orange prescription bottle. âNothing changed on the home front. If anything, it got worse.â Popping the cap with her chipped thumbnail, she slid a tablet into her palm and then slammed it into her mouth, washing it down with the martini.
Jane couldnât help but see the name on the pill bottle. âHey, I donât think youâre supposed to mix alcohol with antidepressants.â
Courtney tossed Jane a sarcastic smile. âIs that right?â She turned, staring straight ahead. Jane watched as Courtney momentarily detached from the scene and then re-entered her body. âMegan started preschool last year. But it hasnât been easy.⦠Iâve had so many calls from her teacher telling me that she wets the bed during naptime.â She cleared her throat. âThey suggested I take her to a child psychologist to find out what was bothering her. Well, I wasnât about to go down that rocky path. Can you imagine if her visits got out to people? And what would happen if she revealed something
she shouldnât?â Courtney forced another tired smile, but this time it seemed harder to produce.
Jane knocked back her water. âYou didnât need to take her to the doctor to find out why Megan was wetting the bed.â She treaded cautiously. âYou already knew the answer to that one.â
Jane caught Courtneyâs reflection in the giant mirror behind the bar. She watched as Courtneyâs eyes narrowed, filling with pools of rage and sorrow. âYes. I certainly did .â Her voice was disincarnate. âBut if it ever got out, Craig would find a way to spin it, wouldnât he?â
Jane wasnât sure Craig could âspinâ that kind of sickness. Then again, it was painfully clear to Jane that Craig Gardner, up until now, had been able to skillfully strategize his sorry ass around any number of obstacles that might impede the progress of those who werenât initiated into the private manipulations of public relations. âIâ¦,â Jane hesitated briefly, âI offered to help you â â
Courtney suddenly came back into herself. âOh, my goodness, Jane! Do you know what I suddenly flashed on right now? Iâve been having dreams about you for so many nights.â She turned her body toward Jane. âIsnât that odd. Why would I be having dreams about you ?â
Jane felt the knot tighten in her gut. âI donât know.â
âI canât remember all of themâ¦butâ¦â Courtney closed her eyes. âYesâ¦I do recall you standing in front of me with your hand reaching out toward me.â With her eyes still closed, she held out her hand, illustrating the pose. âAnd what was it you were saying in the dream to me? Oh, itâs right there on the tip of my mindâs eye; why canât I remember it?â
Jane checked the clock on the wall. 1:50. Ten minutes to closing time. She caught the eye of the bartender, who stared
back at her with growing anxiety. Courtney opened her eyes. Jane quickly turned away from the bartender.
âIsnât that just the craziest thing, Jane?â Courtney nervously played with the sliver of lemon, bringing it to her lips and biting off a bit. But as she did it, the lemon slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. âOh, butterfingers!â
âLet me get it,â Jane insisted. She slid off the stool and reached down to pick up the lemon. Her eyes rested on Courtneyâs left pant leg, which was tucked into the fur-trimmed white boots. A scarlet swath of fresh blood encircled the section of her pant leg right above the boot. Jane uneasily sat back onto the barstool. âCourtney? Thereâs a lot of blood on your pant leg. Are you hurt?â
Courtney casually took a sip of her martini. âAre you sure?â she asked, never looking down. Jane nodded. âThatâs odd. I donât even feel it.â She turned to the
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