Page 63 of Go Home
God, please let him move on.Please.
He coughed and started to move away.
Thank God.
Then, the unthinkable happened.Her phone beeped.The battery died.The goddam battery died, and that was what it chose to do with its last, miniscule unit of power.It beeped, and it betrayed her.
Cox was on her in a second.She screamed, struggled in his grip as he slammed her against the wall, cracking her head.
She fought back, trying to get her fingers into the soft tissue, eyes, nose, neck.Felt something slip around her neck.Silky.His face close to hers, grinning, a dead look in his eyes.He’d put the stole around her neck.
“You don’t have to be alive for the sacrifice,” he hissed.“You just have to be here!”
That awful smell of the fumes as he squeezed.Her vision blurred at the edges.She seemed to be outside of herself, watching the scene from a high point, far away.She was aware of herself kicking and struggling in his grip, his bulk pushing her against the wall, his grunting as he squeezed tighter and tighter.She knew she was dying.
How sad, she thought, as blackness gathered and bees buzzed.How sad.
And then, suddenly, she was on her knees, retching onto the cold stone flags.Cox was on the floor beside her, out cold, blood seeping out of his ear.
Marcus dropped the lump of wood.She started to sob.
“You’re safe,” he said.“You’re safe.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
It was a beautiful morning, cold, but bright, the leaves every shade of gold and copper.
“I guess I should be Mother,” said Kate’s mother, Catherine.They were taking tea on the balcony at the back of her townhouse, overlooking the garden.Chomsky and Worf, Catherine’s twin Red Setters, were chasing each other through piles of fallen leaves.
“Mrs.V.,” Marcus said, thickly, crumbs falling down his jersey.“The scones.” He made an “o” of his finger and thumb.“Fantastic.”
She smiled in delight but instantly stood up and took the plate.
“You need more.”
“No, Mrs.V., honestly, I’m fine-”
“Nonsense, I made dozens.”
“Mom, he –”
Kate sighed with resignation as her mother flitted back towards the kitchen.
“Sorry.She misses having a man to feed.”
“Cheryl’s mom’s the same.If we come around, she won’t sit down; she just zips about, fixing things.You have to get quite rude, you know, to get the lady to actually sit down in her own home.”
Kate laughed, realizing that she hadn’t heard herself laugh in a long while.
“It’s that generation of women.I mean, Mom’s a Professor of Linguistics.But she still thinks her job is to feed everybody.”
“Well, you look like you’ve been benefiting from it.”
“Are you saying I look fat?”
“I’m saying you look well and rested.And that’s good.”
“A very diplomatic answer.Thank you.And it’s been great staying with Mom.We’ve been curling up under the blanket watching old Spencer Tracy movies.Taking the dogs on the dunes.You know, normal stuff.”
