Steven Womack - By Blood Written

Carol looked down and stared at the hub of the steering wheel. “This is the last time we have to do this, and I suspect we’ll both be well rid of each other. If it were anybody else in the world, I’d just keep my mouth shut and go on with my life. But I can’t, not this time.”

Michael turned to face her. “So you’re going to tell me off,”

he said. “Okay, get it over with. You won’t be the first.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what this is about.”

Michael glanced at his watch. “Then what is this about?”

he demanded. “We don’t have a lot of time here.”

“It’s about Taylor,” she said. “About you and Taylor.”

There was a stillness in the car, a silence that filled the interior like a dam bursting.

“What about me and Taylor?” Michael asked softly, seconds later.

“I know about you and Taylor,” she said. “And I’ve watched you these past few weeks while we’ve been travel-ing together.”

“You’ve been spying on me,” Michael said. It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“No,” Carol answered sternly. “Not spying. But you’ve been so blatant about it, anyone with open eyes is going to see everything.”

Neither of them had mentioned what “it” was. They didn’t have to.

“How dare you,” he said, his voice too calm.

Carol turned to him, her voice imploring. “Don’t you know how dangerous that kind of behavior is? In this day and age? You could catch anything . The medical risks alone ought to keep you from doing it, let alone relationship and trust issues.”

Michael’s face reddened slightly, and for a moment Carol was afraid he was going to explode. At least , she thought, we’re in a public place. But then he took a few slow, deep breaths, and the redness went away. He was silent for a few more moments before looking up, directly into her face.

“So what are you going to do with all this?” he asked.

Carol gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles whit-ened. The interior of the car was beginning to get stuffy, and she wished she’d never brought this up.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you do, you’ll only hurt her,” Michael said softly. “And I care for her very much. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“Hah,” Carol said, her voice low. “Yeah, right.”

“What if I told you our little talk here has been a wake-up call, that my behavior is at least partly related to the stress I’m under, and now that the tour’s over, so is the stress?”

Carol looked at him. “I want to believe that.”

“You can believe that.”

“If I thought you were telling the truth, then there would be nothing to protect her from.”

“There isn’t anything to protect her from.”

“You’re sure of that,” Carol said.

“Absolutely.”

“So you’ve been taking precautions, practicing safe sex.”

It was the first time either of them had uttered the word.

“Completely,” Michael said. “There’s nothing to worry about on that account.”

Carol sighed. “For the time being, I’ll try to believe that.

But I want you to know that if I see any evidence that you aren’t telling me the truth, then-” Her voice tightened and she seemed unable to get the words out.

Michael smiled at her, a soft, endearing smile that seemed to melt around the edges of his lips. “I understand, Carol.

Really, I do. Look, why don’t we go in, get this last one over with. Then I can buy you a nice dinner somewhere to celebrate.”

“I’m tired. I’m not feeling very well,” Carol said, reaching for the door handle. “I think I’d just rather go back and order room service.”

The signing went well. Carol counted eighty people in the crowd, which wasn’t bad in the sixth largest city in America on a balmy Saturday night in February when there were lots of other things to do. Michael handled the crowd well, she thought. She had to give him this much; he was a great public speaker, relaxed and comfortable with a crowd. He controlled them, using alternating patterns of humor and warm earnestness. He came across as intelligent, passionate about his work, and eloquent. His book sales were rising steadily as he learned the art of warming up to bookstore clerks and salespeople as well as readers. He signed books for more than an hour after the reading, then signed stock for another forty-five minutes. Carol hung back on the edges of the crowd, too tired and bored to be completely present but always staying just close enough to be on call if needed.

After Michael signed stock, he huddled in the corner for a couple of minutes with the assistant manager on duty that Saturday night. The young man’s nose was pierced, he needed a shave, and his dirty khakis were riding low enough on his hips to expose the band of his underwear. If he hadn’t been wearing a plastic nameplate identifying himself, no one would ever guess he worked here or anywhere else. He seemed to enjoy having a private moment with a New York Times best-selling author, and the two talked in hushed tones broken only by a casual just-between-us-guys laugh. Carol was about to start seriously eavesdropping when the conversation broke up. Michael smiled broadly as he said good-bye to the manager and a couple of other people on the way out.

It was almost nine-thirty when Carol followed him out to the parking lot, neither of them speaking. The bright yellow sulfurous lights of the parking lot aggravated Carol’s growing headache. Even though the temperature was in the high fifties, there seemed to be a chill in the air. Carol wished she’d brought a jacket or at least a heavier sweater. When they got to the car, Michael crossed to the driver’s side and held out his hand.

“Here, let me drive,” he said.

It was the first time in forty-something cities he’d ever offered to drive. “No,” she answered, “that’s okay.”

“Look, you said you were tired and don’t feel well. Please, Carol, let me at least do this much for you.” There was almost a remorseful quality to his voice, as if he had changed, really changed, and was now trying to make up to her.

“C’mon, it’s our last night,” he said.

And she was so tired.

Carol Gee reached into her handbag and fished out the keys to the rental. They would never be friends, she knew, but perhaps they could at least end this tour on an up note.

“Okay, Michael, if you insist.”

He smiled and pointed the tiny black box at the car and pressed a button. The electronic door locks thunked as they opened. Carol, secretly relieved to be a passenger, climbed in on the right side of the red Buick. As soon as she reached for the seat belt, she heard another thunk as the doors locked.

Michael started the car and pulled out onto Rosecrans.

The traffic had thinned; the February chill seemed to have settled the city down a bit. Carol looked around, confused.

Hadn’t they made the wrong turn out of the lot?

“Weren’t we supposed to-” Carol said, turning and pointing the other way down Rosecrans Street.

Michael smiled. “I’ve got a little surprise for you,” he said.

“I was talking to Jack, you know, the assistant manager?”

Carol nodded.

“And I told him this was our last stop on a very hard tour and that I hadn’t always been the easiest person in the world to get along with, blah blah blah-and that I wanted to take you out to someplace really special as a way of thanking you.”

“That’s not necessary, Michael,” Carol said. “Let’s just go back to the hotel.”

“Oh, we can’t do that!” he said. “It’s our last night on what was, even with our little difficulties, a very successful tour.”