Page 88 of Whiskey Throttle
The next thing I know, I’m standing at his door. My knuckles rap on his wooden door, noticing a welcome mat on the concrete floors of his building. I look away, contemplating if I’ve even seen a mat before.
When the door swings open to a beautiful woman with eyes so gray and large, I’m startled. Her black hair glows under the recessed light she’s standing under. A bright smile overtakes her face. An oddly familiar face, even though I can’t immediately place it.
I clear my throat, getting a hold of myself, that a woman would be inside Dominic’s space. He keeps his sanctuary private from everyone, including me.
“Hello, I’m Babs Barrett, Dominic’s mother.”
My manners snap into place. Extending a firm hand for her to shake.
“Yes, you are! I’ve heard so much about you.”
Her smile widens, and yet I think it’s genuine. I don’t detect a hint of malice or resentment, causing me to wonder if she’s lying. She’s embracing me before I can even swallow past my shock.
She’s warm, friendly, and hugging the life out of me. I’m so taken aback that I barely have time to process when Dominic appears in the distance. His scowl and the daggers he’s casting me tell me everything I need to know about how he feels.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?”
My manners only get me so far. She releases me with a laugh. Light and airy. I’m really confused about who she is and how she ended up in my son’s home.
“Ah, so he hasn’t told you about me.”
She shoots him a quizzical look. His expression softens, almost into an apology. I’m flabbergasted. Who is this magical woman who seems to be wielding invisible power over the most difficult person I have ever known?
“I’m Doctor Claudia Marlowe. You probably recognize me from television. Most people do. Or my books if you’re a reader. But here at home, I’m just Claudia. Or if you’re like that broody little thing over there, call me Marlowe.”
My mouth is hanging open. I can feel the air against my tongue and teeth. For the life of me, I can’t seem to close it. The hits just keep on coming. That’s when I recognized her. She’s a famous criminologist. On the late-night shows, whenever I return from a gala and need something to unwind with.
She’s famous.
She’s in Dom’s house like a ray of sunshine in the middle of a thunderstorm, and she called him an endearment. My brain can’t even begin to process all this.
“What do you want?” Dominic demands, charging toward the door. He would have stopped if it weren’t for this kind woman blocking it. “Haven’t you ruined enough lives for one day? Came back from another round?”
I mash my lips together, smoothing over the lipstick there. My gaze darts between them, expecting this sort of reaction.
“Hey, yeah. Why don’t we take this into the living room?” Claudia interjects, with her palm flat against my son’s chest.
The intimacy of the act speaks volumes.
I stare at it.
My gaze then flickers to Dominic, who raises an eyebrow as if taunting me to ask.
“Dominic, can you open a bottle of wine for us? Preferrable white. And get out that cheese sampler you like with the crackers I bought at the farmers’ market?”
My son has been to a farmers’ market? Who is he?
His eyes slide from mine to hers when her palm falls away. I’m still staring. I know I am. But I can’t help it. My son appears to be living in domestic bliss. It makes my heart skip a beat while I’m still processing the shock. This is what every parent hopes for. Yet, I still can’t get over how this woman has magically transformed this seething tiger into a hissing house cat.
“She’s not fucking staying, Marlowe.”
She doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t move. They have some sort of unspoken understanding between them. Suddenly, she turns to me, steps back, and opens the door wider.
“Come on in.”
He hesitates, the war in his gaze waging silent battles. Until he turns, his boots stomping away, and she rolls her eyes.
“He’s irritable today because he’s giving up smoking weed and vaping. It’s a new thing for him.”
