Makeovers Can Be Murder

Chapter 13

I gaped down at my hand that was resting on the phone, trying to absorb what I′d just heard. Then my palm felt a vibration. It was the phone ringing-Jonathan trying to call me back.

Abruptly, I picked up the receiver and banged it down again to cut him off. Then I unplugged the cord from the wall. There would be no more talking. Not now.

In a daze, I dropped onto a stool by the kitchen counter. For a long while I simply perched there, staring silently into space. My brain was too stunned to think-all it could do was reel from the shockwaves.

Gi.

It was a name I knew well. Gi, Jonathan had told me when we′d first met, was his ex-wife. He′d never said much about her, only that she was a refugee from North Korea, and that their marriage had ended when he′d discovered that she was having an affair. Jonathan had never been willing to talk about her much, and I hadn′t pried. But once when I was over at his apartment I′d found a picture of her. The photo had showed Gi wrapped in the arms of a beaming Jonathan. He′d been staring down at her with obvious adoration-and more than a little lust. (Had he ever looked at me that way? I′d wondered at the time.)

Gi had delicate features and huge dark eyes that were set in an alabaster complexion. She looked like an Asian Audrey Hepburn. Gorgeous as hell.

My first thought when I′d stumbled across the picture of them together was How can the man who loved this incredible beauty be satisfied with someone who is overweight and out of shape? How can he want me after Gi?

The answer was obvious to me now. He′d never wanted me at all. He′d never really left her, in fact. On the phone Gi had said that she was Jonathan′s wife, not his ex-wife. Could that possibly be? Had Jonathan lied to me when he′d said they were divorced? Did I even know this man, really? Maybe he′d been covering up a long-distance marriage to Gi all this time. Plenty of guys did that, I knew. I just hadn′t thought that Jonathan was that kind of guy.

I cast back on every conversation we′d had about Jonathan′s marriage to Gi. There hadn′t been many of them. In fact, it had been Jonathan′s resolute silence on the subject of Gi that had always fueled my insecurities about our relationship. On some level I figured he′d never gotten over her. And, boy, had I gotten that one right. It was obvious now that he′d never left her at all. Jonathan and Gi were still married. Married.

So what precisely did that make me?

″You′re an idiot, Kate; that′s what you are. A fool, un estupido,″ I muttered out loud. ″You were just an easy port of call for Jonathan. A no-stress lay. Dammit dammit dammit…″

I′d made everything so easy for him. I′d been so-o Miss Independence with my TV news career, never pressing to know where our relationship was headed. I′d never asked, because I hadn′t known where I was headed myself, ca reerwise. It had never occurred to me that I was just the right type of woman for a man who wasn′t looking for a permanent relationship. That I was an easy target for a liar.

That′s when the anger broke loose. No crying yet-that would undoubtedly come later.

″A liar, that′s what you are,″ I yelled at the phone.

As Elfie jumped and skittered from the room, I added, ″You′re a moldy-faced, stinking liar, Jonathan. I trusted you!″

In the wake of that outburst, cold fingers of nausea moved into my stomach, probing its edges. They worked their way slowly up my throat muscles. Then a wrenching spasm turned my insides out. I stumbled in the direction of the bathroom.

I spent the next couple of minutes retching my guts out into the toilet. There wasn′t much to come up-even though I′d been up since three a.m., I hadn′t eaten anything since the night before.

When my stomach was empty, I dry heaved a couple of times. Then I rested my throbbing forehead against the lid. I was already totally exhausted, and the day had barely started.

Something soft and sinewy brushed against my cheek. I lifted my head from the toilet and saw Elfie peering into my face.

Raising her right front paw in the air, my cat mewed and gently touched my cheek.

″What′s wrong with you?″ she was obviously saying in cat-speak.

″Well, Elfie,″ I said, stroking her back. ″It′s nice to know that someone still loves me.″

Now that she had my attention, Elfie sat back on her haunches and began grooming her long, drooping white whiskers. She always looked like a walrus when she did that.

Gazing down at my kitty, I felt engulfed by a wave of tenderness. It was an emotion that reminded me that once, I had dared to let myself dream about having children with Jonathan. I′d felt certain that he would be an amazing father.

Well, that dream was now officially dead. The anger and nausea receded and a new emotion-sadness-engulfed me. It was more than sadness, really.

That′s when the tears began to flow. They built until, volumewise, the downpour of earlier that day was a mere sprinkling by comparison.

When Evelyn described the four cycles of love at the Newbodies meeting, she′d forgotten to mention a cycle.

She′d forgotten the cycle called grief.