want to hear. She didn't want to imagine. Her legs nearly gave out
before she made it to her stool. Once there, she let the scissors drop
with a ringing clatter to the floor, then curled her legs up and hugged
them to her chest.
He had touched her, she thought in disgust. He had touched her, and God
help her, for a moment she'd wanted him to go on touching
her. She'd wanted him to take the choice out of her hands, just as he'd
accused her of. She hated him for that. And she hated herself
The phone beside her rang three times before she drummed up the energy
to answer. "Yes."
"Emma-Emma is that you?"
"Yes."
There was a crackle on the line, a hesitation. "It's Michael. Michael
Kesselring."
She stared dully at the prints drying above her work table. "Yes,
Michael."
"I ... are you all right? Is something wrong?"
She found she wanted to laugh then, long and loud. "No, why should
anything be wrong?"
"Well, you sound ... I guess you've read some of the tabloids."
"I've seen them."
He let out a long breath. The speech he'd prepared so carefully had
vanished from his mind. "I wanted to call and explain-"
"Why? It's none of my business what you do, or whom you do it with."
The anger she hadn't been able to feel through fear came bubbling to the
surface. "I can't think of any reason I should care who you're
screwing. Can you?"
"Yes. No, dammit. Emma, I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."
She was trembling now, but mistook grief and nerves for rage. "Are you
going to tell me you haven't slept with her?"
"No, I'm not going to tell you that."
"Then we really have nothing mgre to discuss."
"Emma. Shit, I don't know how all of this got so out of hand. I want
to talk to you about it, but I can't do it over the frigging phone. I
can try to trade some duty, fly out for a couple of days."
"I won't see you."
"For Christ's sake, Emma."
"I won't. There's no reason to, Michael. As I said, you're free to be
with whomever you choose, and my blessing if you want it. I'm going to
put all of that part of my life behind me. All of it. So seeing you
again wouldn't suit my plans. Do you understand?"
"Yes." There was a long, long pause. "Yes, I guess I do. Good luck,
Emma."
"Thank you, Michael. Goodbye."
She was crying again, but didn't bother to brush the tears away.
Reaction, she told herself. Reaction was setting in from that horrible
scene with Blackpool. She wished Michael well, she really did. Damn
him and all men.
She locked her door, turned the radio up loud, sat on the floor and
wept.