Page 72 of Beautiful Deceit
It's pretty late by the time we are dropped off. Neither of us have eaten since breakfast. As we walk in I quickly kick off my shoes and head to the kitchen. I make a couple grilled cheese sandwiches and some tomato soup from a can.
Beau smiles for the first time in hours, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.
I put the mug and plate in front of him, "God, I haven't had this in years. It’s a bit fancier than mom used to make, but it looks good.” His voice plays off as gracious, but there is a layer of sadness barely contained underneath. It comes out a bit when he whispers sadly, “Thank you."
I take a small bite of my sourdough grilled cheese with bacon. I nod, not knowing how to comfort him, especially when he is trying to conceal his sadness.
Beau finishes off both his sandwiches and slurps down the soup. I hope he is finding comfort in what I made, as I remain silent, unsure what to say.
He's on the couch fiddling with his phone, "She called me a few times last night. I didn't pick up." He looks down as he confesses this, a guilty look on his face.
"Did you tell that to the detective?"
"Yeah, I pretty much laid it all out. The last came through before three.” He sighs, shaking his head, “She didn't leave any messages. Do you...do you think she was calling for help?" He looks up into my eyes with his slightly glassy orbs, the guilt eating at him.
"Beau this wasn't your fault.” I repeat myself, filling my voice with conviction, “It wasn't your fault. Whoever hurt her is to blame, not you." He nods his head like he wants to believe me, but I can see the struggle in his face. I try to say something that might help, “I've heard of things like this going horribly wrong. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe things just got carried away.”
His face suddenly hardens, "No Sam. Things didn’t get carried away, but you're right. The only person responsible is the sick fucker that did it." The abrupt change in his demeanor startles me. His fists are clinched, and his eyes are intense as he stares ahead.
"Are you sure? Maybe she had a heart condition you didn’t know about?" His jaw tightens, and he's clenching his teeth, but his eyes soften when he looks over at me.
"Sammy, it wasn't an accident." He seems very confident. He was right next to her, so perhaps he saw more than I did. His hand reaches over to stroke my cheek. I search his eyes for the cause of his conviction. It's clear that he knows something I don't, but he's not telling me what it is. I'm not sure, but perhaps it involves more secrets from his past.
We climb into bed together. Beau pulls me close, holding me tight.
In the darkness I say what I've been thinking for hours, "I'm sorry about Tasha, Beau. Did the police contact her family? Does she have anyone nearby?"
"Yeah, I'm not sure who will notify them, but she has family in New York." The question I want to ask next is kind of selfish, and I don't know how to voice it without sounding unkind.
"I know it probably isn’t appropriate to ask, but what about the media? Will they be able to keep your name out of the spotlight? They don’t think we had anything to do with it, right?" I ask quietly, unsure how he'll feel about my self-centered worries.
He squeezes me tighter, "I'm not sure Sweets. I was surprised we didn't walk out to a media frenzy. That's why I didn't hail a cab until we were a few blocks away."
His breathing slows, becoming deeper as his large body slackens with sleep. Exhaustion calls him under quickly. It takes me longer to quell the thoughts running through my mind.
I wakeup sluggishly to my alarm. It is twenty times harder to drag myself out of bed when there's a big warm body curled up behind me. My eyes close again before I can fully awake.
Beau's phone on the nightstand vibrates. Its persistent humming is what wakes me again.
"Baby, your phone is ringing," I say and nuzzle my face closer to his chest. He takes a deep breath, my head rising then falling with the movement. Realization dawns slowly. I flip over quickly and grab my phone. It's already nine. I wake.
"Shit," I curse and throw the blankets back, stumbling from the bed.
I rush to the bathroom. I brush my teeth while grabbing clean underclothes. I don't have time for a shower, but I spend two minutes putting on mascara and the addition of some much need blush to my pale cheeks.
I race to the wardrobe, pulling out the first thing my hands land on which ends up being skinny black jeans and a white sweater. I step into the jeans and slide on the sweater. My gray bra straps are exposed by the boat neckline, but I don't have time to change.
Beau is sitting on the sofa pulling his shoes on.
"I haven't worn the same clothes this long since I was a teenager," he wrinkles his nose and pulls the offending shirt from his body before letting it spring back. "I gotta get my stuff from Brian."
"I have to go to work Beau." I say, walking over to the door while sliding on a jacket and the boots I left out yesterday. I pull my purse over my shoulder, searching it for my keys when he wraps his arms around me from behind.
"Sweets why are you in such a rush? Worried about getting in trouble with the boss?" He asks playfully. I breathe in relief at the light banter. I am worried about him, but his small attempt at humor gives me some relief.
I stop my harried movements and absorb his embrace, placing my hands over his where they rest on my belly. I breathe in again.
"No one else has the keys this morning so I have to open up. Jess and the new girl, Erin, will be standing out front waiting for me."
