Guilty Pleasures   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

I knelt behind the chair Edward had moved in front of the door and called, “Who is it?”

“It's Ronnie, Anita. We're supposed to work out this morning.”

It was Saturday. I had forgotten. It was always amazing how ordinary life was, even while people were trying to hurt you. I felt like Ronnie should know about last night. Something so extraordinary should touch all my life, but it didn't work that way. When I'd been in the hospital with my arm in traction and tubes running all through me, my stepmother had complained that I wasn't married yet. She's worried that I will be an old maid at the ripe age of twenty-four. Judith is not what you would call a liberated woman.

My family does not cope well with what I do, the chances I take, the injuries. So they ignore it as best they can. Except for my sixteen-year-old stepbrother. Josh thinks I'm cool, neat, whatever word they're using now.

Veronica Sims is different. She's my friend, and she understands. Ronnie is a private detective. We take turns visiting each other in the hospital.

I opened the door and let her in, gun limp at my side. She took it all in and said, “Shit, you look awful.”

I smiled. “Well, at least I took like I feel.”

She came in and dropped her gym bag in front of the chair. “Can you tell me what happened?” Not a demand, a question. Ronnie understood that not everything could be shared.

“Sorry that I won't be able to work out today.”

“Looks like you had all the workout you can handle. Go soak those hands in the sink. I'll make coffee. Okay?”

I nodded and regretted it. Aspirins, aspirins sounded real good right now. I stopped just before I went into the bathroom. “Ronnie?”

“Yes.” She stood there in my small kitchen, a measuring cup of fresh coffee beans in one hand. She was five-nine. Sometimes, I forget how tall that is. It amazes people that we can run together. The trick is I set the pace, and I push myself. It's a very good workout.

“I think I have some bagels in the fridge. Could you pop them in the microwave with some cheese?”

She stared at me. “I've known you for three years, and this is the first time I've ever heard you ask for food before ten o'clock.”

“Listen, if it's too much trouble, forget it.”

“It isn't that, and you know it.”

“Sorry. I'm just tired.”

“Go doctor yourself, then you can tell me about it. Okay”

“Yeah.” Soaking the hands did not make them feel better. It felt like I was peeling the skin off my fingers.