Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

“For being a consummate clod, of course.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “This isn’t easy to admit, but when Helen and I first got together, I was jealous of all her friends and I acted like a complete ass.”

“Well,” I started, but didn’t know what to say next. I couldn’t dispute his words, because they were true, and frankly, I was still suspicious of his motives.

He chuckled. He had to know what I was thinking. “I screwed up,” he said. “I admit it. But I’m trying to make up for lost time. I love Helen, and I’ve spent these last few days realizing how unhappy I made her, and I hate myself for it. I just want her to be happy.”

“I want that, too,” I said cautiously.

He smiled and it seemed sincere, not the least bit reptilian or smug. “You’re a good friend of hers and your opinion matters to her, so I’m hoping it’s not too late for us to be friends.”

“That might be asking a lot,” I said, but I tried to smile as I said it.

He grinned, relaxing a bit more. “I completely understand. Perhaps we can start over as semifriendly acquaintances, then.”

He held out his hand, and after a moment of consideration, I shook it, then said, “I’m not sure Helen cares what I think of you, Martin.”

“She cares,” he said. “A lot.”

“Okay, then here’s the deal. If you do anything to make her unhappy, all bets are off.”

“I love her,” he said simply. “I don’t want her to be unhappy.”

We stood in silence. To fill the void, I asked, “I guess this means you two aren’t filing for divorce?”

He smiled tightly. “She told you about the divorce?”

“She mentioned it.”

He exhaled heavily again. “Let’s just say I’m determined to change her mind.”

I studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Well, good luck with it.”

He laughed. “Thanks, I’ll need it.”

That might’ve been the first time I ever heard Martin laugh. A small miracle.

Bemused, I walked away from the elevator. That was weird, I thought. But good, I guess. I’d actually seen a glimmer of the nice guy Helen had always said he could be.

I walked into the restaurant and found my parents and Robin eating fresh fruit and oatmeal.

“What’s with the oatmeal?” I asked Robin as I sat. She never ate oatmeal, and I was in the mood for French toast and bacon.

“It’s good for me,” she mumbled.

“Since when?”

“Since your mother swears by it.”

I frowned at Mom. “You do?”

She nodded resolutely. “Robin needs more fiber.”

Robin smiled weakly. “I seem to be experiencing psychic energy interference.”

Glancing back at Mom, I said, “That’s not another euphemism for the colon thing, is it?”

She pressed her hands together in a prayer pose. “All is connected,” she said, evading the question. Which I guess meant, yeah, it all came back to the colon thing.

I turned back to Robin. “Are you sure you don’t just have a hangover?”

She yawned. “Probably. I was up kind of late.”

I sighed. “Okay, I’ll have the oatmeal.”

“Solidarity,” Robin whispered, and held out her fist to bump mine.

“Tomorrow, we’re starting a juice fast,” Mom said. “Then we’ll join the screaming prayer circle that meets at sunrise on the Salisbury Crags. Are you in?”

I coughed. “ Sunrise?”

“Absolutely,” Mom said. “That’s when the core fire of enlightenment is most rampant.”

“But that’s, like, in the morning.”

“Exactly.”

“No, thanks.”

“Your father will be there.”

“Really?” I turned to him. “Dad, are you going on a juice fast?”

“Sure,” Dad said, spearing a thick piece of bacon. “If cabernet is considered juice, I’m there.”

They didn’t seem to be suffering any lingering effects from the alcohol they’d consumed last night. Maybe there was something to the whole colon thing, after all.

I shivered as I remembered Mom’s statement from the night before. On second thought, I was going to forget I ever had that thought.

After breakfast, as we waited for the valet to bring the minivan around, a taxicab pulled up and Helen climbed out of the back, carrying three Jaeger shopping bags. She paid the driver, then rushed over to Mom and gave her a big hug.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in days,” she said, then laughed. “It’s crazy how life can change in a day.”

“It’s so funny you should say so,” I said as I pulled her away from the family and walked with her toward the wide sliding doors of the hotel. “Because I rode down in the elevator with Martin a little while ago.”

Her smile wobbled. “Oh, dear. Should I apologize?”

I frowned, then shook my head and chuckled. “No, strangely enough, he took care of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He apologized to me,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “That’s weird.”

“I know.” I laughed. “But he did. He was actually nice about it, said he’s determined to talk you out of the divorce and make your relationship work. And he wants us to try to be friends.”

She tensed up. “He mentioned the divorce?”

“Just that he wants to change your mind about it.”

“And what did you say?”

“I wished him luck.” I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She breathed again. “I’m just surprised he approached you.”

“It couldn’t be avoided. We were stuck in the elevator together.”

She smiled. “At least he made the effort.”

I studied her. “Helen, are you going to go back to him?”

“I don’t know,” she said, waving her hands in frustration. “I’m so confused. He’s been on his best behavior. I should go find him.” She checked her watch. “Phooey. I think he just started a two-hour meeting.”

“If you’ve got two hours to kill, why don’t you come with us to Rosslyn Chapel?”

“Is that where you’re all going?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds like fun,” she said hesitantly.

“Fun and educational.”

She laughed. “I’d love to. I’ll give my bags to the bellman.”

“I’ll go with you.”

We checked her shopping bags and walked across the lobby. I hesitated, then finally asked what I’d wanted to know for days. “So, Helen, what about the thing with Kyle?”

“For goodness’ sake, Brooklyn, he was married.” She shook her head in distress. “What was I thinking? My feelings for him were obviously one-sided.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said lamely, having been there, done that. “He was an adorable cad.”

“I suppose so, but I completely deluded myself.”

“You thought he was in love with you.”

“Yes, and how pathetic does that sound?” she said, clutching my arm as we walked over to the valet station. “I’ve had to do some serious soul-searching in the past day or so. Was I really in love or was Kyle just the excuse I needed to leave Martin? Was I looking for another guy to take care of me? Am I that helpless? What do I really want? Martin and I had a good relationship in the beginning. Do I want to throw that away?”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Give yourself a break. You don’t have to do anything right this minute.”

She pursed her lips in thought, then nodded in agreement. “You’re right. I’m just going to enjoy the ride for now.”

“Great.”

“It feels good to talk to you about this. I’ve been so conflicted.”

“I’m always here for you,” I said, hugging her. Not that I could help much, because let’s face it, I was the last woman on earth to be writing the advice-to-the-lovelorn column. Never seemed to stop me, though.