Obsession, Deceit And Really Dark Chocolate. Kyra Davis

kind of like shedding tears over the retirement of stone-washed jeans. So no one blinked an eye when Leah quickly pulled herself together, sold her large Forest Hill home for $3.4 million dollars, along with most of Bob’s things and bought a $1.6 million two-bedroom in Laurel Heights. She used some of her excess cash to get herself set up as a freelance special-events coordinator. Her Junior League friends helped out by funneling business her way, and it quickly became apparent that Leah was born for the job. Whether it was a corporate retreat or an elaborate birthday celebration for a debutante’s shih tzu, my sister managed to make the event an elegant affair to remember.

      “Work’s fine,” Leah said as she adjusted the clasp of the new Tiffany charm bracelet she had recently bought herself. “I’m currently planning the retirement dinner for Delcoe’s CEO. I’ve convinced them to have it at the Marines’ Memorial to honor the years he spent in the service.” She paused a moment before changing subjects. “Do you realize that today was the first time I’ve seen Melanie since Dad’s funeral? Odd that it would take another death for our paths to cross again.”

      I didn’t say anything. I didn’t like thinking about Dad’s funeral.

      “You almost never talk about Melanie anymore,” Leah added.

      “Melanie and I have both been busy living our lives in different towns and in different social circles. We still talk on the phone every once in a while and she’s still important to me.” I opened the moon roof to give us a little more fresh air. “You’re probably wondering why I agreed to investigate Eugene’s death for her.”

      “I know why you’re doing it,” Leah said, “although I seriously doubt you know why you’re doing it.”

      “What is that supposed to mean?”

      “It means that the reasons that you have allowed your relationship with Melanie to fade into the background of your life are the exact same reasons why you continue to care about her so much. But of course you can’t examine any of that because that would require you to revisit painful memories that you’ve pushed into your subconscious.”

      I gave Leah a questioning look as I turned onto her block. “Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

      “Exactly my point. Aha! That’s Liz’s boyfriend’s car! That’s why that little harlot asked if she could watch Jack at her parents’ house, because she knew Bruce would be welcome there! And to think I bought her line about wanting Jack to be able to play with their new puppy! Let me out here. I swear, if either of them so much as has the top two buttons of their shirts undone I’m going to have them arrested for indecent exposure in front of a minor.”

      “Mmm, that will go over well in a city that allows men to parade in G-strings during Carnival.”

      Leah glared at me right before she shot out the door to scare a couple of overeager teenagers into a life of abstinence. As I drove home I made a halfhearted attempt to make sense of what Leah had said but quickly gave up the effort. Leah was a lot crazier than I was, so it seemed foolhardy to take her psychobabble seriously.

      When I got back to my neighborhood I began the arduous task of looking for parking. After fifteen minutes with no luck I finally accepted the fact that I was going to have to give Anatoly’s block a go. Anatoly lived all of three blocks away from me, and over the past two months I had spent an exorbitant amount of time trying to avoid him. I would never make that mistake again. From now on if a man lived so close that it would make honoring a restraining order a challenge I would not get involved with him. I turned onto his block and, as Murphy’s law would have it, there he was at the other end of the block, crouched over, examining the front of his Harley.

      It occurred to me that maybe this was why I hadn’t heard from him. It wasn’t that he had moved on, it was that he had been standing on his corner in the hopes that I would eventually drive by and pick him up.

      But if that was the case he should have noticed my car by now, and he definitely had not. He was too absorbed with his tire.

      I slowed the car from ten miles an hour to two. Something about Anatoly’s crouched position reminded me of certain things he used to do to me. Just drive by. If I stopped and talked to him I was bound to do something stupid, or he would do something that would make me feel stupid, and then I would be thrown into a downward spiral of lost pride and low self-esteem.

      But of course, there was a parking place just a few feet in front of him.

      Beads of sweat dampened my brow. I had two seconds to figure out what was more important to me—my dignity or parking. My God, it was like Sophie’s Choice. Of course, if I lost my dignity I could always turn to my friend Smirnoff for some much-needed comfort. But if I gave up the parking spot I might be stuck driving around my neighborhood for days, and there would be no solace since there are laws about drinking before you parked your car.

      I took a deep breath and made the only logical choice by pulling into the empty space. Anatoly looked up as I did so and I felt his eyes boring into me. Here it comes. This is the part where he walks up and tells me that we should put our differences aside and indulge in safe, casual, early-evening sex.

      Anatoly nodded in greeting as I pulled up on the emergency break and then returned all of his attention to the bike.

      Okay, self-esteem gone.

      I got out of my car. Turn around and walk away. I walked over to him. “Nice tire. Do you usually come out here to pay homage or is today a special occasion?”

      “Someone hit my bike while it was parked here. The front fairing is seriously damaged.”

      “I hate it when people try to screw with my fairing.”

      “This is going to cost me at least twenty-five hundred dollars.”

      “Seriously?” I tapped the part that he was examining. “It’s a flimsy piece of metal. How can that possibly add up to twenty-five hundred?”

      “It’s not just a piece of metal, it’s the front fairing.”

      Two months. We hadn’t spoken in two months and he wanted to complain to me about his fucking fairing? I felt my hands ball up into fists. “Well, good luck with this.” I turned and started to walk away.

      “Doesn’t that hurt your palms?”

      I slowly pivoted. “Excuse me?”

      He had straightened up and was wearing that little half smile of his. “Whenever you’re angry you make a fist, and I’ve always wondered if your nails dug into your palms. They’re long enough that it seems like they should.”

      “This is something you think about?”

      “Occasionally I wonder.”

      “Huh, what else do you wonder about?”

      “Lately, I’ve been wondering how you are.”

      “I’m fine.” I waited a beat before adding, “If that’s really been on your mind so much you could have given me a call.”

      “I didn’t think you wanted me to call.”

      “Why would you think that?” I asked.

      “Because you told me not to.”

      “Oh…and you listened to me?”

      “Didn’t you want me to?”

      Of course I hadn’t wanted him to. I had wanted him to fight for me, to ask me to come back to him and to tell me that he was hopelessly in love with me and couldn’t live without me. “Yes, I wanted you to listen…I’m just surprised that you did.”

      Anatoly nodded, then looked down at the bike again. “My insurance won’t cover this.”

      And we were back to the fairing. “I’m sure one of your clients will give you an advance if you ask them to.”

      “Business has been slow lately.” Anatoly stuffed his hands into his leather jacket and