The mystery man appeared to be middle-aged, wearing a white t-shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His aviator-style sunglasses covered most of his face, but I could see pockmarks on his cheeks. He had a very dark tan—nearly red—with a large tattoo of a wolf on his right upper arm.
I’m just being paranoid
, I told myself. But then again, my “disguise” was not all that clever. Anyone who’d watched the news lately would have seen my picture sprawled across their TV screens. Probably some nosy resident trying to catch a glimpse of the woman who might have killed her husband. But then again…
I gathered my things and scuttled out of Paradise Cove toward the minivan. I sat there behind the wheel for a few minutes to see if Wolf Tattoo followed me out. He eventually exited the pool area, stopped, looked straight in my direction with his hand held up to shield his eyes from the sun, then turned and walked toward the other side of the parking lot. I watched as he climbed into a…yep, it was a black truck. So it was
the same guy. Goose pimples rose all over my body when I realized this was most definitely the man who’d been following me for over a week, at least.
I was half tempted to march right over there and ask him what his problem was, but the more cautious, more intelligent part of me knew that would be rather unwise. He could
be just following me out of morbid curiosity. He could be a news reporter, though unlike any reporter I’d ever seen. Or, he could be someone who meant me harm. He could have a gun or a knife, and I could wind up murdered right here in the parking lot of the local swimming hole.
Instead, I put the minivan in reverse and headed toward home, checking my rearview mirror every few minutes.
Before I made it to Mom’s street, I passed by a little bar in a strip mall close to her house called Willie’s. I had been there before with Ryan. Suddenly, I was overcome with an overwhelming urge to drown my worries with liquor. I did a turnabout in someone’s driveway and drove back toward the strip mall.
It was just starting to get dark when I pulled into a parking space right in front of the bar. It wasn’t until I went to open the car door that I realized I was only wearing a bathing suit and a coverall. But Willie’s was a very small bar and I doubted there would even be many other patrons. Plus, my desire to drink away my problems far outweighed my modesty, so I got out of the car and headed into the bar.
I was right. There were only three other patrons in the bar at this early hour and I let out a sigh of relief. I found a spot at the bar near the back and planted my butt on a stool. The bartender, a wiry man with disheveled hair, approached me and asked what I was having.
“A rum and pineapple, please,” I told him without thinking. I loved any drink with pineapple juice in it.
“That’ll be four dollars,” he said lazily.
I fished into my purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
He looked at me for a second longer than was comfortable and then turned around and began making my drink.
I sat there alone, thinking over everything that had happened recently and trying to make sense of it all. The bartender slid my drink across the bar toward me. I grabbed it and took one big long gulp.
“Someone’s thirsty,” I heard a voice off to the right say.
I set my drink down and looked for the source of the voice. Standing to my right, just a few stools down, was a very handsome stranger. He was taller than Ryan, maybe six foot or more, with light brown hair, hazel green eyes, and a bright, perfect smile.
“Long day,” I said in response.
“May I?” he asked, indicating the stool next to me.
I had come to the bar to be alone and wallow in my sorrows, but this striking young man was a welcome distraction from my pity party.
“Please,” I said.
He sat down on the bar stool and ordered a Miller Lite in a bottle. The bartender quickly pulled one out of the cooler and handed it to him in exchange for three dollars.
“So,” he said, turning his stool toward me just a smidge. “Why would a beautiful young lady such as yourself be drinking in this little bar all by herself?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said with a wry smile.
“Try me.”
I was not about to tell him the whole truth. I wanted a little break from my reality. So I told him only a small part of my story.
“I was just laid off,” I told him.
“That blows,” he said.
“Yeah, I’d been there two years and I was let go just like that.” I snapped my fingers.
“Did they give you a reason?”
Of course they did. They fired me because the fact that I was the number one suspect in my husband’s murder would bring bad publicity down on the firm. But I couldn’t tell him that.
“Nope, no reason at all.”
“I hate when they do that. It’s happened to me too. Assholes.”
“Assholes,” I repeated.
We both laughed. His laugh was warm and sincere. I liked him already.
“My name’s Paul,” he said, holding out his right hand.
“Veronica,” I told him as I shook his offered hand. I don’t know where I got the name Veronica, but I wanted to be someone else…just for one night.
“Pretty name. Veronica. Like the cartoon,” he said.
“Cartoon?”
“Oh, don’t tell me no one has ever compared you to the character from the
Archie
comic strip?”
I hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh, of course. It just took me a minute.”
“But you look more like Betty than Veronica—with the blonde hair and all.”
I touched my hand to my hair. “Thanks, I guess.”
“It is absolutely a compliment.”
“Well, then, definitely thank you.”
We laughed again. Then there was an uncomfortable moment of silence. It had been over eight years since I was single and I had no idea what to say to a man who was obviously flirting with me.
“So what do you do for a living?” I asked. It was all I could think of.
“Me? I’m a firefighter.”
This instantly scored him a couple more points in my book. I’d always had a thing for cops and firefighters. I had always dreamed of marrying one. And then I met Ryan.
“How interesting,” I said, trying not to sound like an overly-excited teenage girl. “Which firehouse do you work for?”
“Ladder fifty-eight, here in Richmond. What do you do? I mean, what did you do?”
“I’m a nurse.”
“Oh, did you work here at Pattie A. Clay Hospital?”
“No, no,” I said immediately, afraid he might know people who worked there. “At Saint Joseph Hospital in Lexington. That’s where I live. I’m only here in Richmond visiting my mother.”
“I see.”
The awkwardness melted away and the conversation began to flow freely. We talked about work—I had to make up stories on the fly about working in a hospital—hobbies, and family. I learned Paul liked to go hiking and kayaking in his spare time and that he had two older brothers. He learned that Veronica was adventurous too, and that she had a large Catholic family with four brothers and sisters. Hey, like I said, suspension from reality.
The drinks were flowing too. I was on my fourth rum and pineapple and Paul was on his fifth beer when he leaned over and brushed my hair behind my ear.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
I smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
“I know this might be a little forward, but I was wondering…would you like to go back to my place?”
I didn’t answer him at first. I didn’t know what to say. My first thought was that I would be cheating on Ryan, but then I remembered in an instant that not only was Ryan dead, but he had been cheating on me for over a year. My next thought was it was a little fast. Ryan had only been dead less than two weeks. Plus, I had only met Paul an hour before. I had never done anything like that in my life. Ultimately, I decided, what the hell? Why not? I deserved this. After all Ryan had put me through, after all the hell I’d been through the past week or so, I deserved to feel good for once.
“Sure,” I finally said.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything.”
“I know that,” I said confidently. “I want to.”
For safety reasons, I followed Paul in my car to his apartment, which was only about ten minutes from the bar. He lived in Oak Tree Apartments. We parked in the parking lot and I followed him up the sidewalk and up the stairs to his apartment on the second floor.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” he said as he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.
But his apartment was anything but a mess. There was a fireman’s uniform strung across the back of the couch and some boots next to the door, but other than that, his place was nearly perfect…for a guy, anyway.
“Care for a drink?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Sure,” I responded.
“Sorry, I don’t have any pineapple juice. But I do have tequila. You up for a couple shots?”
I hadn’t done tequila shots since college. But I didn’t want to say no, so I nodded my head.
“Yes, please.”
“All right, two tequila shots, coming right up. You can turn the TV on if you want.”
“How about some music instead?”
“Good idea.”
I watched through the opening in the wall between the living room and kitchen as Paul reached into his pocket, pulled out his iPhone, and plugged it into the wall.
“Any requests?” he asked.
“Anything but country.”
“I can do that,” he said as he pushed icons on his phone. Seconds later, Fallout Boy’s “Sugar, We’re Going Down” came blaring over his phone.
“Great song,” I said.
“I love Fallout Boy,” he said as he appeared around the corner. He handed me my shot glass and said, “Bottoms up!”
We both threw our shots back at the same time and as I swallowed, I felt the strong liquor burn a path down the back of my throat, all the way down to my stomach. I squinted my eyes and shook my head. “Good stuff.”
“It’s Don Julio Blanco,” he said. “A gift from my brothers on my last birthday. How about another?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Come on, just one more.”
“All right, I’ll take one more.”
He poured the shots and handed me mine, which I threw back instantly.
“Whew!” I exclaimed.
“Dance with me,” he said suddenly.
“To this? I can’t dance.”
It was true. I was cursed with two left feet. When I was little, I took exactly three classes of ballet before Mom sat me down and lovingly suggested I try something else. From that day forward, I never even attempted to dance. The sole exception was on my wedding day, when Ryan and I had slowly danced in the rain. I pushed all thoughts of Ryan out of my brain. This had nothing to do with him.
“Okay, then,” he said as he picked up his phone and tapped the icons. Fallout Boy disappeared and Elvis’s “Always on My Mind” began playing.
“Really? Elvis?”
Paul reached his arms out, wrapped them around my waist, and pulled me closer. “He’s the King, baby.”
He began swaying side to side to the music and then reached down and grabbed my hand. Once again, my thoughts turned to dancing in the rain with Ryan at our reception. Instantly, I was torn between guilt and pleasure. Part of me felt as if I was betraying Ryan’s memory by even touching another man, but the other part of me just wanted to enjoy the sensation of another man’s arms around me. Despite my mixed emotions, I gave in and lay my head on his shoulder.
We danced all the way through the song. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the intimacy…either way, I was feeling a little light headed. Not quite dizzy. More like I was having an out-of-body experience and I was watching myself dance with another man. I can’t lie. I was enjoying myself.
When the song was over, Paul kept his grip on my hand and, without a word, led me out of the living room, down the hallway, and to his bedroom.
My heart was beating out of my chest as I followed behind him. He pulled me over to the side of the bed, sat down, and pulled me in between his legs. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then, without hesitation, he tilted his head upward and kissed me in a way I hadn’t been kissed since I met Ryan. I didn’t even think about it. I kissed him back fervently. His hands slid up my back, underneath my coverall. I ran my fingers up his neck and through his thick hair. He laid back on the pillows, pulled off my coverall, and pulled me down on top of him. I straddled his hips and we made out like teenagers for a good half an hour, to the point my lips were numb.
I was lost in the moment. I wasn’t thinking of Ryan or my prosecution or anything besides how good it felt to be held again. To be wanted again. Even though I had loved Ryan with all my heart, it had been months since we were intimate like that. It was a feeling I had almost forgotten was possible.
But as soon as he reached behind me and untied the back of my bathing suit, something flipped inside me. I pulled back from his embrace and rolled off of him.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
“No, it’s not you. You are wonderful. And I really like you, Paul. It’s just…”
“Let me guess. Bad breakup?”
“You could say that.” Of course I couldn’t tell him the truth. I had lied about everything in my life. I couldn’t turn back now.
He sat up and put his hand on mine. “Listen, I understand. We can slow things down. I’m sorry if I got carried away. It’s just that I really like you, Veronica.”
“I like you too,” I admitted. “I just can’t…do this…right now. Not yet, anyway.”
“I completely understand. I’ve been there before. Do you want some coffee? We can just watch TV.”
“No, I think I’d better get home. I need to let my dog out.” Another lie, but it was better than saying I had to get home to mommy.
“Can I at least walk you out?”
“Of course,” I said with a smile.
I pulled my coverall back on and followed Paul out of the bedroom and into the living room. I grabbed my purse and cell phone and he opened the door and held it open for me. I walked under his arm and out into the breezeway.
Paul followed me out to Mom’s minivan. “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I said, a little worried.
“You said you have no kids, so why the minivan?”