Beautiful Disaster

by Laura Spinella

  Anger flashed through his dark eyes and he backed away from the possible bargaining power of seduction. “Everything you didn’t. You know, it was bad enough when I thought my wife wanted to leave me for her old college flame. But you left out a few pieces of information, hon. This man—”

  “Stop calling him that. You know his name.”

  “Yeah, and I understand he wasn’t too forthcoming with that either.”

  She nodded, biting her fingernail. “Okay, so now you know it all.” Well, not really all, but all you’re going to know for now. Mia paced the cold tile floor, launching into a recitation of facts. “Let me know if I miss anything. According to Roxanne, Flynn was a drifter who rolled into Athens and right into my bed. As you might have guessed, and she confirmed, I had a torrid affair with him. He had some lowly job, a sketchy background, and didn’t mesh so well with the status quo. Oh, and a criminal record, which I never got around to mentioning to Roxanne. She told you that she distrusted him from the second she saw him, that he was only using me for sex, or worse. She was sure he was going to break my heart, if not my neck! Come the following June, Roxanne wallowed in a moment of ‘I told you so’ when he did just that, simultaneously confirming all her suspicions. But because she prevailed, because Flynn was gone for good, she was compelled to offer a gracious consolation, agreeing to never mention him again.” Dizzying herself with the lack of breath, Mia ignored it and forged ahead. “Did she happen to use the Antichrist comparison? It makes for such a nice visual. Oh, and of course there’s the pesky detail about Flynn being a serial killer. I’m sure she managed to squeeze that in.”

  “Do you hear what you’re saying? Any of it? It doesn’t exactly cast him in a positive light.”

  “And every word of it is her version of what happened. I have a slightly different perspective, but I’m sure it doesn’t interest you.”

  “No, it doesn’t, and let me tell you why. I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if he had been the captain of the goddamn football team and carried a 4.0 GPA. You’re married to me. He left you! Where the fuck is the question?” Michael slammed his coffee mug into the sink, fat chunks of ceramic flying everywhere. “You and I have six years invested in one another. You had one lousy year with him!”

  “Well, maybe that alone tells you something about what we had.” Mia stopped short. She didn’t want to do this, to taunt him or make comparisons. It wasn’t about that. “Like I told you, there’s a lot to this story that you don’t know, and neither does Roxanne.” Mia turned and headed out of the kitchen. Halfway up the stairs, Michael was right behind her.

  “And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

  “To the hospital,” she said firmly, continuing to climb the stairs. Michael grabbed an arm, spinning her around on the landing. It was startling; he never passed by without less than an “excuse me.”

  “I don’t think so. We’re not finished. I told you last night I’m going to have a say in this, and I meant it. Walking away from this marriage isn’t going to be as simple as you think, Mia.”

  “What are you going to do, lock me in the bedroom? You can’t stop me from seeing him.”

  “Maybe. But I sure as hell can delay it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She gave a hard yank, surprised when her arm didn’t break free.

  Michael stepped up to the landing, rising above the level eye contact they were making. “All right, I’ll put my cards on the table. Roxanne and I had a very long talk this morning. She’s concerned, extremely concerned, about your mental state.”

  “My what?”

  “She saw what he did to you all those years ago, what he’s doing to you now. Roxanne said he’s got some kind of insane hold over you. From the time or two I saw you with him, I sure as hell didn’t get it. What you saw, or why you’d want to—Anyway,” Michael said, averting his gaze, “she says that you’re not yourself around him. From what I’ve witnessed, that’s a fair observation. According to Roxanne, you show all the signs of someone completely obsessed, irrational. Obviously you’re not thinking straight.”

  “Remind me, when did Roxanne get that degree in psychiatry? Cut to the chase, Michael. What are you getting at?”

  “I want you to not see him for a few days.”

  “You want me to what?” He might as well have asked her to cut off an arm. “No way. I’m not playing games, jerking him around. He just came out of a coma. I told him I’d be there, and by God, I will be!”

  “No, Mia, you’re not.” He finally let go, though his voice was eerily cool. His height, his frame, his willingness to navigate their everyday lives, it had been a protective trench. Now she wasn’t sure how to get around it. “You’re going to listen to me, answer a few more questions. Look at me and tell me you feel nothing, that our marriage is based on no more than me being second choice.”

  No, Michael, you were the only choice—but it doesn’t change anything. “You and Flynn, you’re never present in the same thought,” she insisted. “I was trying to move forward with what we had. Even so . . .”

  “Even so what?”

  “It’s not working, Michael. I can’t give you what you need regardless of Flynn.” Mia sighed, swallowing down the lump in her throat, saying out loud things she’d been thinking for the last year. “Is this what you want?” she asked, looking over his strong frame, his handsome face, the presence that said he was somebody. “For God’s sake, you’re Michael Wells—is this what you deserve from your wife? From your marriage?”

  “No, it’s not,” he said, the two of them agreeing. Silence followed his admission, and Mia turned, continuing up the stairs. “But I’m also willing to fight for what’s mine. You can’t erase the last six years, Mia. We have too much going for us.” She stopped, moved by the desperation . . . the determination in his voice. “I want . . . I want you to come away with me for the weekend.”

  She turned back, his anxious face waiting for something to go his way. A part of Mia wanted to say yes, to give him time to adjust to a truth that had shadowed the past twelve years. But he wouldn’t see it that way. Like sleeping in the same bed, it would be a sign of hope. “I can’t do that, Michael. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding. “Here’s an alternative plan. How about spending a couple of days chatting with the nice folks on the ninth floor at Good Samar—”

  “The pysch ward?” Her eyes bugged out of her head, appalled at what had just come out of his mouth. She’d sorely underestimated the lengths to which he was prepared to go. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Anything is possible, Mia—” He stopped short, collecting his demeanor. “Of course not. But I do think two days on an analyst’s couch and a mild sedative might do you a world of good.”

  “And what’s behind door number two, Michael? Thinking about having my memory erased?” She sourly spit the words out, but backed up one more step.

  His hands shot up in an apologetic gesture. “I don’t want the conversation to go like this. Maybe you can understand that I’m a little upset. One minute I’m booking a cruise and the next I’m mentally dividing community property. Can we at least sit down and talk?”

  She agreed, walking to the bedroom. Mia sat in her favorite chair near the window; Michael pulled over her vanity bench and sat close beside her. She watched the cleverness in his eyes as he mentally arranged his game plan.

  “Mia, he had his chance twelve years ago. He could have married you, asked you to drift away with him, or just kept using you like he did for that year.” She rolled her eyes in frustration. “Now wait. Just hear me out. According to Roxanne, what he chose to do was leave. Without a word, nothing. That’s what she told me. The fact that he could do that to you, it’s reason enough to hate him, in my book.”

  “I don’t hate him for it. Why should you?”

  He laughed a little, revealing deep dimples that caused his stone-chiseled face to go soft and kind. Michael gathered her hands in his, twisting around the p
latinum set of diamonds she wore. “Mia, you’re too forgiving. The way he lived, the way Flynn showed up in Athens. Can’t you see how he took advantage of you? Do you think you’re the only wom—Don’t you think that was his pattern? The man used you in ways I can’t begin to think about.” Michael’s concerned expression traveled her body. Mia clasped the front of her bathrobe together, the thought making them both uncomfortable. “All of this,” he said, his voice catching, “it makes me sick and hurt and angry. But the more I hear, the only thing I want to do is protect you from him.”

  “Michael,” she said softly, her fingers grazing his cheek. “I don’t need anyone to protect me from anything, but especially not from Flynn.”

  “Okay, tell me one solid thing about him that should make me believe that.” Her gaze avoided his, silently answering. “All right, help me to understand something else. When he left you, how long did it take to get over it, or at least go on with the part of your life that didn’t include interior design or passing time with some wayward teenager?”

  Mia looked down at her fingers, locked with his. “Six years,” she quietly admitted. “I had three dates until you and I both showed up at that alumni function.”

  “Damn, all the stars must have been perfectly aligned.” He shook his head, snickering. “At least it finally makes sense. I never could figure out why someone like you wasn’t engaged or married. Fate and then some,” he murmured.

  “Fate and . . . ?” Daydreamy platitudes were not how Michael handled life.

  “I’d asked Roxanne about you once or twice back in Athens. But I was in a different place, serious about getting my masters, taking the business world by storm. The timing wasn’t right. When you showed up at that alumni dinner, I thought fate was so kind . . . incredible, actually, giving me the chance I should have pounced on all those years ago.” Mia squirmed at the romantic notion. He cleared his throat, moving back to the business at hand. “Now I want you to tell me something else. When you saw him, saw Flynn last night, what did he say? Be honest with me—whatever it is.”

  Her lip quivered a little. She’d been fighting the lack of enthusiasm Flynn had shown in and out of her dreams. “He was in pain and he was groggy, Michael. It was hard for him to focus.”

  “Nevertheless, if he shared this great passion you seem to have for him, wouldn’t he have said as much? I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m saying it to keep you from getting hurt again.”

  She dabbed at a stray tear. “He, um, he wanted to know why I had waited there for him to wake up . . .”

  “I see. Not exactly the words of a man desperate to see you.” She wrinkled her forehead at him. It hurt more now than it had last night. “Now, let’s add something else to this equation, just a possibility. I know you don’t buy into Roxanne’s theory about those girls, and I’m not saying I do either. I don’t know enough about it. I’m willing to wait for the DNA.”

  “Roxanne is determined to chase that stupid theory of hers to the end of the earth. That DNA won’t prove he killed those girls.” On the other hand, it will remind the world he’s a wanted fugitive. “She’s taken a bunch of sketchy facts and decided it’s a slam dunk for motive and opportunity. You know how she is—”

  “Maybe so, but you can’t fault her for wanting to know if this man is a killer. Roxanne can be acerbic, opinionated, and blunter than a two-ton anvil—but she loves you. She’s only ever wanted your happiness. We both do.” The deep breath came from both of them; Mia knew how true it was. “So, based on everything we’ve just talked about, you tell me how I’m being unreasonable. I want to take my wife away, just for a couple of days, to clear her head and think things through.” He held tight to her hands, waiting for an answer. “It’s not an outrageous request, Mia. If you do love me at all, I should think it’s an easy decision.”

  All her doubts, highlighted in such meticulous order, delivered with such confident composure. Mia didn’t want to hear the sense he was making. “I don’t believe for a second that Flynn killed those girls. I’m not worried about the DNA for that reason.” She stopped. The urge to protect his secret was still strong. “You’re right, Michael, it was six years of hell after Flynn left. I didn’t care if I ever met anyone, ever loved anyone again, until I met you. That says something about us.”

  “I’ll take it, for now.” He hid a shaky sigh beneath a wall of confidence that was showing tiny fissures of stress.

  “But I can’t go away with you,” Mia said, her voice cracking under the strain, knowing how much it was hurting him.

  He nodded. There was a defeated look in his eyes that she couldn’t bear. “Okay, an afternoon,” he said, managing a smile. “Get in the car with me and just go for a drive. Maybe it will clear your head—or mine. Maybe the time will help me understand.”

  Mia opened her mouth, unsure what to say. But something else weighed in on the decision. “My final presentation. It’s scheduled for late this afternoon at the mock office—then dinner to discuss the details,” she said, having lost focus in the whirlwind of drama. “I haven’t even moved the last drawings to computer graphics.”

  “You’ll make your meeting. And if you need an extension, I’ll see to it that Aaron Hough grants it.”

  She smiled into his sober face, shaking her head. “Michael, you don’t even know Aaron Hough. While your negotiation skills are legendary, I doubt a multimillionaire mogul is going to cave to your demands.”

  “He’ll do it,” he assured her. “It’s a few hours. Please, Mia, tell me I’m worth that much to you.”

  He was worth far more than she could offer, but Mia couldn’t make him understand. It was absurd to think that she’d come up with words in an afternoon, delivering a realization that only time could provide. On the other hand, it seemed beyond cruel to refuse.

  As Mia dressed, pulling a sweater from the closet, her gaze filtered over the dusty past on a shelf. A bag of broken glass and a filthy pillowcase. A worn cotton T-shirt and a pretty box filled with photographs. She’d bought the box from a boutique on her last trip out of Athens. Years later, when Michael and Mia bought their home, there was the obligatory discussion about warranties and insurance, the subject segueing to what you might save first in a fire. For this reason Michael insisted on a fireproof safe, keeping important possessions out of harm’s way. That was good, she’d thought, that way there would be nothing to stop her from saving what was most valuable.

  Chapter 27

  “It’s all right. I understand. I can barely hear you,” Flynn said, sitting in a chair, poking at a bowl full of lime-green gelatin. “Mia, are you crying? Well, you sound like you’re crying, sweet—” He didn’t say it. “No, okay . . . Yeah, they’ve got me up and moving, must need the bed space. I’m already doing laps around the ICU . . . Yes, I’m kidding. A slow walk . . . Sure, we’ll talk then . . .” Before he could say good-bye she hung up. The only part that seemed authentic was a brief exchange about the sketches surrounding him. There was a gust of happiness in her voice when he’d asked about them. Staring at the wobbly mass of Jell-O, he shoved the stand across the room, the wheeled cart almost taking flight. But a white lab coat breezed around the corner just in time to prevent anything from happening.

  “Temper, temper. I see even a coma hasn’t curbed your ugly outbursts, as I might have predicted.”

  His dismal expression turned positively black as the brewing blond storm approached. “And I see your bedside manner sucks—just as I would have predicted.” He squinted up at her, wishing he could jump to his feet. Having Roxanne bearing down over him was an untenable position to be in.

  With a predatory gleam in her eye, like a barn cat preparing to bat around its prey, she asked, “Mind if I sit?” He shrugged and looked out the window; at least it leveled the field. “Did you know I saved your life? Twice? First in the ER when they brought you in, and then up here when you coded. How’s that for twisted irony? No need to thank me. You probably ought to just thank God for that Hippocratic oat
h. Otherwise, it might have gone another way.”

  His head did a slow turn from the window, giving her a long once-over. Time had frozen, having little effect on her. She was an ice sculpture, a cold sparkling beauty full of sharp edges. “Must have been a tough call. Great, now I owe you. Had I known, I would have just stayed in the coma. Is there a reason for this unholy reunion, or did you have a change of heart, decide to do me in after all.”

  “Mmm, murder. Not really my area of expertise.” She cocked her head, meeting a look that he was trying hard to hold neutral. “I understand you don’t remember much from before the accident. A blow like that usually knocks out all short-term memory, maybe more.” She paused, waiting. Silence was the only response he was offering. “Frankly, I’m amazed you’re able to recall your own name, never mind what you were doing here. Is, um, is any of it coming back? Do you remember anything?”

  You’re nervous, Roxanne. What are you so worried about? Why do you want to know what I remember? Okay, I’ll play. I’ve got nothing to lose. But you, Roxanne, what’s at stake for you? “No, it’s all a big blank, fits in good with the rest of my past. I do remember that I was trying to find Mia before the accident.”

  “Why couldn’t you have just stayed gone? Good Lord, she probably had herself convinced you were dead.”

  Why would she think I was dead? She knew where I was. Once more he tried to put it together in his head. He’d spent the past five months searching for Mia and found nothing. He’d gone back to Athens, to Atlanta where she was supposed to have taken an internship, to her hometown in Maryland, nothing. Her mother had moved away, a dead end. That’s when he decided it might be easier to find Roxanne. And apparently, he had. His eyes flew open wide as the first piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

  “Well? Surely you were up to something, and I can only imagine what. Your ego amazes me. Did you really think she’d be hanging around waiting for you? You ought to try pursuing someone closer to your own socioeconomic scale. Prostitutes come through the ER all the time. Maybe I can hook you up.”