Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
Carlo stayed quiet, and I thought I might have maneuvered him into a corner, but it was only that philosopher habit of his. He was thinking about the words to express his thought as seriously as if the question had been asked at a conference with four hundred people in the audience. “Dr. DiForenza, does your wife’s primary quality lie in her ability to bring you to orgasm?”
He finally rolled over to his left side so our eyes met once more. I tried to match his gaze, but I was still the first one to look away. He said, “Sex is terrific, but you. You take all the pretentiousness and posing of the world, even mine, and smack it down with a single look. You’re an original, Brigid Quinn DiForenza. You’re such an original that I confess I’ve sometimes feared that you would grow bored with this tired philosophy professor and leave me for someone who could offer you more … danger. And, forgive the cliché, I hope to God I die first, no matter from what disgusting and painful disease, so I never have to know a life without you in it.”
Thirty–nine
Beaufort had called the house while the Quinn woman was taking a shower, awfully convenient for his purpose. Carlo had answered the phone, and Carlo was no match for his brains.
Beaufort had said he was calling to invite the two of them out for dinner. It had been meant to show that he acknowledged Gloria as his live-in, what they used to call a “significant other” and what they now called “partner,” which he discovered from hearing the term used that it could mean gay or straight. It was also to quiet down Gloria, who appeared to be less and less trusting of what he might have going on with the Quinn woman.
Beaufort had thought he could detect some new hesitancy in Carlo’s voice as soon as the other man knew it was him on the line. He congratulated himself, that he could read people without even seeing their face.
“Gloria, my partner, I mean, she’s a little shy,” he had said. “I thought it would be good for her if the four of us could meet for dinner. You’re so easy to talk to. Say, tomorrow night?”
“Um … Gosh, Jerry. I’m sorry, but Brigid will be … away?”
“Away? Where’s she going?”
There had been a pause in which Carlo obviously tried to lie, and failed to some degree. “Tampa? Area?” he added, the uptick at the end of each word making it sound more like a question than an answer.
“When will she be back?” Beaufort had asked, and then so as not to sound prying, said, “So we can get a date on the calendar.”