The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

met me there. The reporters started shouting questions. Lots of them. I took her hand, and together we pushed our way through the reporters and into the building.

Carrie handed her keys to the concierge, and said, “Can you call the Mercedes dealership again? And tell them if they can’t fix it this time, they should push it off a cliff?”

The concierge nodded and said, “What should I do about the reporters?”

Carrie looked out the window at them. “Call the police?” she suggested. “They’re on private property.”

We got on the elevator, and Carrie threw her arms around me. “Do you always quote Star Wars when you’re nervous?”

I laughed, and she laughed, and then we were holding each other up, laughing together. Twenty minutes later we’d changed and cleaned up and headed back downstairs. I was wearing blue jeans and an old hoodie and sunglasses. She had a hat, and her hair brushed down covering half of her face. No one would be fooled. But we were planning on leaving via the loading dock anyway.

On the bottom floor, Carrie peered around the corner. There were still half a dozen reporters out there. She grabbed my hand and said, “This way. I used to go out this way when I didn’t want the concierge reporting me to my parents.”

I grinned. “What were you up to that you didn’t want them to know about?”

She snorted. “Not much. I’d sneak around the corner and go hang out at the bookstore.”

“Wild child,” I said.

The loading dock stank of spoiled food, but she knew her way in the dark. We came out of the alley halfway down the block from the building, and well out of sight of the reporters.

“Time for that drink,” she said, leading me into one of the many bars on Bethesda Avenue.

My Home (Carrie)

I leaned against Ray. My head was swimming. I’ve never been a heavy drinker, never really liked the feeling of being out of control, never liked the dizziness or the hangover after.

Ray, on the other hand, put away half a dozen shots. He was slurring his words, and three or four times had returned the conversation to his anger with his platoon sergeant, with the Army, with Nikki and her stupid complaint that just might wipe out my career.

I didn’t have anywhere to be in the morning, not for the foreseeable future. But Ray did. So finally, we paid our bill and staggered together out of the bar and back toward home. It was still early, only about seven, but we were both emotional wrecks, and that had taken its toll.

The reporters were gone when we arrived, and a Montgomery County police cruiser sat prominently in the valet parking area. Thank God. Getting out through the loading dock was easy, but I’d learned as a freshman in high school, you couldn’t get back in the building that way.

The night concierge was at the desk as we walked by. He waved, and I waved, and then we headed back up the elevator. I turned to Ray, resting my hands against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a somewhat sloppy, drunken kiss.

“We’ll get through this,” he said.

“We will,” I replied.

“But first, we’re going to have wild, animal sex.”

“Mmmm, that sounds good. Tell me where.”

“Everywhere,” he crooned in my ear. “Sh…starting on the living room floor. I want to touch every inch of your body. Everywhere. I want you to be mine, Carrie. Forever.”

My body was on fire. When the elevator stopped I grabbed his hand, and we sprinted for the door to the condo. I fumbled in my purse for my keys, but Ray already had his out and was starting to unlock the door when he stopped, his hand on the knob.

Our bodies were touching down their entire length, and I felt the sudden change in him, from relaxed, slightly drunk and turned on, to alertness. And I realized why a second later. The door was unlocked. He reached out and turned the knob and pushed the door inward forcefully.

“Shtay here,” he said. He wasn’t making a request.

I reached in my purse for the can of Mace I carried, and stood in the door as he walked into the apartment.

A moment later I heard Ray’s voice, tense, hostile, but still a little slurred from the alcohol. “Who the fuck are you?”

My heart leapt, suddenly pounding, and then I heard a response that sent me stumbling into the apartment. My father replied, “I should be asking you that, since you’re in my home.”

What was he doing here? I don’t know why that suddenly terrified me, but I rushed in there, and found my dad and Ray staring across the room at each other, and neither of them looked friendly. Dad was wearing his normal semi-relaxed look ... an old, well-worn jacket with patches on the elbows, slacks, and an open collared shirt. Over the last five years or so, his neatly trimmed hair had begun to go white.

“Um ... Ray ... meet my dad. Dad ... this is Ray Sherman.”

Shock dawned on Ray’s face. “Mr. Thompson ... sorry ... I thought you were—”

“A burglar? Hardly. Carrie, it’s good to see you.”

My anxiety was palpable as I walked to my father. He kissed me on the cheek.

“Um ... what are you doing here, Dad?”

“After our talk the other day, I was very concerned about you. And frankly ... that concern is all the greater now.”

I stepped back. “Why?”

Dad’s eyes went to Ray, then back to me. “Is he living here with you?”

“Yes. What of it?”

His eyes shifted to me. “I’d have thought you’d have the courtesy to tell me before you brought a man to live with you in my home.”

“Dad ... it’s my home. I’m nearly thirty years old, and I wasn’t aware my living here had stipulations that I had to be treated like a child. If so, we’ll move out immediately.”

“If you don’t wish to be treated like a child, perhaps you shouldn’t