Cries in the Night by Kathy Clark Page A

She ran a red light and probably never knew what hit her. I was with him when he was notified.”
    Rusty leaned back in the chair. His forehead creased in bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Why would he tell us she had run off?”
    Julie sighed. “I thought he was past all that.”
    “You knew he was delusional?”
    “I knew he was having difficulty accepting that she was gone forever. He was in therapy for several years. The last time I talked with … before yesterday, of course … he was talking about redecorating the house and donating a lot of Amy’s things to the Salvation Army.”
    “I thought the place looked like a memorial. It seemed odd that he hadn’t put away any of her photos,” Rusty commented. “But why would he rather think she had left him than that she had died? Isn’t that more of a betrayal?”
    “I’m not a psychologist, but I think it was that he just couldn’t accept that she was dead and never coming back. Somehow, in his mind, he could still believe she might walk through the front door and everything would go back to normal if he made himself think she had run away.”
    “That’s fucked up,” Rusty muttered.
    “Aren’t we all?” she challenged.
    Rusty was silent for several minutes as he digested that information. “I can’t imagine loving someone that much,” he finally spoke, his voice soft and almost wistful.
    “Neither can I,” Julie agreed. “Every day I see what happens when people love too much. It takes away their logic and their self-respect. They let themselves be beaten, cheated on and even killed.”
    Rusty shifted his gaze focused on her. “Wow, I’ve finally met someone who’s even more cynical about love than I am.”
    “Show me a man and woman who are truly in love and don’t want to hurt or cheat or control each other, and I’ll show you a fiction novel or a Reese Witherspoon movie. It just isn’t real life.”
    “My sentiments exactly.” Rusty lifted his half-empty beer bottle and she raised hers and they clicked them together in a toast.
    “So what’s in the paper bag?” she asked, nodding toward the brown sack on the counter.
    Rusty stood and retrieved it. “I almost forgot. I don’t know about you, but whenever I eat Italian food, I like dessert.” He pulled out two Styrofoam boxes and handed her one. “Pino’s cheesecake is the best.”
    Julie got a couple of forks out of a drawer and handed him one. “I love cheesecake. I’ve never eaten at Pino’s, but I heard it was good. The pizza was delicious.” She opened her container and admired the generous slice of cheesecake topped by cherries in a thick sauce. Without further hesitation, she cut off a piece with her fork and took a bite. The thick, creamy filling melted on her tongue and the crunchy graham cracker crust was light and buttery. “Ummm, this is amazing. Is that crushed pecans in the crust?”
    “Beats me,” Rusty said, his mouth full. “I just know that I like it.”
    “I thought all firefighters were great cooks.”
    “I know my way around a grill, and I make the best barbecue sauce in the world. Other than that, I eat whatever shows up on my plate at the station or I grab some takeout,” he admitted. “I didn’t notice much in your refrigerator. What’s your excuse?”
    “Time and, well, I guess, motivation. It seems so pointless to spend an hour cooking a meal for one person. I get home late, and it’s just easier to take out a Stouffer’s or a Marie Calendar’s meal. They’re tasty and quick.”
    He gave her another long, measuring look. “You’re young, you’re attractive, you’re intelligent … so why is there no Mr. Julie?”
    “I don’t need a man,” she responded a little defensively.
    “Maybe not. But aren’t they good for … something else?” One corner of his mouth lifted in a teasing grin.
    “Nothing I can’t do for myself.”
    He laughed out loud. “God, you’re a female me.”
    She couldn’t resist smiling. “From