Storm Track

Cyl shook her head, then paused in uncertainty. “Valium? I couldn’t sleep. I think I took a couple sometime last night? This morning?”

I poured hot soup into a mug and put it in her hands. “Drink!”

Obediently, she did as I ordered.

Which only confirmed that something was definitely wrong here. No way does a functioning Cyl DeGraffenried take directions from me.

I made a pot of coffee and when it was ready, she drank that, too, and even nibbled at the toasted cheese.

While she ate, I chattered about the forum and how we’d covered for her and how brilliant Frances and Lou and I had been. Eventually, she almost gave a half-smile as the food and caffeine started to kick in a little and I said, “What’s going on, Cyl? Something happen at work?”

She shook her head listlessly.

“Something wrong in your family?” So far as I knew, her grandmother was the only family member she truly cared about. “Your grandmother’s not sick, is she?”

“No.”

In my book, that left only one thing to make a woman like Cyl fall apart. “Who’s the man, Cyl, and what’s he done?”

A further thought struck me. “Oh jeeze! You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“I wish I were!” she burst out passionately. And then her face crumpled.

If those red eyes were any indication, she’d already cried a river of salty tears. I put my arms around her and made comforting noises as she wept again, long hopeless sobs that echoed the rain streaming down her windows.

There was a box of tissues by the kitchen phone and as her emotional storm dwindled, I pulled out a handful and smoothed her hair while she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“Sorry,” she said at last, making a visible effort to pull herself together. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry I forgot about the forum and thanks for fixing me the soup, Deborah. I’ll be all right now.”

Not the most tactful brush-off I’ve ever had. Not going to work either. If I thought she had a girlfriend to call or a sister she’d turn to, I’d have been out of there as soon as she hinted. But Cyl’s such a loner, I didn’t think it’d be healthy to leave her to keep going round and around in her head as she’d evidently been doing these last two days.

“So when did he dump you?” I poured myself a cup of coffee and topped hers off again. “Sunday? Saturday?”

“How do you know I didn’t dump him?” she asked, with a shadow of her old spirit.

“I’ve dumped and I’ve been dumped and I know which one makes me want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over my head. It’s pretty bad, huh?”

“We were only together twice.” Her voice was weary. “The first man I’ve been with since law school.”

Why was I not surprised?

“I didn’t want it to happen. Neither of us did. Not with him—not with him married.”

Now that did surprise me. As many backhanded jabs as she’s made at my love life, I knew that Cyl’s personal code of morality was straight out of the Old Testament. She might be able to rationalize fornication but no way could she do adultery without a heavy load of guilt.