Part 14 (1/2)
It will make a difference in the way I help you. You may not want me to be your lawyer if you can't accept what I decide,” she lied.
”Not that easy, Tara. You want me to say I want someone else to talk for me. That won't solve the problem.” He spoke quietly, intent on his culinary task.
”If I told you something different, you still couldn't tell anyone else. Even if I fired you, you'd have to sit with two different things in your head, trying to figure out which one is right. Even if you said you couldn't be my lawyer, I'd still be with Donna and you'd still know about what I did.”
Disgusted, Tara turned away but Bill reached for her. Taking her arm, he held her firmly in his grip. Her breath slipped into her throat, sc.r.a.ping between her teeth. Instinctively her hand covered his, her fingers digging into his. She fought no further because he was so close and she could see the sheen of his clean shaven skin, smell a scent that made him unique and beautiful. He moved closer to her, his lips parting as if he might kiss her. Instead, he spoke gently, those beautiful lips of his moving just outside her peripheral vision.
Tara closed her eyes. She trembled.
”I told you the truth. Don't be mad at me.
We've gotta work together. Together.” He gave her a little underscoring shake.
”You're my hope. So hang in, babe, okay? I am one sick sucker. I'm so good sometimes, then sometimes I feel”*he sighed*”nothing.”
Mechanically Tara opened her eyes, terrified to the very core of her being. She leaned away and looked at his hand. Finally she found the courage to look up at him. He was evil or he was sick, but one thing she knew with certainty*he was smart.
He let her go. Spoon in hand, he changed again, chameleon-like, quick and captivating. Conversational once more.
”So, did you find out anything? Did you go and ask whether or not the stuff I told you was right?”
”Yes,” she almost stammered.
”I told someone what you'd told me and he promised to check it out.”
”That's all, right? You didn't tell him my name.
You can't do that, right?” He tried to smile but she saw the worry behind those eyes of his. Tara shook her head. He was satisfied.
”Incredible.
Against human nature if you ask me, but whatever.
Did you figure something out5 I don't want to go to jail, Tara. Donna would understand a hospital but not*” ”Thank goodness! You're finally home!”
Startled, Tara half jumped out of her skin and twirled toward the doorway. Donna stood with her arms out, half hanging on the jamb like they were monkey bars on the playground. She looked perfect.
Jeans, a big sweater that hid impossibly tiny hips, its cowl neck hanging just right. The shades of purple offset her platinum hair. She wore lavender cowboy boots, so pristine it was impossible to imagine they'd ever been worn outside much less in the presence of a horse.
”Hi.” Tara's voice was so small she had a hard time finding it. Tara touched her brow, the sign of an exhausted woman, not one unnerved. But Donna wasn't paying attention to Tara. She pranced into the kitchen, wound her arms around Bill's waist, gave his back a kiss, and grinned at Tara.
”I'm starving, but Bill insisted we wait for you.
He said everyone deserves a good hot meal after a hard day's work.” She breathed deeply, her eyes closed, ”Smells heavenly.”
”I usually just have a salad.” Tara turned away but Donna caught her arm.
”Don't be a spoilsport,” Donna said, a plea in her voice, fear that he might go play somewhere else if they weren't nice.
”He's worked so hard.
Even put out some munchies. Make an exception, just this once.”
”Tara is one of those women, Donna, who makes exceptions for friends.
Bends over backward, right, Tara?”
Bill didn't wait for an answer. He put his hands on both women's waists and herded them out.
”Fire's a-goin' in the living room, little snacks, everything you need to relax *til dinner. Now get, both of you. I'll call when chow's on. Go.”
Tara didn't need to be told twice.
”Oh, look at this. Cheese, crackers. Not exactly inspired, but sweet.
I swear, I didn't even know he could cook. Come on, have some.”
Donna settled herself on the couch and put a piece of cheese on a cracker while Tara thought about Bill Hamilton rummaging around her cabinets, touching things that belonged to her and her family. He had violated her subtly, in so many ways*her mind, her home, her friend. This was detestable, sick or not.
”I don't want a cracker.” Tara took off her jacket, avoiding Donna's curious gaze.
”I'm just not hungry, Donna. It's been a long day, and I'm not crazy about coming home to find someone using my things.”
Slowly Donna put the cracker back on the plate.
The wine was forgotten, the good mood broken.
”If you don't want us here, you should have just said so.”
”Don't be ridiculous. Of course I want you here.”
”But not Bill, is that it? You're mad about last night. You're mad about his little prank with the car,” Donna said quietly. To her credit she didn't pout.
”Oh, Donna, no,” Tara said. Spent, she slipped onto the sofa beside Donna, her shoulders curled in as if she were exhausted.
”It was stupid. What he did was dangerous, but I'm not mad about that.”
”Then what? You weren't yourself last night. It was like you went out the door in the morning and came back someone else that night.” Donna drummed her fingers on the table and glanced at her friend.
”That was Ben last night, wasn't it? At Woodrow's c.o.c.ktail party.”
”Yes.”
”Had you ever seen him in that wheelchair?”
”No. He was still in the hospital when Dad and I had to leave for Was.h.i.+ngton,” Tara said quietly.
”Guess you just went from one needy soul to the next.” Tara looked up, confused. Donna smiled.
”Me. I meant me. That's when we met. I just didn't know about Ben. I didn't know for the longest time that you were having some troubles of your own. You really keep things in tight, Tara.