The Touch of a Woman (9 page)

She was ashamed of her ignorance about their money situation. If only they’d shared responsibility for the finances, she would have known.

“So thirty years building up the branch and all of a sudden he’s back to cold-calling for commissions that are only a fraction of what he used to make. Entry level.”

“That’s so unfair.”

Those were probably the first sympathetic words anyone had said about Bruce since the shooting.

“He worked like that for two whole years and we never even knew he’d been demoted. Hell, I thought he’d gotten a raise because he was bringing home more money. Turns out he was drawing it out of our 401K. And then after two years, he wasn’t bringing in enough new clients so they let him go. Fired him! Can you believe that?”

Summer was shaking her head.

“But we didn’t know that either. He was getting up every morning, dressing in a suit and tie and leaving the house. Every day for another whole year. Apparently he was looking for another job. Interviewing all over town, but he couldn’t find anything that wasn’t cold-calling. At least that’s what the investigators said.”

She was getting herself worked up again and paused to take a sip of wine.

“The part that’s so hard for me—all of it’s hard…those poor people. What I can’t understand is why he didn’t tell me they put him back in the field. Why would he feel like he had to keep that from me? We were married for twenty-six years. We loved each other. We trusted each other. It’s not like I was some spoiled wife who demanded things. Hell, we could have moved to Modesto and started over together for all I cared. I could have gone back to work.”

With every new detail, the creases in Summer’s forehead grew deeper. Shared pain, not judgment.

“You can’t beat yourself up about it, Ellis. It was probably his pride. People who go off like that…it’s hardly ever because of somebody else. It’s because there’s something wrong in their head. Their brain chemistry gets screwed up, and something happens to push them over the edge. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you.”

Ellis wanted to believe that, but there were too many others pointing fingers her way. “Would you please tell that to my attorney? According to the law, I’m as culpable as Bruce. All because California’s a community property state. I had to put all of our joint assets on ice while they negotiate the wrongful death claims. I don’t expect to have a dime left when it’s all over. No investments, no pension. Just a pile of debt and whatever I earn from my job from this day forward.”

They went a full minute without talking, and all the while Summer tenderly stroked her hand.

“I wish I knew exactly what you needed to hear right now so I could say it. I think the best I can do is tell you I’m on your side. If you need to talk about it…if there’s any way at all I can help, just ask.” She drew Ellis’s hand to her lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. “I’m a pretty good friend to have. You’re going to find that out.”

Ellis felt a wave of relief wash over her. Bit by bit, she’d put her life back together here in “Sacto.” So much easier with a real friend beside her.

* * *

Summer was horrified to find herself so close to such a tragedy. But where everyone else had pushed Ellis away, she felt drawn to her side.

She remembered exactly where she’d been when she heard of the shooting—sitting beside Alythea in a budget briefing from the Secretary of Health and Human Services. The event was of such significance that an aide had interrupted to relay the news.

In the back of her head, a voice reminded her that she’d cast her own doubts about the Rowanbury family. They had to have known he was disturbed, had to have seen his collection of guns. No one could have lived an outwardly normal life while plotting such mayhem.

Now she felt guilty for those thoughts. Ellis and her kids were victims too.

“Feeling any better?” she asked.

They’d migrated to the sectional sofa, where Ellis had sat curled into a ball for the past hour.

“Marginally. I knew I needed to tell you before you got too invested. If it makes you feel weird to be hanging out with the widow of a mass murderer, I understand.” It was a quiet aside, the way a waitress warned you off the meat loaf. “No one else wanted to either.”

Sitting within arm’s reach, Summer gently rubbed her shoulder. “You can’t possibly think it makes any difference to our friendship. You didn’t do those things. Bruce did. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing that’s changed is I now understand where your head goes sometimes.”

Ellis caught her hand and squeezed it. “I appreciate that so much. I’m serious—you’re the first friend who really gets what it was like.”

And probably the first one who didn’t feel betrayed by Bruce. Would she have stood beside Alythea if her husband Julius had done something so awful? “Of course I would.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing…I was just thinking how much we have in common. Not that I’ve been through anything remotely close to what happened to you. Just that my friendships have changed too. They don’t really get what I’ve been going through with Rita…her lies and manipulation. Oh, shit! That reminds me.” She scrambled from her seat to check the parking lot.

“Is she gone?”

“Finally!” Her relief was tinged with regret. After more than an hour of hiding out, she had no more excuse to prolong her visit. “I guess I should go…give you back your home. You’re a lifesaver.”

Ellis waved her off. “No big deal. It was good to get that off my chest.”

“I’m glad you did.” Summer held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. “I meant what I said. I’m here for you…whatever you need. And I won’t tell a soul.”

As they shared a hug, sympathy gave way to new feelings—the desire to comfort, and to protect Ellis from a world too angry to see she was a victim too. And something else…a faint flicker that Ellis could be more than a friend.

Summer and her boss had the break room to themselves and were sharing a chicken casserole Alythea had brought from home. As it was Casual Friday, both were dressed down, though Alythea’s casual was slacks and a cashmere sweater set, while Summer wore black jeans with a cable-knit pullover.

“Question for you,” she said. “As a straight woman, do you ever feel put off by any of my mannerisms…like the fact that I tend to touch people when I’m talking to them?”

Alythea chuckled. “I might notice if you grabbed my boob.”

“If I ever do something like that, you have my permission to slap me.” Summer set her fork down and took Alythea’s hand. “If we were having a serious conversation and I took your hand like this, would it bother you?”

“Apparently not, because you do it all the time.”

“Really?”

“You’re just a touchy-feely person. I noticed it the day we met. I don’t have a problem with it. You do it to everybody. Even Julius.”

“As in your husband Julius? I never took his hand.”

“You most certainly did. The very first time we all met at that barbecue place in Rosemont. You and Rita, me and Julius. I came back from the restroom and you were holding his hand and telling him some story about how you got in trouble at school because you took a bunch of your daddy’s herbs in a plastic bag for show and tell and your teacher thought it was marijuana.”

“That had to be totally subconscious because I don’t remember doing it.”

It wasn’t subconscious where Ellis was concerned. Her dramatic revelation two nights ago had brought out Summer’s primal urge to soothe the heartache, to show her sympathy and share her strength.

She hoped she’d covered her shock. The news that Ellis’s husband was the notorious Bruce Rowanbury—arguably the most hated man in San Francisco after Dan White, who’d killed George Moscone and Harvey Milk—had nearly knocked her off the stool. But the sight of Ellis breaking into tears had overridden the horror.

The moment she’d returned home, morbid curiosity got the better of her, leading her to revisit all the news articles related to the shooting. The police report revealed the savagery of Bruce’s rampage—five men and two women brutally murdered as they cowered behind their desks—and his death, the result of thirty-one bullet wounds to his head and chest. Unspeakable pain for the families left behind imagining their loved ones’ final moments.

Ellis’s version rang true—she was absolved of culpability after investigators pieced together the paper trail of Bruce’s deception. It showed the regular withdrawals from his 401K to simulate a continuing paycheck, and the fruitless interviews with financial services companies all over the City. The weapons, three semiautomatic handguns, had been purchased in Reno, Nevada, charged to a credit card that was in his name only.

Those facts didn’t stop the public vitriol. If anything, the aftermath for Ellis was even more grim than she’d let on, with victims’ families suing her personally for tens of millions of dollars, their lawyers insisting the family was culpable for not treating Bruce’s mental condition. No wonder she’d left town. It must have felt like barbarians at the gates.

“What’s up with you, Summer? Why are you so all-of-a-sudden concerned about holding hands with people? You get told off?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Had she gotten carried away with her compassion? As Ellis poured out her grief, she’d meant only to give her solace. To let her know there was someone on her side, someone who cared about her suffering. Ever since, she’d worried obsessively about what Ellis must have thought when she kissed her hand. Her worry rose to panic the night before when Ellis didn’t show at their usual workout time.

Her feelings of empathy had been overpowering. Emotions so strong she wanted to wrap Ellis in her protective arms and shield her from anyone who might cause her more pain. But then came the attraction. “I think I might be falling for somebody…a straight woman.”

“Hmm…I see.”

Summer knew delight when she heard it. “It’s nothing to celebrate. Crushes on straight women usually end badly.”

Alythea tipped her head back and peered skeptically down her nose. “You know what I always say. Under the right circumstances, everybody’s a little bit gay.”

“I don’t believe that, because it would mean everybody’s a little bit straight too. I don’t have a straight bone in my body.”

In her deepest voice, Alythea chuckled and said, “Who said anything about bones?”

* * *

What on earth had possessed Ellis to say yes to dinner with Rex? It wasn’t a burning desire for male companionship. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind until his persistence made it impossible to ignore.

Yet here she sat in Firehouse, purportedly one of the city’s finest restaurants, sharing an intimate booth with the first man to ask. And in a clingy knit black dress with a plunging neckline, no less. She’d wanted to feel sexy but had second thoughts when Rex’s approving smile suggested he’d read her display of cleavage as an invitation. In an effort to dampen his expectations for the night, she made it a point to order the least expensive entree on the menu. Unfortunately, that was Cajun chicken, and the spices made her eyes water.

Rex, meanwhile, was feasting on a scrumptious-looking rack of New Zealand lamb, and practically moaning after every bite. He’d worn his bomber jacket with a gray shirt and matching tie, and in fact looked even more handsome than usual. A man’s man with his square jaw and deep-set eyes. All evening, he’d been charming and attentive, peppering her with questions about her political views and her impressions of Sacramento and
Vista
.

“I took my eldest daughter to a place like this when she was six years old and she ordered the escargot,” he said, shaking his head. “Big mistake. She loved them. Next thing I know I’m paying market price for snails every time they’re on a menu.”

“How old is she now?”

“Twenty-seven. With two little girls of her own. Cutest angels you ever saw, but I’m biased.” He drew out his wallet to show off the sisters in matching lavender dresses.
“Grandpa here plans to introduce them to lobster, caviar, truffles. You know what they say about paybacks.”

She liked how proud he was of his four grown children. The mom, the chemist, the dental student and the US Marine Corps corporal. They had that pride in common.

He was twice-divorced, accepting the blame for both. “I was married to my job. Having grandkids, though…it puts everything in perspective.”

“I hope to find that out for myself someday, but I’m not sure it’ll happen. My husband—he died last year—he told me once he’d make more time when the grandchildren came along.”

“It’s easier to do when you don’t feel responsible for them.”

She’d heard a tremor in her voice as she brought up Bruce. All evening, she’d been wishing the person across from her was someone she could talk to without being anxious over every word. Someone she could trust with her secrets and emotions. Someone who wouldn’t judge her, who’d take her side. Summer Winslow.

“So where do you see yourself five years from now, Ellis? Staff writer? Associate editor? Or touring the morning talk shows talking about your Great American Novel?”

“Ha! I have a feeling my chances for writing a bestseller are greater than my chances for moving up at
Vista
. From the looks of our office, youth is valued more than experience.”

He shook his head. “Wish I could argue with you but you’re probably right. Marcie has a thing for hipsters. Have to give her credit though. With her focus on the capitol, she got me syndicated in all the major papers in the state. That’s money in the bank.”

“It’s good for your profile too. Before you know it, someone else will come knocking.”

“Not a chance. I’m happy right where I am,” he answered, and then launched into a chronology of his career.
The Record
in Stockton, the
Mercury-News
in San Jose, where he’d been downsized after the paper was sold. His work as a stringer for the Associated Press brought him to Sacramento. It was an exemplary résumé, made even more impressive by the way he downplayed his accomplishments. “What I like best about
Vista
is not having an editor standing over my shoulder telling me what stories I ought to be writing about. That’s the ultimate freedom for a columnist.”