Kate Carlisle - One Book In The Grave

No, it went back further. Three years ago, Beauty had played a role. Angelica-or Solomon, or someone, but I still believed it was Angelica-had decided that the book symbolized some elusive prize that, though currently unattainable, might someday be hers. So perhaps she had stolen the book from Emily in hopes of one day using it to attain that prize. Namely, Max.

It was a bizarre theory but it was the only one that worked for me. Deep down inside, I couldn’t fathom why Joe’s killers and Max’s tormentors had carried out such unspeakable acts, but their motivations didn’t matter. All I knew was that I had to take some personal responsibility for seeing that the bad guys were brought to justice. If that made me Nemesis, as Guru Bob had insisted was my role, then so be it.

So here we were in our safe, comfortable house. The three of us made polite conversation when we had to, and otherwise we avoided one another except when necessary. It was easier when Derek showed up at night or Gabriel stopped by. Then it felt like we had company and could socialize pleasantly with each other. But during the day, Emily, Max, and I moved cautiously around one another, trying not to tip the balance of the fragile bubble we’d created to protect Max and Emily.

Max and Emily spent the first two days treating each other with kid gloves, their manners painfully impeccable. Max wouldn’t leave the room without asking Emily if he could get her something or if she needed anything or if she was comfortable. She did the same to him.

The second evening, Max turned on the television, and their interaction became a major exercise in diplomacy.

“Do you like this show?”

“Oh, I don’t care.”

“No, we can watch whatever you want to watch.”

“Oh no. I’ll watch whatever you want to watch.”

Finally, I grabbed the remote and found a Law & Order we’d all seen twelve times before.

I was ready to scream. Derek had remained in the city that night, so I had no one to be honest with, no one to talk me down if I was itching to step out of line. So, naturally, I did.

“Meeting in the kitchen,” I bellowed the next morning after I’d gulped down my first cup of restorative coffee.

The sliding-glass door in the living room opened and Max walked in. “They probably heard you yelling all the way down in Glen Ellen. What’s wrong?”

“You shouldn’t be outside,” I snapped back.

“Who died and anointed you the pope?” he said.

I ignored him. “Emily, kitchen. Now.”

“I’m in the middle of something,” Emily said, poking her head out of her bedroom door across the living room. “Can’t it wait?”

I stared cockeyed at her. In the middle of something? Where did she think she was? There was nothing out here to be in the middle of. “No, it can’t wait. Sorry.”

She huffed and puffed her way across the living room and into the kitchen, then flashed me a scathing look. That’s when I realized that the sweet, docile Emily of yesteryear was now a pleasantly vague memory. I mentally cheered her on and wished Max lotsa luck. Meanwhile…

“I’m sick of us tiptoeing around each other,” I said. “It feels like we’re at some yoga peace retreat where we’re all expected to be enlightened and groovy and polite.”

“What are you talking about?” she said.

“I’m talking about the fact that I’m scared to death and I imagine both of you are, too.”

She took a breath and some of her features relaxed. I took that as a good sign.

“Max,” I continued, “you’re a guy, so you’re putting up a manly front. I get that. But, Emily, you’re acting like we’re at a garden party, having tea. And me? I’ve turned into a raving bitch.” I glanced around. “Okay, no argument there. So look. I know we haven’t seen each other in a few years, but we were friends, remember? I think we need to start working like a team. As friends . Not strangers. Not anymore. We need to stay close and be aware of things around us. We need to be our own best security system.”

“I’ve got my rifle with me at all times,” Max said.

I nodded. “I know, and I’m glad. But if someone is watching this place, if they try to attack us, they’re going to do it while Gabriel and Derek are away. So we’re basically on our own here. I think we should talk about contingencies.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” Emily said sarcastically. “May I go now?”

I was taken aback and answered her in kind. “You may kiss my butt.” But I immediately regretted it because I knew something was wrong. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said bluntly, before I could finish my sentence.

“You don’t sound fine.”

Her face wrinkled in a scowl and she said, “Bite me.”

It was so incongruous that I laughed. “Okay, you’re supposed to be the nice one. What’s going on?”

She fumed silently and went through lots of lip tightening and teeth baring. Finally she blurted, “I’m going stir-crazy! And I’m frustrated! I’m…I’m…urgh!”

Urgh? It sounded like she was growling. I had a sneaking feeling what the subtext of her words meant. I turned and looked at Max, who appeared poleaxed. But after a minute, his eyes cleared, then turned dark as he flashed Emily a dangerous scowl.

“Come with me,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of her chair.

“No, you come with me,” she said, and dragged him off toward the bedroom. Before they were out of the room, she hopped up into his arms and straddled him.

Oo-kay. My work here was done.

Over the next few days, I didn’t see much of them. Well, except when they would stumble out of their bedroom, rumpled and replete and hungry. One evening I baked enchiladas, then went to take a long bath. When I got back to the kitchen, there was one enchilada left, and it was the straggly, half-filled one on the end. I guess the young lovers needed to keep up their strength.

When they weren’t in their bedroom they sat close together on the couch or cuddled on the rug near the fireplace, having long, private talks. At night they would venture onto the deck and huddle in a blanket. I couldn’t hear the conversations, just the occasional giggle or sigh.

I was superfluous, except in my role as cook, dishwasher, and feeder of the cat. I couldn’t complain, though. I still had Clyde’s friendship. And it was lovely to watch Max and Emily reconnect.

It wasn’t all hearts and flowers, of course. It was slow going and there were glitches at first. I knew both of them were frustrated. Emily was occasionally tentative and Max had a tendency to brood.

Who could blame either of them? Emily explained to me that she hadn’t been with a man since Max’s “death” three years ago. She’d made every effort to move on, built a good, if quiet, life for herself. She’d been content to live alone. Now, suddenly, the man she’d loved so deeply had returned. But he’d lied to her, shown he didn’t trust her. Was it any wonder she sometimes questioned their present relationship?

And Max had lived the life of a solitary refugee for the past three years. He had survived in the shadows of society, afraid to be too friendly or gregarious in case he attracted too much attention. He’d always been a bit of a brooder, but now he was world-class.

It was so easy for me to see the big picture from the sidelines, but I tried to avoid offering advice or critiques and simply kept my mouth shut. There was a very good reason for that: namely, I was the last person on earth to give anyone relationship advice. Hello? Once engaged to a gay man? Not smart!

No, the two of them would have to stumble through this one on their own. But I was encouraged and held out hope that they would come through stronger and more in love than ever.