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  He moved his hips, sliding himself against her palms, between her thighs, against her bottom.

  Her heart began to thud.

  He thrust, again and again, his arm around her stomach, his breathing harsh in her ear, as if he were spiraling out of control.

  "Do you want it this way?" he gasped, thrusting, almost finding his way inside her, missing, meeting her hands. He made a frustrated sound, thrust again, and found her.

  She wanted to face him, wanted to be held in his arms, if that's what he meant. She shifted, then quickly guided him back to her. She was wondering if she'd been too aggressive when he grasped her firmly by both hips and buried himself inside her.

  This time he pumped against her like a piston, his strokes rapid.

  Out of control.

  It was in her head to beg him to stop, to tell him they couldn't continue like this, but then her body took over and she was lifting her hips to meet him, deep stroke for deep stroke, panting, gasping breath for panting, gasping breath. Until with one final, trembling lunge, they collapsed together, entwined. Wasted.

  She became aware of his pressing soft kisses against her sweating brow, talking to her, asking her something over and over.

  "Mmm?"

  She struggled to focus her attention.

  "Maddie?"

  "Mmm?"

  "Did I hurt you?"

  His voice was breathless, worried. "Maddie?" He smoothed her hair, over and over. "Maddie?"

  She was too tired to answer.

  She woke up only once during the night, and that was to briefly contemplate what she would serve Eddie for breakfast.

  Pop-Tarts would be nice. Pop-Tarts and Tang.

  Chapter 20

  Sick of Good-Byes

  Eddie didn't let himself fall asleep. Instead, he lay in the dark, listening to Maddie's even breathing.

  Different.

  What had happened between them was different from any sexual encounter he'd ever had. He didn't know why. Maybe because he'd been sober. Maybe because he felt like he knew Maddie. Even liked her. Liked her a lot. Maybe more than liked her a lot.

  You don't even know her, he told himself. She's out to get you, just like everybody else.

  He didn't care.

  Which proved just how screwed up he was.

  He didn't care.

  She could have the tape. She could sell it. She could make a million bucks on it.

  He didn't care.

  Most immediate on his agenda was to get the hell out of there. Get back home before he had another panic attack.

  Making love had been an outlet, an escape. But now that the frenzied passion had subsided, now that his brain was once again functioning, he was ashamed.

  He couldn't believe he'd put on such a display right there in front of her.

  He'd had panic attacks before, but back in the old days people had attributed his weird actions to drugs, and he'd let them think it rather than have them know the truth.

  Now Maddie knew.

  He couldn't face her.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  Hell, he wanted to hold her, make love to her again, but he'd lingered too long already.

  Carefully, he slipped away.

  Standing by the bed, he held his breath, listening in the dark.

  She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. She shifted positions, then resumed her even breathing.

  Almost disappointed that she hadn't woken up, he moved away, feeling along the wall with his hands, sliding his bare feet across the carpet.

  He found his scattered clothes on the steps and quickly put them on.

  In their haste to get upstairs, the front door hadn't been locked. He remedied that, then went out the back where he'd come in. The locks on both doors were bad. She should do something about that. Anybody could get in.

  He opened the door.

  Something brushed his leg.

  Maddie's cat.

  "Oh, no you don't, Ernest." He grabbed the cat before it could make its escape, holding it like a football. Man, it was heavy. And furry as hell.

  The cat yowled, twisting in his grip.

  And it hadn't been declawed.

  Eddie yelped and let go. The cat hit the floor with a solid thud, then ran from the kitchen.

  It was easier going out the back. The front door seemed open to the world, while the back door was more secluded, more behind the scenes. Before an attack could creep up on him again, he rolled the dirt bike from where he'd left it leaning against the garage. He ran with it down the alley, then, when he was far enough away from Maddie's, he jumped on, heeling the kick-start.

  The bike sputtered. He revved the engine, blue smoke swirling under the haze of the alley lights.

  The engine smoothed out. The blue smoke vanished.

  Eddie took off, careening up the pothole-riddled alley. Panic beat beneath is ribs. He hoped to hell it wasn't an attack. He tried to tell himself it was the reaction anyone would feel sneaking around, making a getaway. When he reached the levee, his heart began to fall into a steadier rhythm, his sweating palms began to dry.

  Almost home.

  Almost safe.

  A red sun rose from the cornfields as he pulled up in front of his house. With the bike still rolling, he killed the engine and dropped the machine to the ground.

  Just in time.

  He collapsed, first falling to his knees, then unfolding all the way, until he lay sprawled on his belly on the ground. Dew kissed his face, soaking through his shirt and pants. His fingers dug into the dirt. Eddie hung on, a familiar feeling of despair and relief washing over him.

  ~0~

  Maddie woke to the tranquil sound of a gagging cat.

  She was instantly aware of the empty space beside her. She put a palm to the sheet. Cold.

  Another gag, then silence.

  “Eddie?”

  The continued silence answered her question. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Eddie was gone. And that left her feeling cheap and used. If she ever got married, she wouldn't even be able to justify a pastel wedding gown at this point.

  Maybe something in red. Or black.

  The phone rang.

  She answered—purely reflex, amazed that it was still connected.

  "You're late."

  "Evelyn. Hi."

  Maddie put a hand to her tangled hair, aware of her nakedness beneath the sheet as she talked to Evelyn. "Ah, I've got a few things to do." Like getting myself a shirt printed with the word IDIOT across the front. "I'll be over as soon as I can."

  "I wanted to get an early start," Evelyn complained. "I told you that yesterday."

  "See ya in a bit."

  Maddie hung up. Maybe she should just get the phone disconnected. But then Evelyn would be banging on the door.

  The phone rang again. "I'll be over as soon as I can."

  "Sure, babe."

  No mistaking that deep voice. "Al?"

  "Gotta client for you."

  "I told you I quit. I have another job."

  "Does it pay a hundred bucks an hour?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Thought you might change your mind."

  "Not yet."

  "You owe me thirty bucks."

  "I'll pay you."

  "Just don't want you skipping out the way your sister did."

  "I won't."

  "Got a repo man looking for her car. When he finds it, it's mine. Hear that, darlin'?"

  "I know, Al. If you find it, let me know, will you?"

  "Sure thing, sweetheart."

  She found Hemingway lying on the steps, on top of her sleep shirt. So that's where the gagging had taken place. Was he trying to tell her something?

  She tugged the shirt out from under him, relieved to find he hadn't left a present on it. Apparently the gagging had been all noise. When she got her first check, she was taking him to a groomer to have him shaved. Last time she had it done, Hemingway had pouted for a week. She'd never quite figured out what had made
him so mad: the abuse at the hands of a total stranger or the indignity of looking like a naked mole rat.

  Maddie took a shower, ate a Pop-Tart by herself, then headed for Evelyn's, grateful to have something to fill the day so she didn't have to think about Eddie Berlin.

  She thought about him anyway. While she was cutting carpet. While she was slopping glue on the back. While she pressed the material to the sidewalk.

  It had been sex, that's all.

  She couldn't believe she was that shallow. That weak. But like they said, sex happens.

  It wasn't working.

  It wasn't doing any good, trying to make light of the whole thing. Maybe she was old-fashioned, but for her, sex was serious. Sacred. And she'd treated it like another day at the amusement park. She'd treated it exactly the way Enid would have.

  Worse yet, she couldn't quit thinking about Eddie. She wanted to experience Eddie Berlin again.

  ~0~

  That night at the radio station, at exactly midnight, her caller phoned.

  For Maddie, he symbolized the perfect sensitive male, a man she could never have. She found herself wanting to tell him her problems, to confide in him. But he was part of her problem, along with Eddie Berlin.

  "What's your name?" she asked, afraid she might scare him off, but needing to know what to call him.

  "Name?" There was a moment of silence. "Jonathan."

  Jonathan. Perfect.

  "Missed you last night, Mary."

  She suddenly felt guilty about spending it with Eddie. "It was my night off," she said inanely.

  "Have any trivia for me?"

  It was a game they'd started playing the very first night. She struggled to collect her thoughts, to dredge up something he might not know. "Who is Yusaf Islam?" That should keep him busy.

  "Too easy, Mary. Cat Stevens. Changed his name after he joined the Islamic faith."

  She sighed. "It's sad when good musicians disappear like that. I wonder if he realizes how much he's missed."

  Jonathan didn't say anything. She thought the line was dead.

  "Jonathan? You still there?"

  "Right here."

  He sounded distracted.

  "Your turn."

  It didn't take him long to come up with something. "Did you know that dams are causing the earth to spin faster?"

  "No."

  "Yeah. So much water has been diverted from the equatorial region and moved closer to the earth's axis that it's causing the earth to spin faster. Think about it."

  "Did you read that in Weekly World News ?"

  "It's the truth. I swear."

  "You're turn."

  "I'm out of trivia."

  "I have one. Did you know there are four doomsday planes stored in Omaha?"

  "Our tax dollars at work."

  "No kidding."

  "But hey, if the earth is destroyed, at least the president will be safe."

  "Where will he go?"

  "Outer space."

  "Keep cruising until you reach Mars, then hang a right."

  ~0~

  The next afternoon, Al called. Enid's car had been found.

  "In long-term parking at an airport in South Dakota."

  "That's great!" Maddie said. "Isn't that great?"

  "I have a bad feeling about this. Remember that commuter that crashed not too long ago? The date on the parking ticket was June twenty-fifth. Same date."

  Maddie tried to put down the water she was holding. She missed the table. The glass hit the floor, shattering.

  She remembered. No survivors. That's what she remembered.

  She didn't know if she said bye or thanks or anything. Or even if she hung up.

  Later, she bent down and picked up the pieces of shattered glass, laying the shards in her palm.

  Enid.

  Dead.

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  All along, Maddie had thought she'd come back. All along, she'd thought Enid had found some guy and when it was over, she'd be back. That was the way it was with Enid. She vanished, but she always came back.

  Maddie called the local airport, getting the airlines and flight number of the plane that had crashed. Then she called to see if her sister had been on the flight.

  She waited, receiver in hand, mouth dry, listening to the click of computer keys.

  "No one by that name on the flight."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  Relieved, Maddie hung up. But then she began to wonder if Enid had used a different name.

  The not knowing was driving her crazy. She should go to the police again, but then they hadn't been any help so far.

  That night at work, she was preoccupied, not giving her job the attention it deserved.

  "You're sure playing some crappy music," Jonathan told her.

  "I'm in a crappy frame of mind."

  "Trouble sleeping?"

  "I've had some bad news today." For once, she wasn't in the mood for Jonathan.

  "Want to talk about it?"

  Talking to him about her sister would be too personal. In light of what may have happened to Enid, the conversations Maddie had shared with Jonathan suddenly seemed sophomoric. How could she have ever thought they were deep? She didn't even know him.

  "Do you think we have a strange relationship?" he asked, as if he'd read her mind.

  She was depressed enough to bring up a subject she'd contemplated several times. "Our talking like this, it's just a game to you." But then, in all fairness, it was a game to her, too, a diversion, serving to distract her from a bigger issue: Eddie Berlin.

  "What are you afraid of?" he asked.

  I'm afraid of the emptiness in my life. I'm afraid I've built you into something you're not. She knew the question was about their conversations, but she suddenly needed to voice a deeper truth, a fear within herself, once again feeling the need to connect in some small way. "Time. I'm afraid of time." She had never cared for nostalgia. There was a sadness to looking back, a reminder of time wasted. "Things happen too fast, without enough time to relish them or cherish them, or enjoy them as thoroughly as we should."

  "Are you okay?" Jonathan asked.

  She swallowed, suddenly feeling dangerously close to tears.

  "Maybe I shouldn't call you anymore," he said.

  How had the conversation taken such a dark turn? She hadn't meant for it to go this way, but now that it had, she didn't know how to stop it. She'd crossed the line. This wasn't fun for him anymore.

  "Maybe you shouldn't." Cutting ties. It might be for the best.

  "I'll be out here. If you need me, I'll be listening."

  "Where do you live?" she asked, suddenly afraid he would hang up for the last time. "I don't even know where you live."

  "Hang a right past Mars."

  ~0~

  Maddie signed off at six-thirty, then dragged herself home. Or rather to Enid's. But was it Enid's anymore?

  Enid was gone, maybe dead.

  Eddie had loved her and left her, love being a euphemism.

  And now Jonathan had deserted her.

  All things considered, the last twenty-four hours had really sucked.

  She unlocked the front door and elbowed her way inside.

  The place had been trashed.

  Her first thought was of her cat.

  "Hemingway!"

  She dropped her bag and ran through the house, stepping over couch cushions and pillows, over papers that had been pulled from drawers and dumped on the floor. "Hemingway!"

  She heard a faint meow coming from the direction of the upstair's bedroom.

  "Thank God." She wasn't aware of moving, but suddenly she was on her hands and knees, looking under the bed. His eyes were shining in the dark.

  He meowed again, this one kind of a tentative question that seemed to ask if it was okay to come out now.

  "Poor baby."

  He wasn't going to budge, so she squeezed herself under the bed, close enough to reach him.
She pulled him out and hugged him to her, dust bunnies and all. "Poor, poor Hemingway," she said, baby-talking to him. With the cat in her arms, she surveyed the room. The closet had been emptied, every article of clothing now on the floor.

  There wasn’t much doubt in her mind as to the identity of the perpetrator.

  Eddie Berlin.

  Still looking for whatever it was he thought she'd taken from him.

  She'd had enough. He could treat her like shit, but when he barged in and scared poor Hemingway to death… well, that was too much. Way too much.

  Chapter 21

  The Downward Spiral

  Enraged, feeling used and hurt, Maddie jumped in her car and headed for Eddie's.

  He wasn't home.

  Either that, or he simply wasn't answering the door.

  Her anger at the boiling point, she dug through her car, cursing under her breath as she searched for paper. She tore a piece off a brown grocery bag. Using the hood of her car as a desk, she scratched out an angry message.

  NICE ONE, SCUMBALL. YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST STRAIGHTENED UP WHEN YOU WERE DONE TRASHING MY PLACE. Signed: Maddie a.k.a. I AM NOT A DOORMAT

  She grabbed a package of gum from her purse, unwrapped a piece, shoved it in her mouth and chewed as fast and as hard as she could. Then she marched across the yard, up the front steps. She took the wad of gum from her mouth and shoved it against the door. With her palm, she slapped her message to the gum, then stood back to survey her work, hands on hips.

  It sufficiently conveyed the depths of her anger.

  She marched back to her car and took off.

  She would have liked to peel out, but she was lucky whenever her car started at all.

  Normally she crept up the lane, careful to avoid as many holes as she could. This time she flew, bouncing madly along, her head hitting the roof, her shoulder crashing against the door. She slowed, but not before she heard a deafening roar, not before she felt a vibration under her feet.

  She looked in the rearview mirror.

  Her muffler was lying in the middle of the lane.

  She braked. Reversed. Braked. Got out.

  She grabbed the muffler. Hot! She screamed and let it go.

  She opened the trunk and pulled out an old musty towel. Using it as a giant hot pad, she picked up the muffler, dropped it in the trunk, slammed the lid, and was on her way.

  That night, she called in sick. She had important stuff to do. Like guzzling the bottle of wine she'd found in the closet.