Family Law, Gin Phillips [top novels of all time .txt] 📗

A tearful monologue? A screaming and gnashing of teeth? Had she lost her nerve?

“I ended things,” Donna said.

“Your boyfriend tried to kill me and my family because you broke up with him?”

“I told him what you said about how I couldn’t see anyone until the divorce was final. I said we should stay away from each other, and he didn’t like that.”

“You didn’t like it, either,” Lucia said. “Which is why you ignored my advice.”

She shifted her sore feet, suspecting her shoes had broken the skin. She did not let go of the car.

“That was stupid of me,” Donna said. “I told him that. I told him that you were right and that I should wait. He just—I don’t know. Maybe he’d been drinking? He had a bad spell. He’s not normally like that. I mean, I feel bad for him. I think he has some problems.”

“Yes, I’d say he does,” Lucia said.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Donna, straightening so that Lucia could only see the lower half of her face. “That’s done. But I wish you wouldn’t press charges. It won’t help any. He regrets everything.”

Lucia was about to ask why, if the man so regretted it, he had tried to shoot holes in his neighbor, but the sound of footsteps on the asphalt made her look up. She saw Marlon jaywalking across Gilmer, veering around a puddle, and he was in a suit. The jacket and tie made it clear that he had come to the banquet to see her tonight, and she hadn’t even noticed him. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his keys, and she recognized his car parked at the curb because of the beagles scrabbling against the backseat window. Why in the world had he brought the beagles?

Overhead, something fluttered past the streetlight bulb, and Lucia felt a rush of affection and disbelief. This man had held her dog captive and yet these days he chatted with her in her driveway and rolled her emptied trash can back to the carport, and all of it was possible because she had forgiven him for taking the dog—an act of complete lunacy—and of course she had forgiven him because what other choice did she have? You could not accumulate all these resentments. The weight of them would crush you. Meanwhile Donna stared up at her, lavender eyeshadow glittering, compelled for some reason to defend a no-good, violent ex-boyfriend, a man who must have frustrated and disappointed her, and forgiveness did not seem like the right word for whatever this was.

Across the street, Marlon walked around to the driver’s side of his car. Lucia caught a glimpse of hind legs and tail as at least one dog sailed over the front seat.

“Just a minute,” she told Donna. “Marlon!”

“I knew this was pointless,” said Donna, reaching for the gearshift. “I knew it wouldn’t help anything.”

Lucia looked from Marlon to Donna, noticing how the woman’s hand shook slightly. Her voice, too, hadn’t seemed quite steady, and Lucia wondered if she should be driving. Marlon had spotted her, though, and she could see his grin from across the street. He waved wildly, and she lifted a hand. He was still waving as he opened his car door, only partially, but enough.

The beagles pushed past him.

The dogs raced across the street, which was miraculously empty, and Lucia stepped away from the car, ready to corral them. As soon as she stepped back, Donna shifted into drive, shaking her head at Lucia, not looking toward the street at all. The dogs kept coming, and Lucia didn’t have a chance to voice a warning before Donna jerked the wheel and a tire slammed into the faster dog.

It was possible that the beagle hit the car, not the other way around. But the thud was sickening, and Lucia screamed, the sound breaking out of her without thought.

Brakes, squealing. Donna, screaming, the passenger window still open. Marlon, crossing the street as heedlessly as his dogs, and his screams took the shape of one word.

“No,” he called. “No! No!”

He said it again and again, and by the time he reached the car, he was barely whispering. Lucia ran around the front of the car to meet him, holding a hand up against the glare of the headlights.

One dog was on its feet, unharmed, nosing along the spine of the second beagle. That one—why had she never asked Marlon their names?—was lying on its side, unmoving, legs bent, front paws crossed.

Marlon dropped to his knees, running a hand over the dog, his hand slowing along the curve of its skull, stroking its ears.

Lucia leaned down, then straightened, realizing she was blocking the light.

“Marlon,” she said.

“He’s breathing.” Marlon was kneeling in a traffic lane, and it seemed possible that the next passing car might sever his feet. Lucia grabbed at his hand to tug him closer to the curb.

Marlon didn’t understand at first, resisting, and his weight threw her off balance. She put a hand down on Donna’s sporty two-door to steady herself and she felt the engine thrumming, the metal warm against her palm. She realized that Donna was still sitting at the wheel with the car running. She wondered if Marlon had the same thought, because he stood, giving the injured dog one more stroke and scooping up the other dog under one arm.

“You hit my dog,” he said.

Lucia shook her head, tugging at his hand. They were in the glow of headlights and streetlight, well lit.

“Calm down,” she said, because she could see Marlon as Donna must see him, and he was not a big man, but he was thick and his face was red with possibly fear but maybe anger.

Lucia couldn’t make out Donna’s expression against the headlights, but over the angled hood of the car, she could see hands gripping the steering wheel.

“You hit my dog,” Marlon said again, and his voice was shaking. “You need to get out of the car so we can call the police.”

Lucia stepped closer to