Body Language. Millie Criswell

a minute, like water drops dancing on a hot griddle.

      “But aside from that, I just know. I’ve been married to the man for thirty-five years. A wife knows these things. I was just too trusting to realize that something was terribly wrong. I feel so stupid for not knowing what was going on right under my nose.”

      “You’re not stupid. How could you know? Dad went out of his way to deceive you.”

      Rosemary looked sad, angry and defeated, and Ellie was worried. Her parents had always been close—the perfect couple. Her mother had reveled in that, taken it to heart and believed in it. Having your illusions shattered was difficult to overcome. Ellie knew that firsthand and was the perfect example of someone who’d never really accepted her fate.

      She and Michael had been apart for seven years, and still the pain of his betrayal—or change of heart, as he so blithely put it—continued as a gaping wound to her heart that refused to heal.

      And if she were truthful with herself, the sight of him had brought all those disturbing memories of their time together to the surface.

      “Do you have any wine, dear? I could use a glass right about now.”

      Ellie’s musings came to a halt, her eyes widening. Her mother barely touched the communion wine at church service, let alone cocktails. “But you don’t drink. Are you sure?”

      “Quite sure. It’s time I entered the twenty-first century. Don’t you think? If your father can carry on an affair, I can learn to drink.”

      A thousand uh-ohs reverberated in Ellie’s head. Her mother’s new tit-for-tat philosophy was not a good thing.

      But Ellie knew all about a woman’s need for revenge.

      She fetched the wine, handing her mother a glass and pouring herself one—which she needed more than Rosemary did—then asked the question uppermost on her mind. “Have you thought about how long you’ll be staying? Not that I’m anxious for you to leave or anything,” she added quickly, noting the hurt look flashing across the older woman’s face.

      “It’ll be hard for you and Dad to work things out if you’re not at home, is all I meant.”

      Sipping her wine, Rosemary tried valiantly not to make a face at the dryness of the Chianti. “I’ll be here indefinitely, Ellie. I have no intention of going back to that worm I used to call husband. Not now, not ever.”

      The word indefinitely hit the side of Ellie’s head with the force of a jackhammer.

      “Mom, you can’t be serious!”

      “I’m very serious. I’ve made up my mind to divorce your father. If Ted wants other women, then he can have them. I no longer care.”

      Crisis! Crisis!

      Ellie felt a surge of nausea and feared she might puke all over Barnaby. “Don’t talk nonsense! Of course you and dad will make up. This is just a bump in the road. Why, you don’t even know for sure that he actually had sexual relations with that woman,” she said, sounding a bit too much like Bill Clinton during his Monica Lewinsky days. “It might all be part of a fantasy—a sick fantasy, I’ll give you that—but still a fantasy.”

      “Your father was unfaithful. Period. Why can’t you understand that? Have things changed so much since I was a young woman? He took a vow to love, honor and cherish me, through sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live. Well, I’m not dead yet!

      “Whether in his mind or in deed, Ted betrayed me. The damage has been done. And when he refused to stop all contact with that bitch…”

      Ellie gasped. “Mom! You don’t swear.”

      “Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! There, now I swear. I swear, I drink, I cry.” Suddenly Rosemary burst into tears, and Ellie rushed over to the sofa to comfort her, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. Even Barnaby whined in support.

      “I’m so sorry, Mom. I wish there was something I could do. I feel so helpless.”

      Her mother sniffed several times, then smiled wanly, patting her cheek. “There is something you can do, Ellie. Do you have any Lysol? I feel the need to clean.”

      And so it began….

      “Never accept dates out of desperation or loneliness.

      Desperation fuels dyspepsia, not desire.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      “ARE YOU SURE, Ms. Peters, that you’ve transcribed that last word correctly? The syntax of the sentence doesn’t make sense to me.”

      Sucking in her anger, Ellie turned to find Michael hovering behind her chair, looking over her right shoulder and reading her transcription. In fact, he’d been hovering a lot the past few days, and it was starting to grate on her nerves.

      Every time she inhaled she could smell the musky scent of his cologne—the same scent she’d bought him seven years ago, as a matter of fact!

      Some men had a lot of gall!

      “Quite sure, Mr. Deavers. I’m very good at what I do. But if you’d like to listen for yourself—” You pompous, arrogant… She removed her headphones and handed them to him, but he shook his head.

      “That won’t be necessary, as long as you’re certain. By the way, I like that sweater you’re wearing. That purple color looks good on you.”

      “I don’t care what you like. Just leave me alone and let me do my work.”

      “Now why would I want to do that? It’s my job to make sure everyone in this department is doing their work to the best of their abilities.” He pulled out a chair and sat down next to her, making Ellie gasp.

      “What do you think you’re doing?”

      He smiled. “Observing. And I must say, I like what I see. You’ve only grown more beautiful, Ellie. Time has softened your features, made you look even more—”

      “I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, Michael, but I’m not interested,” she bit out, barely above a whisper. “And if you don’t want our previous relationship to be found out and bandied about this entire building, I suggest you leave before Becky gets back.”

      “You’re still very angry with me, aren’t you?”

      Ellie felt like rolling her eyes. “Are you dense? Of course I’m angry.” She shook her head. “What did you expect, just to waltz back into my life as if the last seven years hadn’t happened? It doesn’t work that way, Michael. You, of all people, should know that.”

      “It should. We used to be good friends once, before we became lovers.”

      I will not allow myself to be drawn back to those memories—those sweet, destructive, painfully bitter memories.

      “Please go away, Mr. Deavers. I need to finish my work and you’re disturbing me.”

      “That’s good, I think,” he said with a sexy grin, before rising to his feet and walking away, hands clenched behind his back like some pompous dictator surveying his possessions.

      Well, if he thought she was still one of his possessions, he had another think coming!

      “What did the director want? Did you do something wrong?” Becky wanted to know upon her return from the rest room. No doubt her ears had homed in like radar on her entire conversation with Michael.

      Yes! I slept with the bastard!

      “Mr. Deavers questioned me about one of my transcripts. Guess he’s bored and needs to harass the employees. Have you had any trouble with him?”

      Becky shook her head. “None. I’d probably pee my pants if he told me I was doing something wrong.”

      Ellie sighed. “Have you