In part two of this episodic psychological thriller, Nicole Jeffords. convinced that healer, Victor Goodlove, who disappeared ten years earlier is buried under her studio, continues her search for him, contacting old patients all over Austin and dis...
"So what's going on?" I said finally. I glanced over at Janet and saw that two small trails of tears had begun to slide down her cheeks. "Maybe I should drive," I suggested.
She shook her head and muttered she'd be okay. But a few miles later, at the next rest stop, she pulled over and we switched seats. After that she loosened up and started talking. "Here's the deal," she said through a mouthful of pretzels. She paused to finish chewing and lick at her salty fingers. "I'm pregnant."
I let out a gasp.
"No, it's okay, it's good. I'm almost forty-three years old, so last chance, and I loved Roy." She took a deep breath. I could tell the tears were about to start again. "I really loved him. Listen, I'm not talking to anyone else about this but you, not even Donny." By now she was openly crying. I wanted to ask a ton of questions, but waited for her to gain control over herself. After she had blown her nose a couple of times, she calmed down, cleared her throat and the story rolled out of her in jerky installments.
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She had spent all of three weeks with Roy, but that was enough for her to know he was the love of her life. Same for him, he'd never felt this way about any other woman. In the beginning — when he first arrived at the house — she'd hated him. He was cold, obnoxious, a know-it-all. He'd told her to pack and get out. She'd refused, determined to fight him. Although she had no lease and no actual right to be there, she loved the house as if were a kind of spiritual home to her. She'd put in plants, a vegetable garden, and the odd ghostliness of the place had become as natural to her as her own heartbeat. So instead of packing, she made her bed, picked clothes up off the floor and hung them in the closet, put on makeup and a pretty dress. To Roy, pacing outside her bedroom, she said, "Take the other room. I'm not going anywhere." He tried to remonstrate, but she handed him a marijuana cookie and said, "Eat this. It'll make you feel better." He didn't eat the cookie, at least not till later. Instead he threatened to call the police. ("Yeah, do it," she said.) Then to call Betsy. (Janet just rolled her eyes.) Then to physically expel her. (Janet stood before him, shoulders squared, and waited.) He called her a fucking bitch and said if she was such a great chef, she could damn well make dinner for him. She told him she had a date (his face dropped) but that she would cancel. That night she cooked her ass off and Roy hung around the kitchen, criticizing every single thing she did. He was still in his business suit, crisp and powerful, but she was no longer afraid of him, she had his number — at least she thought she did. But it turned out she was wrong.
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