My mother hid the knife block.
In hindsight, that was the first sign. And then, two nights ago, she locked her bedroom door. It had to be subconscious, but still, I didn’t want to think too hard about what she was secretly thinking. I guess that was the second sign. And now there was a suitcase on my bed. Which wasn’t really a sign at all. It was the actual event.
“The air was cold and wet, and if you stood still for a moment the chilling damp would creep into your bones. I could tell the temperature was taking a deep dive, and the bright sky of the morning was a fond memory. It was an appropriate day to dump a body.”
““Wow,” I said, since it was all I could think of to say. “Wow. That’s some outfit.” When you’ve got a big guy wearing Lycra it doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. I resisted the temptation to ask Eric to turn around.
“I don’t believe I could be convincing as a queen,” Eric said, “but I decided this sent such a mixed signal, almost anything was possible.” He fluttered his eyelashes at me. Eric was definitely enjoying this.
“Oh, yes,” I said, trying to find somewhere else to look. “
I was draped over the arm of one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen, and he was staring into my eyes.
“Think.. Brad Pitt,” I whispered. The dark brown eyes still regarde me with remote interest.
Okay, I was on the wrong track.
I pictured Claude’s last lover, a bouncer at a strip joint.
“Think about Charles Bronson,” I suggested. “Or, um, Edward James Olmos.” I was rewarded by the beginnings of a hot glow in those long-lashed eyes.