“And you’re willing to put Ronni through that?”
“It’s a means to an end. Ronni understands that.” Lisa pulled her shirt over her head, slipped her arms into the sleeves. “We both just want it all to be over. . . .” She almost smiled when she said, “I’m kind of looking forward to seeing Kim’s face when all their personal shit comes out.”
Allan clearly didn’t share her anticipation. “What about our personal shit? I smoke pot pretty regularly. Could they use that against you?”
“It’s just pot. And you’re not really that big a part of my life.” She saw him wince, so she backtracked. “I mean Ronni’s life. You’re important to me, but you don’t live with us. You don’t sleep over. . . . Besides, Jeff Sanders took LSD!”
“Trials can get ugly.”
“Yeah, they can. But in the end, we’ll win. And Ronni will get what she deserves.”
Allan moved toward the bathroom. “I’ll have a quick shower. I don’t have to be at the restaurant until four, so I can come with you.”
Lisa could hear him peeing. She called over the volume, “It’s okay. I don’t need you there.”
The stream finished and Allan poked his head out the door. He still had his dick in his hands, she could tell. “Then I’ll hang out with Ronni while you’re out.”
For some reason, this intimacy galled her. How had she let Allan get so close to her that he could talk about her daughter while he was “shaking the drips”? She had let her guard down and Allan had sneaked into her inner sanctum. Lisa had let herself be distracted by his kindness, his tight ass and muscular pecs. . . . It was supposed to be Lisa and Ronni against the world, and she had let herself be sidetracked by sex. She had to focus now. This trial would be the fight of her life.
“Really, it’s fine,” she called. “Go for a surf.”
“It’s okay!” He disappeared, and she heard the shower turn on. She knew what she had to do. She hurried into the bathroom.
He was about to step into the glass stall when she said, “I don’t think I can do this right now.”
Allan paused. “Do what?”
“This . . . Us . . . I don’t think it’s working.”
He turned off the faucet and faced her, stark naked, completely comfortable. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been great, Allan. You’re very sweet but . . . it’s not a good time for me to be with someone.”
“I want to be here. For you and for Ronni.”
“I know you do. But . . .” She had to hurt him; it was the only way. “You’re a distraction that I don’t have time for.”
Her words stung and she saw him flinch. Then his jaw tensed. “A distraction from your hate and your anger?”
“You’re a distraction from my daughter . . . and what she needs.”
“What she needs is love and support and understanding. Not lawsuits and rage and acrimony.”
Fuck him and his sanctimony. “Thanks, Deepak Chopra.” Lisa stormed out of the bathroom. She wasn’t about to listen to Allan’s two-cent psychoanalysis, more New Age bullshit about love and forgiveness. Lisa had cut Yeva and Co. out of her life because of it. She was going to have to do the same with Allan. It was time to leave. Where had she left her purse? Her keys?
Allan trailed behind her, following her through the cramped apartment like a puppy . . . a naked puppy. “Why are you so afraid to let anything good into your life?”
Lisa turned on him. “I’m not! I’m about to let three million bucks into my life.”
He shook his head. “You don’t even realize how horrible that sounds.”
“Horrible? My daughter is blind! She’s disfigured!”
“She’s not blind, Kim! She can still see! And she’s not disfigured. Maybe she’s not perfect, like she was, but she looks fine. I mean, it’s not like she had acid thrown in her face or something.”
“Oh my god . . .”
He tried to save himself, but it was too late. “I’m not minimizing what Ronni’s been through. It’s terrible. And traumatic. But I don’t think this war with the Sanderses is helping things.” He reached for her but she stepped away from his grasp. “You’re so angry, babe. You’re so focused on making them pay. You should be thinking of Ronni and helping her heal.”
Lisa stared at this man, this naked stranger standing before her. How could she have thought he was her ally? How could she have leaned on him for support? He didn’t understand what it was like for her and Ronni. She spotted her purse on the end of the sofa and snatched it up.
“Go to hell, Allan.” She hurried to the door.
AS SHE DROVE back to her apartment, Lisa’s anger slowed to a simmer. In fact, it seemed to be morphing into a compelling urge to burst into tears. She knew the adage “the truth hurts,” but that wasn’t the case here. Allan made it sound like Lisa was hell-bent on a vindictive mission to the detriment of her only child. Not true, not true at all. She simply wanted the Sanderses to take responsibility for what happened under their roof that night, and make sure that Ronni was compensated for her pain and suffering. When the trial was over, when the money was in the bank, then they would focus on healing. Together. Without the distraction of a sexy but sanctimonious chef who thought he was the second coming of Dr. Wayne Dyer.
Her favorite coffee shop appeared on her right and she spontaneously steered into the small parking lot. She didn’t want to bring anger and negative emotions into the home, didn’t want to infect Ronni with them. She needed to stall. She went inside and ordered two lattes and a “morning power muffin” for Ronni. It was heavy and leaden, chock-full of seeds and dates and flax. It would be good for her. By the time Lisa was back behind the wheel, she was beginning to feel almost level.
The apartment was quiet when she walked in; Ronni must be sleeping late . . . extremely late. Lisa would have checked her watch, but her hands were full of lattes and a quarter-pound muffin. As she set them on the small dining table, she noticed the half-empty mug of tea, still warm, on the table. Ronni was up after all. . . .
She called into the quiet. “Hi, hon! I brought you a muffin and a latte!”
No response.
Lisa walked down the hall and peeked in Ronni’s bedroom. The bed was empty but for the open laptop perched on the tangle of covers. She had to be in the bathroom. Lisa went to the door and listened for the shower. Silence. She knocked. “Ronni?” Nothing.
Her heart was beginning to pound with unsubstantiated fear. Where was her daughter? She walked into her own room, marginally larger and tidier than her daughter’s. Of course she wasn’t there, why would she be?