Confidential(84)

Instead, I go through the doc’s house, inch by inch, and I can’t believe what I find, that the jackpot is hidden under his couch cushion. A key under the mat and a file folder under the couch cushion. People, what are you going to do with them?

Inside this folder is a contract between him and Greer. It says he’s going to father her child, and not only that but he’s going to have some rights to see the kid as s/he grows up. And then I remember this funny thing I noticed the last time I saw her: the way she draped her arm over her stomach and it tightened at one point, almost protectively. I’d thought I was giving her a stomachache, but no. All those loose clothes and that arm—she’s pregnant.

Picture it: You’re newly pregnant, you’ve got all these hormones coursing through you, you’re at dim sum (where both Lucinda and Flora happened to mention Greer didn’t eat a thing and ducked out early, probably sick from the smells, not to mention the conversation), and besides, you’ve heard enough. The guy’s—what’s the other pop psychology term?—a sociopath who’s been fucking two other women, and you’ve got a baby on the way and you’ve guaranteed that sociopath access because he snowed you, too.

I’ve got her. I’ve got motive.





BEFORE





CHAPTER 69





FLORA


I was tempted to make him stand outside my apartment so he’d see what it felt like. He could position himself beneath the window and call up to me, like I was Juliet on her balcony. But my neighbors didn’t really need to be privy to my destroying the good doctor.

I stepped aside without a word and let him cross the threshold, shutting the door behind him. I crossed my arms over my chest to emphasize how closed I was to him.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “How’s Kate?”

“Like you care.” The truth was, she was no better. It was likely that she’d never be any better. My aunt and uncle weren’t yet “making any decisions,” and I wasn’t planning to fly out to Miami until they had. As in, I’d fly out to say goodbye—not that Kate would be able to hear me, or, even if her ears worked, her brain wouldn’t register what had been said. Still, I needed to see her one last time.

But Michael didn’t care about any of that. He didn’t care about her or about me. He never had.

“Could we sit down?” he asked. “It feels strange to talk in the entryway.”

I walked to my couch and took a seat—on my hands, for self-restraint.

He sank down on the other side, his eyes on his feet. “I need to apologize.” His body language was clearly intended to convey how hard this was for him, that he couldn’t even look me straight in the face because he was so very ashamed, so entirely chastened by the recent events.

I didn’t buy it for a second. He wasn’t here to repent; he wanted something. I could guess what it was, but I was going to make him say it.

I wouldn’t even ask the obvious question: “Apologize for what?” Nope. I was going to let him hang there in the silence, stewing in it. He’d done that to me enough times. How do you like your own medicine, Michael? Pretty rancid, eh?

“I’ve treated you really poorly, and I have no good excuse. I think I just got scared.” Oh, please. “You’re a formidable woman, Flora. At times, it was overwhelming.”

Huh. Interesting. So that was how he was going to play this. No declarations of love; he was going for fear.

What was most interesting was that I could be this detached from someone I’d thought I loved so deeply. It was almost like he was a lab rat I was studying. Yep, he was a rat all right. I didn’t even remotely want to fuck him. I couldn’t believe I ever did.

When I was done with someone, I was done completely. It had always been that way. Like the boyfriends before Young, who I never loved, and even with Young, who I did. I suspected that even if Michael hadn’t been waiting in the wings, I wouldn’t have spent much time pining. It was like there was a valve inside me that shut off at will. Not my will, or I would have turned it long ago with Michael. But once it was off, watch out.

Watch out, Michael. You’re not dealing with the same woman who slept in your bed like a mewling kitten after the mugging, who was trying so hard to elicit your sympathy and your love.

It made me cringe to even think of all my machinations. I’d debased myself for this guy here, this mealymouthed loser?

Now he was going on about how much he loved me and what a beautiful relationship we’d had, but it had grown so toxic and he should have been more direct with me, he should have ended things sooner once and for all, and he hoped there could be forgiveness. Closure.

Seriously? Closure? That was the best he could do?

I still hadn’t spoken, and he’d kept his eyes on his feet. But he must have sensed that his little speech wasn’t going over so well, since he’d always been able to read a room, because he lifted his head and turned to me. “I’ll always have love for you, Flora.”

I could have clawed his eyes out. “Cut to the chase. What do you want?”

“I told you. I want forgiveness, and healing, for both of us. We’ve both behaved badly.”

“I behaved badly in reaction to what you did. You drove me to it.”