Tess Gerritsen - Body Double

Bart retreated, hands lifted in submission. “Okay, okay.” He shot a last glance at Mattie, a look of good luck, honey, and walked away.

“It’s only a tire,” said Mattie.

“You must’ve been throwing sparks all down the road. How many people you think saw you driving around like this?”

“Does it matter?”

“ Hello! This is a Beemer. When you’re driving a machine like this, you’re upholding an image. People see this car, they expect the driver to be a little smarter, a little more hip. So you go clanking around on a bare rim, it ruins the image. It makes every other Beemer driver look bad. It makes me look bad.”

“It’s only a tire.”

“Stop saying that.”

“But it is.”

Dwayne gave a snort of disgust and rose to his feet. “I give up.”

She swallowed back tears. “It’s not about the tire. Is it, Dwayne?”

“What?”

“This fight is about us. Something’s wrong between us. ”

His silence only made things worse. He didn’t look at her, but turned, instead, to watch the mechanic walking toward them.

“Hey,” the mechanic called out. “Bart said I should go ahead and change that tire.”

“Yeah, take care of it, will you?” Dwayne paused, his attention shifting to a Toyota that had just driven into the lot. A man climbed out and stood eyeing one of the BMWs. Bent close to read the dealer’s sticker on the window. Dwayne smoothed back his hair, gave his tie a tug, and started walking toward the new customer.

“Dwayne?” said Mattie.

“I got a client here.”

“But I’m your wife. ”

He spun around, his gaze suddenly, shockingly, poisonous. “Don’t. Push it. Mattie.”

“What do I have to do to get your attention?” she cried. “Buy a car from you? Is that what it takes? Because I don’t know any other way.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know any other way.”

“Then maybe you should just stop trying. Because I don’t see the point anymore.”

She watched him walk away. Saw him pause to square his shoulders, put on a smile. His voice suddenly boomed out, warm and friendly, as he greeted the new client on the lot.

“Mrs. Purvis? Ma’am?”

She blinked. Turned to look at the mechanic.

“I’ll need your car keys, if you don’t mind. So I can move her into the bay and get that tire on.” He held out a grease-stained hand.

Wordless, she gave him her key ring, then turned to look at Dwayne. But he did not even glance her way. As if she was invisible. As if she was nothing.

She scarcely remembered driving home.

She found herself sitting at the kitchen table, still holding the keys, the day’s mail stacked in front of her. On top was the credit card bill, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Dwayne Purvis. Mr. and Mrs. She remembered the first time someone had called her Mrs. Purvis, and the joy she’d felt at hearing the name. Mrs. Purvis, Mrs. Purvis.

Mrs. Nobody.

The keys spilled to the floor. She dropped her head in her hands and began to cry. Cried as the baby kicked inside her, cried until her throat ached and the mail was soaked with her tears.

I want him back the way he was. When he loved me.

Through the stuttering of her own sobs, she heard the squeal of a door. It came from the garage. Her head shot up, hope blooming in her chest.

He’s home! He’s come home to tell me he’s sorry.

She jumped up so quickly that her chair tipped over. Giddy, she opened the door and stepped into the garage. Stood blinking in the gloom, bewildered. The only car parked in the garage was hers.

“Dwayne?” she said.

A strip of sunlight caught her eye; the door leading to the side yard was ajar. She crossed the garage to close it. She had just pushed it shut when she heard a footfall behind her, and she froze, heart thumping. Knew, in that instant, that she was not alone.

She turned. Halfway around, darkness met her.

MAURA STEPPED FROM THE AFTERNOON SUNSHINE into the cool gloom of the Church of Our Lady of Divine Light. For a moment she could see only shadows, the vague outlines of pews, and the silhouette of a lone woman parishioner seated at the front, her head bowed. Maura slipped into a pew and sat down. She let the silence envelop her as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. In the stained glass windows above, glowing with richly somber hues, a woman with swirling hair gazed adoringly at a tree from which hung a bloodred apple. Eve in the Garden of Eden. Woman as temptress, seducer. Destroyer. Staring up at the window, she felt a sense of disquiet, and her gaze moved to another. Though she had been raised by Catholic parents, she did not feel at home in the church. She gazed at the jewel-toned images of holy martyrs framed in these windows, and though they might now be enshrined as saints, she knew that, as living flesh and blood, they could not have been flawless. That their time on earth was surely marred by sins and bad choices and petty desires. She knew, better than most, that perfection was not human.

She rose to her feet, turned toward the aisle, and paused. Father Brophy was standing there, the light from the stained glass casting a mosaic of colors on his face. He had approached so quietly that she hadn’t heard him, and now they faced each other, neither one daring to break the silence.

“I hope you’re not leaving already,” he finally said.

“I just came to meditate for a few minutes.”

“Then I’m glad I caught you before you left. Would you like to talk?”

She glanced toward the rear doors, as though contemplating escape. Then she released a sigh. “Yes. I think I would.”

The woman in the front pew had turned and was watching them. And what does she see? Maura wondered. The handsome young priest. An attractive woman. Intent whispers exchanged beneath the gazes of saints.

Father Brophy seemed to share Maura’s uneasiness. He glanced at the other parishioner, and he said: “It doesn’t have to be here.”

They walked in Jamaica Riverway Park, following the tree-shaded path that led alongside the water. On this warm afternoon, they shared the park with joggers and cyclists and mothers pushing baby strollers. In such a public place, a priest walking with a troubled parishioner could hardly stir gossip. This is how it always has to be between us, she thought as they ducked beneath the drooping branches of a willow. No hint of scandal, no whiff of sin. What I want most from him is what he can’t give me. Yet here I am.

Here we both are.

“I wondered when you’d come by to see me,” he said.

“I’ve wanted to. It’s been a rough week.” She stopped and gazed at the river. The whish of traffic from the nearby road obscured the sound of the rushing water. “I’m feeling my own mortality these days.”

“You haven’t before?”

“Not like this. When I watched that autopsy last week-”

“You watch so many of them.”

“Not just watch them, Daniel. I perform them. I hold the scalpel in my hand and I cut. I do it almost every day at work, and it never bothered me. Maybe it means I’ve lost touch with humanity. I’ve grown so detached that I don’t even register it’s human flesh I’m slicing. But that day, watching it, it all became personal. I looked at her and I saw myself on the table. Now I can’t pick up a scalpel without thinking about her. About what her life might have been like, what she felt, what she was thinking when…” Maura stopped and sighed. “It’s been hard going back to work. That’s all.”

“Do you really have to?”

Perplexed by the question, she looked at him. “Do I have a choice?”