Heart of the Matter (3 page)

Tragedies like the auto accident weren’t supposed to happen to someone like Kate. She was strong and vibrant, a constant on the television screen, almost a member of each viewer’s family. If a life-changing event like that could affect someone like Kate, what would Ellen do if it happened to her? Her life was rather dull and mundane compared to Kate’s. She loved teaching, but her personal life had become routine, practically nonexistent. She had avoided intimate relationships most of her adult life, not because she didn’t want one, but because no one would be attracted to what she had become physically. If her life suddenly ended, she would never experience the one thing missing from her life—love.

❖

When Kate flipped the light switch inside her door she noticed the silence first. The condo felt cavernous, as if her voice would echo endlessly if she called out. After a week of constantly being poked and prodded, and hearing machines hiss and beep, she found it odd to hear the stillness again. She tossed her keys onto the chest in her entryway and limped to her bedroom, stripping off her clothes as she went. The suit she had worn on her way to Paula’s that night had been cut away from her body and was completely unsalvageable, with the exception of her shoes. Recalling Paula brought back an unpleasant memory. She had never even called.

Then again, why would she? It wasn’t as though they knew each other that well. Still, that no one outside of work had bothered to find out how she was doing irked her.

When she had learned she would be released today, she didn’t know what to do about clothes. She had no one to call for the favor—no family, no friends. Her agent was in Miami for a few days, and even if he was home she wasn’t sure she would ask him.

As a last resort, she asked a candy striper to buy her a set of GWU sweats and socks at the hospital gift shop. She was glad to have worn the strange clothes only a few hours. Like everything else at the hospital, the sweats felt foreign and out of place.

Turning the shower faucets on, she stepped in quickly, letting the hot water cascade over her. She placed the palms of her hands on the cool tiles in front of her and bent her head so the spray hit the back of her neck and spread down her back. It felt so good to finally shower at home in her bathroom. At the moment her place felt slightly unfamiliar, but at least she was alone and back in control of her life. She had known the first thing she would do when she arrived home was shower, so she had the hospital staff tape plastic covers over all the places with stitches to keep them from getting wet. Everywhere, that is, except for her face.

As she stood there in a daze, letting the water wash away the antiseptic smell of the hospital, her mind drifted, as it had so often the past few days, and she tried to remember what had happened.

She could only recall driving to Paula’s that night and then waking up in the hospital the next day. She should recall something about the accident, but she couldn’t access the memory. She only knew she was lucky to be alive.

She switched off the faucets and stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and dried off. Glancing into the mirror, she could see a faint image of herself and, hesitating briefly, rubbed a clear spot with her towel. She gazed at herself dispassionately, observing with interest the purple and yellow bruises marking her chest and arms. She avoided looking above the neck for a moment, fascinated by the stitches that traced a line down her left arm from the elbow to her wrist. She guessed somehow she had turned the wheel of the Porsche hard to the right and impacted the truck on the left side of the car. But that was only speculation. She’d have to examine the damage to her car at some point and file an insurance claim.

Steeling herself for the inevitable, she peered curiously at her face, and as had happened the last day or two when she did, it shocked her. Her fingers found their way to the scar, tracing with a delicate touch the jagged, stiff ends of the stitches. She felt strange.

It was still her face—her eyes, her nose, and mouth—but she seemed to look at it for the first time. Kate had never spent hours in the bathroom primping and fussing with her appearance. The only time anyone paid any attention to it was when the makeup artist prepped her before going on camera, and that was a necessary evil. As far back as she could remember, it was simply her face, neither pretty nor ugly. Women called her handsome and were apparently attracted to the firm jaw and sharp planes.

But now she examined it for what it had gotten her so far in life.

The camera loved her, enhancing and magnifying all the positive qualities and giving her a toughness that came across the television screen. People had trusted her and looked to her for reassurance.

Now they would stare at her in horror.

❖

“Hello. Earth to Ellen.” Linda waved a hand in front of Ellen.

Snapping out of her reverie, she managed to refocus on Linda and Janice.

“Where have you been all night?” Linda asked. “You’re a million miles away.”

“Sorry, guys. I’ve been preoccupied.” Ellen sipped her white wine.

“Oh, no, you are not allowed to think about your research tonight.” Janice loved to admonish her. “Tonight is all about having fun.”

“Exactly,” Linda agreed. “Surely someone out there looks promising.”

Ellen scanned the dance floor and tried to look interested.

Rosie’s was crowded, as usual, and the cigarette smoke made her eyes burn and water. She hated the thought of getting home and taking a whiff of her clothes and hair after being in such a place.

General Beauregard always refused to come near her until she showered and changed. But she had to at least make a show of enjoying herself, if for no other reason than to please Linda and Janice. After all, they tried so hard to get her out to places like this, to meet people—rather, to meet a woman.

She could hardly concentrate, though, since running into Kate in the hallway. She couldn’t take her mind off her and was angry at herself for having behaved so badly. Kate had been through a horrific experience, which Ellen had made worse by reacting to her face as though she had seen a three-headed monster.
What must she
think of me?

“Hey, what about the redhead in leather, over there by the bar?” Linda pointed to what Ellen could only describe as an Amazon.

Easily six feet tall, loud and apparently tipsy, the woman was cackling uproariously at some joke being told by a shorter woman in her party. When she slapped her companion on the back and shouted to the bartender for another round of tequila, Ellen instantly disliked her.

“Uh, I really don’t think she’s my type,” she said delicately.

“She’s breathing, isn’t she?”

“Linda.” Janice poked her in the side. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m only kidding.” Linda pouted. “So what
is
your type, Ellen? What do you look for in a woman?”

That was a good question. Ellen actually didn’t know and had never examined why she was attracted to someone. Somehow she knew when she was interested in a woman simply because of the way she made her feel when they were together. Looks had never been the most important aspect of a person, although when Ellen looked at Kate Foster her toes curled. The slash across Kate’s cheek flashed bright red into her consciousness.

“Janice? Hi.”

“Sandra? Well, hello.”

A dishwater blonde stopped at their table and hugged Janice around the neck. Ellen noted how her impish face lit up when she smiled and that her tasteful attire was understated but elegant.

“Sandra, you remember my partner, Linda?”

“It’s been a while,” Linda said as they shook hands.

“Too long.” Sandra’s glance had already shifted to Ellen.

“Ellen, I’d like you to meet a colleague of mine,” Janice said.

“Sandra Powell, Ellen Webster. Sandra works with me on Senator Teasdale’s staff, and Ellen is in the history department at GU with Linda.”

Sandra’s grip was firm and warm, yet Ellen couldn’t drop her hand fast enough. She cringed reflexively into the smallest size she could manage as Sandra regarded her more closely. She understood that everyone habitually inspected someone that way; she often did it herself, but she was always uncomfortable when someone appraised her body. Whenever she met a woman whom she found even marginally attractive, she always chided herself for not having begun her diet sooner.

“Won’t you join us?” Janice asked.

“I’d love to, but I was on my way out. I’m here with friends and they’re getting the car now.”

The veil of invisibility that so often came over Ellen descended quickly. For no reason, she felt rejected. A woman she thought attractive had glanced her way and found her wanting. If she was interested in Ellen, she could have found an excuse to stay, taken a cab home or, hell, Ellen would have driven her home. She fixed her eyes on the dance floor again, pretending to be interested in what was going on in the writhing mass of bodies, pretending this woman’s brief entry into her life had no significance whatsoever.

“Maybe next time,” Sandra was saying. “It was nice meeting you, Ellen.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, nice to meet you too, Sandra.” She watched Sandra cut her way through the crowd to the front door.

“It’s a shame she had to leave.” Janice sighed. “I’d completely forgotten she and Cheryl had broken up. She’d be perfect for you, Ellen. She’s smart, funny, attractive, and sexy as hell, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I suppose.”

It was a game she often played with herself. Reject before being rejected. It was the only sane thing to do, especially in Sandra’s case.

Ellen had to admit her heart rate had picked up a bit upon seeing the sparkling blue eyes, the tiny dimples, and trim figure. But when she saw Sandra was obviously not interested in her, all her systems had shut down and her defenses had gone up. Her heart was safe and relatively undamaged from the encounter. Not for the first time she wondered why she ever allowed Linda and Janice to talk her into coming to these things—to try to give her hope.

“You suppose?” Linda asked. “Geez, don’t you think your standards are a bit high? What’s wrong with Sandra?”

“Nothing,” Ellen exclaimed defensively. “She’s obviously not interested, so why bother?”

“Not interested?” Linda’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you think that? She was barely here a minute.”

“Exactly my point,” Ellen declared triumphantly. “If she was interested, she wouldn’t have left.”

“Oh, Ellen, come on.” Janice chortled. “You’re reading too much into it. She was on her way to the door before she even ran into me. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll sound her out next week at work, see what she thinks of you.”

“No. Don’t you dare.” Ellen was embarrassed at the prospect.

She could only imagine what a sorry figure she would present to Sandra. She had to have her friends get her a date because she couldn’t get one on her own. Oh, yeah, that would make her even more appealing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet.” Janice sipped her Cosmopolitan.

“She’ll never know.”

“God.” Ellen dropped her head into her hands.

❖

Ellen stepped off the elevator into the hallway and shoved her key into the lock. It was a little after eleven, and she was looking forward to washing the cigarette smell off and climbing into bed with Beau. But when she heard a muffled crash from Kate’s condo, she rushed down the hall, her pulse accelerating with each step.

Tapping briefly, she called out, “Kate, are you all right?” Silence. She couldn’t hear anyone move or speak. If Kate had somehow injured herself and was unconscious, nobody would know about it—at least she didn’t think anyone else was inside. She felt the heat rise to her face, wondering if perhaps Kate wasn’t alone.

But if that was the case, why didn’t anyone answer the door? She knocked a little more forcefully now, sure that anyone inside could hear her.

When there was still no response, she tried one last time. “Kate, if you’re okay in there you’d better let me know. Otherwise I’m calling the police or an ambulance, or something, to break this door down.”

After a few more minutes of silence, Ellen could barely make out the shuffled sounds of footsteps approaching the door.

“I’m okay.”

Ellen sighed with relief. “Can I do anything to help?” She pressed her ear to the door, trying to hear Kate on the other side.

“No.” Kate’s voice sounded more distant than it was.

“Are you sure?” Ellen persisted. “If you need anything, I’m right down the hall. I’d be happy to help any way I can. If you need me to run errands, I can do that, or—”

“I said no.” Kate’s voice was a little stronger. “Now go away.” Stung, Ellen muttered, “Sorry I disturbed you.” Beau came running as soon as she was back home again, rubbing his sleek body against her legs and purring. She picked him up and kissed him, scratching behind his ears as she walked into the bedroom. But as soon as he caught the scent of cigarettes, he extended his front legs into her chest, pushing against her and writhing to get away.

“All right, I know, I’m going to shower as fast as I can.” She was in and out in five minutes, threw an oversized T-shirt over her head, and crawled into bed, followed quickly by Beau, who curled up immediately between her legs. She picked up the Lincoln biography, but put it back down again after a few minutes when she couldn’t concentrate. Thoughts of Kate kept running through her mind. She felt sorry for her, for what she must be going through, and it bothered her that she couldn’t help. It bothered her even more that no one else seemed to be helping her.

She turned off the bedside lamp and slid under the covers, momentarily unsettling Beau. Determined to stop thinking about her neighbor, she steered her mind to Sandra Powell. Maybe she’d been too quick to dismiss her. She was definitely attractive, but it seemed she hadn’t been interested in her. Oh, well, Janice would feel her out next week, whether Ellen liked it or not. If Sandra was interested, she’d find out soon.

As Ellen drifted off, Kate’s face replaced Sandra’s. The gash was no longer there, and Kate’s lips were sensuously close to her own. Even in her dream she felt herself get wet, just as their lips connected.