damn it!” he muttered.

  “Chill.” Turner moved in and put his hand on Cary’s shoulder. “Seriously, take it easy. You’ll be back at it in no time. We got this.”

  “Do you want me to find that blond nurse I spotted earlier and tell her you need a sponge bath?” Danny asked.

  Cary frowned, but then he had no alternative but to watch them leave. No alternative but sit and wonder how the hell he could have known about J.D., or about the hit and run accident.

  • • •

  “My mom says you saved my sister’s life,” the eleven-year-old girl said to Chloe.

  “She might be exaggerating a little,” Chloe said and smiled at Eva, Lucy’s sister.

  “I love your books.” Eva’s grin brightened her eyes. “When is the next one coming out?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” She wasn’t sure of anything in her life anymore.

  And that’s all it took. All it took for Chloe to start missing her career as a writer. She loved writing stories and sharing them with the young girls. She missed that part of her life. But Jerry ruined that for her, too.

  “Can you sign my books for me?”

  “I would love to,” Chloe said, aware of the cameras rolling. Eva chatted as Chloe autographed the books.

  “My favorite scene was when Ruby told Elsie that she hadn’t lost any of her power. And then Elsie found her way out the woods. Your books always make me feel as if I can do anything.”

  “You can do anything if you’re willing to work for it.” Chloe smiled, but she had to force it, because the words felt like a lie. She didn’t believe. Didn’t trust herself. She couldn’t even trust her own mind. She had an imaginary boyfriend. Oh, God, had she just lied to a kid?

  “Will you come to my school? We had another author come last year, but I didn’t like her books as much as I do yours. ”

  “I . . . well, I’ll have to see about it, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. Right then, little Lucy came running up. “You saved me,” she said. “And you made me a cupcake.” Her chubby arms wrapped around Chloe’s neck.

  Pulling back, she looked at the little girl and a lump grew in her throat. She didn’t even know why she wanted to cry, but she knew it had something to do with all she’d lost. Her dreams of a family. Of a little girl to call her own. Dreams of her career continuing. Of visiting schools and inspiring young girls like Eva.

  “That was perfect,” the cameraman said. “We’re probably going to do a short piece on this tonight, but we’ll cover it completely next Friday for the Neighbor to Neighbor segment. That’s the feel good program we do.”

  Chloe nodded, thinking none of this really felt all that good. Then, trying not to let her emotions show, she offered a “Thank you.” She looked over to find Sheri talking to the reporter. The two sisters jumped up and went to stand by their mom. Chloe forced herself to move in and tell the mom thank you for bringing the girls.

  Before she got completely away from the crowd, tears started to collect in Chloe’s eyes. “Excuse me,” she said and went to hide in her office.

  • • •

  Cary raised the head of his bed and then lowered it. He couldn’t get comfortable. He wanted to get up and move, but with a bad leg and a bare ass naked under the gown, he couldn’t get up without mooning his sisters.

  “You need some pain medicine?” Kelly asked, obviously seeing his scowl.

  “No.”

  “Do you mind if I turn the television on?” Beth asked.

  “No,” he said again, not liking being in a grumpy mood, but unable to pull himself out of it.

  The TV came on. And just like that, it hit. A logical way that he knew about J.D. and about the hit and run accident.

  “Shit!” he bellowed out.

  “What?” Beth asked.

  “Did you have the television on while I was out?”

  “Yes,” Kelly answered. “Why? Did it bother you?”

  “No.” He smiled. The first one since he’d woken up. “Did they have anything about a hit and run?”

  “You mean the writer, Chloe Sanders?” Kelly asked. “Bella loves her books. She’s been begging me to take her to the bakery that the woman owns.”

  “Yes!” He laughed. “She’s a writer. I didn’t know she owns a bakery.”

  “That explains it,” Beth said.

  Yes, it did! His gaze shot to Beth, suddenly realizing he hadn’t said anything. “Explains what?”

  “What you said when were out. You called out the name Chloe,” his sister said. “You must have—”

  “I must have heard it on the news.” He collapsed back on his pillow, feeling normal again. Oh, he was still pissed he couldn’t go with Danny and Turner to personally run down J.D., but he could handle pissed. For the last few years, pissed had pretty much been his normal state. Anger he could take. But thinking he’d taken a trip to Room Six and had a love angel peeking into his sex life—that was a bit more difficult to swallow.

  Nor could he handle the idea that he’d been sharing secrets with a beautiful woman and wanting to make the wrongs in
her world right.

  Suddenly, he realized something else. He might have heard the story, but he hadn’t seen it. Which meant he’d imagined her to be gorgeous and tempting. Hell, she was probably a middle-aged, dumpy writer who ate too many of her own sweet concoctions.

  Just like that, he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. He looked at his two sisters. “I’m sorry I’ve been hard to deal with.”

  Kelly made a face. “Do you mean since you woke up from a coma, or for the last two years?”

  He laughed, but in truth, he knew she was serious. His divorce, or rather the reason for his divorce, had changed him. And only on rare occasions, like in the dream, did he glimpse his old self.

  Chapter Nine

  Chloe buried her face in her hands and tried to curtail the tears. She heard the office door open and knew it was Sheri. She yanked up her big girl panties and wiped at a few tears on her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” Hearing her friend’s caring voice had the knot in her throat doubling.

  “Nothing.” Chloe sat up straighter and looked back.

  “Are you lying?” Sheri pointed a finger at her. “You never lie.”

  “I’m not lying, I’m just . . . not being completely honest.”

  “You’re crying. About damn time, too. You never even cried at the funeral.”

  Not in public she hadn’t, but alone, Chloe had cried enough to learn the relationship between tears and migraines. “Okay, everything’s wrong.” She rolled her chair around and faced her best friend. And just like that, more tears started falling. “I don’t trust myself to write. To date. To love. I want the old Chloe back.”

  “Now, now. There’s nothing wrong with the new you.” Sheri paused. “Except you have raccoon eyes from your makeup.” She reached around and pulled a tissue out of the box on her desk and handed it to her. “Add a runny nose to go with the raccoon eyes. And it’s kind of gross-looking. You have . . .” She patted her upper lip as if telling Chloe to do the same.