“I tried to make you a latte.” I would have thought that much should have been obvious. My voice sounded petulant and whiny in my own ears and my hand was still stinging.
Eva didn’t look impressed. She pressed her lips together in apparent disapproval. Leaving the water on and running over the wound, she inspected the largest burned spots on my hand and wrist.
“Keep it under water. Where’s your first aid kit?”
“I don’t have one.”
Another disapproving look. Was I supposed to have a first aid kit? It’s not like I hurt myself very often. I suppose that was exactly why one should keep a first aid kit.
“Ibuprofen?” She asked hopefully.
I pointed to the bathroom and she returned a moment later and made me take two. The look on her face made me too afraid to argue with her. I didn’t miss that she took one herself. Maybe I’d given her a headache.
“You’ve got a first, maybe second-degree steam burn. It might blister. Don’t pick at it.”
“I’m not supposed to spread some butter on it?” I’d always been told to put butter on kitchen burns.
She rolled her eyes. “Not unless you want it to hurt more and then get a nasty infection. Whoever started that old wives tale ought to be smacked.”
“My mom says it helps the burn heal and makes it hurt less.”
“Well your mom is totally wrong. The greasy butter holds the heat in. That means you keep burning. That makes it hurt more. Then bad bacteria get a nice sugary, fatty meal to help them thoroughly colonize the wound.” Eva didn’t sugar coat her professional direction.
“Gross.”
“Yep. Especially if you get a flesh-eating bacteria up in there.”
Eva rooted around in my pantry like she owned it and returned with some cling wrap. She gently dried my burn with a dab of a paper towel and then wrapped me up like leftovers.
“This is better than Band-Aids for burns,” she told me. “Change it daily. Keep it clean. Don’t put anything weird on it.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said obediently. I received a raised eyebrow in return and stole a kiss shamelessly. In truth, I was enjoying being doted on and fussed over. Wallace certainly didn’t care if I burned myself. He probably enjoyed seeing me suffer, the furry little sadist. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had cared for me like this. Unfortunately, Eva pulled back from my kiss with a totally blank expression on her face.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Edith was murdered,” Eva replied as she put the cling wrap back where she’d found it. Her voice was disturbingly matter of fact.
I slumped down onto one of my barstools in disbelief. “Huh?”
“Edith was murdered,” Eva repeated, placing my espresso in front of me and then demonstrating the correct technique for milk frothing. Apparently, you were supposed to wiggle the wand around? “It’s really obvious from the autopsy photos. She was strangled. It wasn’t natural causes like the report said.”
I swallowed hard.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ll show you.” She went to fetch the pictures.
I honestly wasn’t sure if I had it in me, but I didn’t want her to think I couldn’t handle it. She returned with a photo that looked like something out of an episode of CSI but far, far worse. In it, Edith lay on a metal examination table. Her only clothing was a toe tag. A Y-shaped incision crossed her chest and extended downward on her bony torso. She’d been extremely thin. Edith’s head was turned to the side, thankfully facing away from the camera, but dark purple lines marked her skin on her neck and wrists. Bile rose in the back of my throat, but I managed to keep the Thai food down. Barely.
“These bruises are called ligature marks,” Eva explained. Her voice was clinical and detached. “All that means is that they’re impressions from whatever did the damage to the underlying tissue. You can see that this was made by some kind of cord or rope. There are no fingertip impressions. There are matching marks on her wrists and ankles. The gaps indicate that her wrists were probably crossed and tied behind her back. She might have been hogtied, actually, but it’s hard to tell. No matter what, she definitely choked to death.”
“You can tell this from just the pictures?” I was stunned.
Eva nodded.
“I’ve never seen this before, not with a death,” she admitted. “I know what I’m looking at though. One of my professors in nursing school was a forensic pathologist. We had a whole unit on identifying violence by bruise patterns. You have to know this stuff, how to identify abuse, so you can report it if you see… you know, with kids or other people who can’t tell you like the elderly…”
The thought made my stomach turn. Kids and old people being abused? Fuck that. Being a nurse sounded awful.
“Edith was murdered.” I repeated it again, just because I knew I’d have to talk to Richard about this now and I would have to work up to it. Eva looked at me in wide eyed silence.
As I sat lost in thought, Eva waited. Eventually, she got up. She puttered around my apartment, throwing away the remains of our food, washing out her coffee cup, and rinsing off our plates from dinner. I should have been telling her to stop, that she had no obligation to do any chores, but I seemed to be momentarily paralyzed. This day was too much. I knew what was going to happen next, and I couldn’t handle it.
“I’m going home now,” Eva said next. Her declaration cut through my introspection and I snapped back to the present in a dizzy flash. I blinked. How much time had passed? She was staring at me with a strange look on her face.
“Ok. I’ll drive you.” I stood up and reached for my watch and keys. Over two hours had gone by while I’d sat silently staring at the autopsy photos. I’d been totally zoned out and ignoring Eva. Fuck!
“No need. I already called an Uber. The driver is right outside.” She pushed my shoulder down until I was seated again. I looked up at her with feelings I couldn’t articulate swimming around my brain. I didn’t want her to go but wasn’t going to ask her to stay. I didn’t deserve her.
“Eva?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry. About everything. I’ve not… I’ve not done well tonight. I’m sorry I’ve just been vacantly staring into space and ignoring you. You deserve better. Are you angry with me?”
“No. Of course not.” She looked at me with what looked like pity and then kissed me on the forehead. I felt like dog shit.
“Can I call you?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. I think you need to focus on taking care of yourself. I can tell you’re really stressed. I guess it’s still just not our time. Bye Charlie.” Her smile was sad.
“Bye.”
12
Eva
Wednesday was my day off, and I spent most of it curled up in my bed and wallowing in miserable self-pity. For once in my life I’d done something adventurous and it backfired in spectacular fashion. Charlie was in no shape to be with anyone right now. I actually felt like I’d taken advantage of him, which was not a situation I thought I’d ever find myself in with a man.
And then there was Edith. I’d never known her, but I’d now met her father and her three surviving siblings. She’d been murdered, and her family all thought she died from a heart attack. How had the coroner’s report been so incredibly wrong? Who had done this to Edith and why?
There were far too many questions. My brain wasn’t equipped to deal with any of them, either, because it was inordinately preoccupied with sex. All I really wanted, if I was being really, truly honest with myself, was to jump back into bed with Charlie and forget everything.
But Charlie wasn’t around, and he wouldn’t be around any time soon. I curled around my pillow and tried desperately not to think about him. I tried not to think about his soft lips, his strong arms, the way he’d held me tightly in his car when we were done having sex the night before. I tried not to think about the first orgasm I’d ever experienced through penetrative se
x or how wild and free I’d felt on top of him. I tried, and failed, not to think about Charlie all day long.
After a full eight hours of thinking about nothing but sex and death, I eventually made myself get up. My stomach was demanding food, and I still smelled like Charlie. A shower helped with the second thing. The first would require actually leaving my room. I pouted at my reflection in my bathroom mirror and finally worked up the initiative to go to the grocery store around five pm.
I didn’t get far. Standing in the hallway outside of my room was the Durant family’s maid, Meredith, with one fist raised to knock. We both jumped back in surprise and then laughed. It felt good to laugh.
“Hi Eva,” Meredith said through her chuckles. “It’s your day off, right? Thomas gets off in thirty minutes and we were wondering if you want to come with us to get a pedicure and some dinner.”
Meredith and I hadn’t had much opportunity to get acquainted yet. She did most of her cleaning when Alexander Junior and Richard were out of the mansion, which meant she kept as erratic of a schedule as they did. When she wasn’t cleaning, Meredith helped Rita with their meals. The elder Alexander might be a handful, but at least he had a routine.
“I’ve never had a pedicure before,” I heard myself admitting. I’d not thought it possible that I could handle social interaction, but spending more time alone was probably a recipe for disaster.
“Great!” Meredith said with a big, toothy grin. I hadn’t actually said I would go yet, but she didn’t seem to care. “Meet you outside in ten.” She traipsed back down the corridor and flipped her long, chestnut brown hair behind her shoulder. “Make sure you wear flip-flops and some pants you can roll up!”
I looked down at my crocs and scrubs. Somehow, they’d found their way back onto my body. Yeah, probably anything would be better than these. I dove back into my room, and my closet, to change.
An hour and a half later, I was fed and sitting in a pedicure chair for the first time in my life.
“Is it clean?” I whispered at my companions when the pedicurists were out of earshot. I stared down at the filling basin at the base of my massage chair with a sudden wave of fear. “What if there’s MRSA in there?”
Thomas snickered.
“Don’t be a baby,” he said.
“What’s a mer-sah?” Meredith asked.
“It’s an acronym for Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. It’s a really horrible strain of bacteria,” I answered, and Thomas rolled his eyes and groaned. “It’s resistant to antibiotics and loves to live near open wounds and warm, moist environments. You know, like nail salons.”
“There’s no MRSA at this nail salon,” Thomas said. He pointed at the inspection certificate hanging on the wall. “Let me relax and get my calluses removed in peace.”
“I don’t want other people’s nasty bacteria on my feet,” Meredith said hesitantly.
“Oh my god, there’s no MRSA,” Thomas said again. He looked at me in exasperation and then whispered. “Tell her there’s no MRSA before she googles it and looks at the pictures. She’ll freak out.”
I frowned and quickly read the inspection certificate. It did say this place passed hygienic and met all relevant safety standards. But hospitals were supposed to be clean, too. The reality was that hospitals made just as many well people sick as they helped to get well.
“There’s probably no MRSA,” I said. There might have been, actually, but I didn’t want to freak Meredith out. I needed to make friends. I stuck my feet down in the warm, frothy water and tried to relax. It felt… pretty damn good. “Forget I said anything.”
“Ok, it’s high time for a subject change,” Thomas said. “How was your date with the hot shot hot lawyer Eva?”
I blushed.
“It wasn’t a date.”
Meredith squinted at me from her chair. “Why do you look all embarrassed about it then?”
“He’s my brother’s best friend,” I mumbled.
They exchanged a look between them.
“Yeah. Ok. So, what?” Thomas asked. He seemed genuinely confused.
I blinked. Did I stutter? Didn’t he hear me?
“What do you mean, so what? I’m not supposed to be into my brother’s best friend.” Wasn’t that obvious?
“Why not?” Meredith said. “I mean I’m an only child, but I don’t get it. You’re a grown-ass, grown-up woman. He’s a grown-up man. You two can be into whoever you want.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “If anything, and I’m not exactly an expert on the so-called bro code, but I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to be into you. I think the other way around is fine.” He pursed his lips and examined my blushing face. “Oh no, you two already did it, didn’t you?”
Meredith chuckled.
These two were going to be the death of me.
“Um…” I managed.
“And how was he?” Meredith asked. “We’re going to need details here Ms. Eva. Details.”
Discussing my sex life with strangers and coworkers was not exactly my MO. I could feel my face burning.
“I don’t think she even needs to tell us. That expression really says it all, don’t you think?” Thomas said to Meredith. She nodded knowingly.
“Well color me jealous,” she said with a smirk. “When’s the wedding? Can I be a bridesmaid? I’ve been a bridesmaid five times over. I’m really good at it.”
“I don’t think there’s going to be a wedding,” I said grumpily. “I don’t even think there’s going to be a second non-date. I asked him not to call.”
“Why not?” Meredith asked. She looked at me with an expression of curiosity, and not a small amount of jealousy. She was broadcasting something that wasn’t quite on my frequency. I got the feeling Meredith was holding something back about herself. I’m not sure what her story was, but there was something about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I also couldn’t figure out how to answer that question. Instead, something meaningless and boring came out of my mouth.
“I just don’t think it will work out,” I finally said. I shook my head sadly. “He’s got too much going on right now in his life. And we’re just too different. It was just a one-time thing. Sometimes that’s better. Maybe he’ll call anyway, but I don’t think so.”
“I hear you,” Meredith said. “Temporary is good sometimes. Men are just not like us. They’re a different species.”
Clearly, Thomas assumed that he was not included in Meredith’s statement about men. He nodded right along with her.
“My ex didn’t know how to communicate his feelings to save his life,” Thomas said. “Men aren’t taught how to do that as kids, you know. It’s too womanly.”
“Then you grow up and realize that not knowing how to tell people how you feel sets you up for nothing but frustration and disappointment,” I replied.
My dad, despite his many antiquated notions about most things, made a concerted effort to make sure that Dylan and I both understood that masculinity and feelings were not mutually exclusive. Maybe because the military had so much toxic machismo built in, dad tried his hardest to keep it out of his personal life. I wish my mom had been around to ask where my dad managed to obtain his progressive approach to parenting, but she died when I was just a baby. My dad took on both the traditional father and many of the traditional mother roles for my brother and me.
“Do you think that’s why you won’t see him again? Charlie? He’s emotionally stunted?” Thomas asked.
I shook my head.
“No, I don’t think that’s his problem.” I thought about it for a second. Half of me wanted to tell Meredith and Thomas about Edith, or about Charlie’s sick mom, but for some reason I didn’t feel like I could. I felt like I would be betraying Charlie somehow. “He just… there’s too much happening in his life right now.”
Meredith sighed.
“If everyone waited until the perfect time to fall in love, nobody ever would,” she said.
“
What about you, Meredith?” I asked, and she looked at me with a blank stare. I knew there was something up with her. “Are you seeing anyone?”
She frowned and fidgeted in her seat “Not right now. I’ve been talking with someone, but nothing has happened yet.”
“Details,” I insisted, echoing her from earlier. “I need more details than that Ms. Meredith.”
Thomas was watching my interaction with Meredith with interest.
“Are you finally gonna’ spill or keep us both in suspense?” He asked her when she noticed his stare and blushed. Thomas turned to me. “I’ve been trying to get her to admit who she’s been carrying a torch for. It’s been weeks and she still hasn’t admitted it.”
“I promise I won’t tell whoever it is,” I told her honestly. “I don’t know anyone in this town.” The likelihood of me knowing Meredith’s crush was near zero, even if I was a huge blabbermouth.
Meredith shook her head.
“It’s nobody you guys know,” she said finally when we continued to stare at her. “It’s my ex. He keeps calling me and saying that he wants to get back together. He might show up here any day for all I know.”
“The ex you moved from California to escape?” Thomas asked. He didn’t look impressed. “That douche needs to lose your number.”
Meredith looked less convinced. “He says he’s clean now. That rehab worked for him. That he’s better. And I… I really do miss him.”
“What is he addicted to?” I asked as gently as I could. I understood that addiction was an illness and not a personal failing, but there was still a huge societal stigma. I didn’t want Meredith to think that I judged him, or her.
Thomas was less delicate in his reply. “What isn’t he addicted to? He’s a raging alcoholic with a part time substance addiction and a recreational gambling problem. He just finished a three-year stint incarcerated for DWI.”
I gulped. Meredith’s problems were way worse than mine. Having an emotionally overwhelmed guy in my heart was a thousand times less stressful than what she was contending with.
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