Knight In Black Leather by Gail Dayton (ebook reader ink .txt) 📕

he's still there now." Marilyn picked up a gallon of milk when they moved to the dairy section.

"Where is he sleeping, Marilyn?" Mom hissed, as she drew up beside her. "That's what I want to know. Is he sleeping in your bed?"

"Yes, Mom, he is. There's only one bed."

"And where are you sleeping? In the bed with him?"

Marilyn raised an eyebrow. "What if I was? What difference would it make?"

"If you don't know that already--" Mom shoved her cart to the next aisle, the contents rattling and shifting.

The headache was pounding with a vengeance now. Marilyn trailed after her mother. "Is this why you wanted me to bring you shopping?" she asked. "So you could yell at me in person?"

"I am not yelling. I haven't raised my voice once."

"Figuratively speaking, of course."

Mom didn't reply.

"Okay, you didn't yell." Marilyn gave in. "Lecture then. Don't you think I'm a little old for lectures from my mom?"

"When people act like you are, no, I do not. What happened? What was so wrong with your life that you had to go crazy?"

"What was--?" She stared at her mother, unable to believe what she'd just heard. "I had no life, Mother. Especially after Julie went away to school. I was rotting in that house. I had nothing. Not even myself."

"Pfft!" Mom turned her back and moved on down the aisle, waiting by the soup cans for Marilyn to catch up. "Are you telling me you want to 'find yourself'?" She swished her hips and made fluttery motions with her hands to show her disdain.

"Baloney. I don't buy this 'finding yourself' crap. You're right there." She grabbed Marilyn's wrist and made a face of mock surprise. "Oh, look! I found you."

Marilyn jerked her arm free. "Just because you've spent the rest of your life after Pop died alone in that house drying up like an old prune doesn't mean I want to do the same thing. I'm a dozen years younger than you were when Pop died. It's not wrong for me to want more."

The hurt on Mom's face almost made her sorry she'd said it. Almost.

"I don't deserve that," Mom said. "I loved your father and I love you. I'm just worried for you."

"I'm fine, Mom. Honest."

"Hmph." Mom stumped off down the aisle again. She threw four or five cans of tuna in the cart, then turned back to glare at her daughter. "What if it was Julie, sleeping with some stranger? Wouldn't you talk to your daughter about doing something so crazy?"

"Yes, of course I would. I'd make sure I met the boy--man--whatever. But if I couldn't talk her out of it, I'd have to let it go. She's eighteen. It's her life now. Just like my life is mine. It's not up to me. Just like it's not up to you to decide what's right for me."

"Right is right and wrong is wrong, and you letting that man live in your apartment and sleep in your bed is wrong. Just plain wrong."

"Why? He's only sleeping there. He's in a wheelchair, for crying out loud. What do you want me to do? Throw him out on the street?" Marilyn put up a hand. "No, don't answer that. Your nagging is just going to finish ruining what's left of the day, so why don't you drop it, okay?"

"Hmph." Mom started off again. "I'm sorry if spending time with me 'ruins your day.' Some daughters enjoy spending time with their mothers."

"Some mothers let their daughters make their own decisions," Marilyn retorted, fed up.

"Well, some daughters don't make stupid decisions."

Marilyn just rolled her eyes. Mom had to get the last word in, no matter what, so she might as well let her. She fell back, waiting till Mom got out of earshot before moving on.

Eli fretted around the apartment another half hour, alternately worrying about Teresa and wishing she hadn't called. At least she couldn't get to Pete. He had no doubt she loved the boy. Much as she was able. He also had no doubt that she'd turn Pete over to the bad guys at the first whiff of funny smoke or the first raised fist. She'd never known any different, didn't understand how wrong it was. But Pete was safe. That was the important thing.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't settle. He wheeled his stupid chair in a circuit around the four walls of Marilyn's tiny apartment, circling the furniture crowded in the center like a lone Indian around the wagon train in an old movie. Finally, he snatched his phone off the sofa and hit his one speed-dial number.

"Fitzgerald here." The old man's cigarette rasp sounded wonderful to Eli.

"Hey, Fitz. It's me. Everything okay on your end?"

"This kid's driving me crazy, so I guess we're about as okay as we're gonna get. You'll be up to get him soon, right?"

Eli laughed, familiar with Fitz's theory that kids were supposed to drive adults crazy, and it was the quiet ones you had to worry about. Eli had been a quiet one when he'd arrived at Harvey Fitzgerald's garage eight years ago. "Not right away, but I'll be up as soon as I can."

"Trouble?" Fitz lowered his voice.

"A different kind of trouble. I got my arm broken, and my leg. I'm not going anywhere for a while."

"You need me to come get you?"

The instant offer eased some of Eli's worry. "No. I got somebody looking after things."

"They looking after you?"

He laughed. "Yeah, Fitz. They're looking after me. Lookin' real good."

Fitz snorted. "Mighta known there was a woman involved."

"Who said anything about a woman?"

"It's not what you say. It's how you say it. There's a woman involved all right."

"She's a good person. A civilian." Meaning Marilyn had never been caught up in the war that was life on the streets. "Is Pete around? Let me talk to him." Eli needed to change the subject.

"He's around someplace. Under something, or inside something. I'll go drag him out."

Eli heard the rattle as Fitz laid the receiver of