Jennifer Greene - Conquer the Memories

Sonia sighed at the limpid, pleading eyes and exuberant tail and extended her hand. Immediately, a very wet, shaggy head nuzzled beneath it, content with just that moment’s contact before the dog spotted a rabbit-undoubtedly imaginary-in the brush and took off again. Sonia stared at her wet palm, shook it and gingerly maneuvered her way toward the house, under the burden of packages.

The kitchen was blessedly cool, and silent. “Craig?” Setting her packages on the counter, Sonia turned on the faucet and rinsed her hands. As she was drying them, an impish smile creased her features, and she reached into the cupboard for two glasses. A gin and tonic seemed an adequate welcome for a husband home early, even if it was still the middle of the day.

Carrying the glasses through the hall a few minutes later, Sonia glanced into the living room and then passed through to the bedroom, taking a tiny sip from her drink. She smiled. Craig’s was the actual gin and tonic; hers was the tonic with lots of fresh lime-she’d never had a real liking for hard liquor. Craig had always teased her for referring to her favorite drink as a G & T…

Her eyes widened in surprise as she paused in the bedroom doorway. A suitcase was on the bed, half filled.

Craig stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in gray suit pants and white shirt, a tie hung loosely around his neck, and he was holding a shaving kit. She’d sent an extremely relaxed, well-rested man to work, and he’d returned strained and exhausted. A pallor cloaked his tan, and his eyes were stone-hard and dark blue. A tense, determined purpose marked every movement he made.

Surprise yielded to instant empathy. She surged forward, set down her drink and handed him his, as she took the shaving kit from his hands. “I’ll do that. Darn it. What happened? Where are you going this time?”

It had happened before, though not often. The extraction process that Craig had developed was new and experimental. Problems cropped up quickly in the oil business, and solving them always seemed to be complicated, expensive and exhausting. He’d made a trip to Atlanta one time and another to northern California, and Craig was invariably crabby when travel and trouble went together.

Sonia viewed the jumble of shirts in the suitcase with a sigh that was amused in spite of her concern. The man couldn’t pack worth a damn. His shirts inevitably looked like wrinkled raisins, and he never remembered socks. “Jeans or suits?” she asked efficiently, and glanced back with a warm supportive smile.

Her eyebrows lifted just a little when he didn’t return her smile. Craig’s eyes glowed into hers, bright blue and tense; there was a watchfulness about him. Abruptly, he turned to the closet, drawing out yet more shirts.

“Hey,” she murmured teasingly, confused by the steadfast stare. Determination radiated from him like a quiet menace, and when he’d shifted his eyes from hers she felt an uneasy lurch in her stomach.

“I have to go to Chicago, Sonia. Only for a few days. Not long, I promise you.”

Such a gentle, gentle voice. Her heart flipped over again. “I’ll do that,” she insisted, taking the shirts from his hand, but her voice suddenly wavered. She motioned him to the chair with all the authority of an old-fashioned schoolmarm trying to win a smile.

She didn’t win one. As she bent over his suitcase, her hands automatically started refolding his shirts. “What on earth is happening in Chicago?” she asked. “Your work hasn’t taken you there before.”

“They’ve found him, Sonia.”

Her head slowly lifted. How she wished she had no idea what he was talking about! Amazing how fast an absolutely perfect world could come tumbling down. The joy and exhilaration since they’d been home, her rash, almost ridiculous confidence that the two of them were fine again, that Craig was fine, her busy, heel-clicking day…

“Sit down, honey.” Craig took from her hands the shirt she’d folded three times. The quick brand of his lips on her forehead was meant to be reassuring. His mouth was firm and warm and roughly swift. No apologies offered. “The man’s name is Tim Rawler. He was picked up on another mugging charge,” Craig said grimly. “Only this time, he managed to kill someone. The cop who was trying to catch him in the act.”

Sonia’s eyes followed him.

“There’s no question it’s the same man.” He tossed underwear on top of the suitcase, then a belt. “The police wired his picture to me. I just got it after lunch.” He flicked another glance at his wife. Aquamarine eyes were staring at him, far more brilliant than a gem. She was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, one hand clutching her upper arm as if she were suddenly cold. “Sonia…”

“Are you saying they have him behind bars?” she questioned carefully. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow.

“They have him behind bars,” Craig agreed. “Then there’s no reason at all for you to go. If they’ve got him on a murder charge…”

His jaw tightened. “I knew that was exactly how you’d feel…” He took a weary breath. “And I knew you’d want me just to forget it. I can’t do that, honey. It isn’t that simple…”

“It is. Craig. He’ll be up for life if he killed a policeman. They don’t need us. ” Her voice took on an impassioned note. “There is no reason for either of us to be involved anymore. None. ”

“I’m going,” he said patiently, “to press charges. People get off on technicalities all the time. Maybe it really is an open-and-shut case, but I won’t take that chance.” He snapped the suitcase closed and swung it down to the carpet. “I can’t.” Still moving swiftly, he crossed to the dresser to take a swallow of the drink Sonia had brought him. Their eyes met in the mirror-his as unyielding as steel, hers furious.

“It’s not that I don’t care. Do you think I want anyone else victimized by him?” She shook her head once and then again and then wildly shook it still another time. “I don’t, Craig, but I never want to hear about that man again. I never want to hear anything about that incident again. It’s over for us, and it’s done every bit of damage to our lives that it’s going to do.”

“It is over,” Craig agreed swiftly. “I’ll handle whatever else has to be handled. You won’t have to say a word, be involved in any way-”

“That is not the point.”

Craig’s tone turned iron, his don’t-push-me voice, rarely, rarely used but always unmistakable. “There is no way in hell I’m going to let that man get away with hurting you, without seeing, without knowing that he’s paying for it.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? What you really want to do is punch the man out, settle some score. It’s some male thing for you, Craig, but dammit, what about the two of us?”

An almost ashen color crept over his bronze skin. “I love you,” he said in a low voice, “more than my life.” The words were so simply, so quietly said that she couldn’t believe it when he picked up the suitcase. “The plane leaves at four. I can barely get there on time as it is. When I get back-”

“Craig, he’s a stranger, ” she tried desperately. “You’ve let a stranger all but tear us apart, and for how long now? It’s still happening. You really think if you find some way to hurt him back that it would solve something? What would it solve?” She took a breath, her voice dropping down two shaky octaves. “Everything that matters to us is right here. There’s nothing you can do in Chicago. Nothing. And if you really can’t see that-”

“Don’t,” he snapped bitterly, “say something you don’t mean.”