Blue Dahlia

either.”
    “The other thing was how I’ve only been in love—the genuine deal—twice before. And both times it ... let’s not mince words. Both times it went to shit. Could be this’ll head the same way.”
    “Could be we’re already there.”
    “No.” His lips curved. “You’re pissed and you’re scared. I’m not what you were after.”
    “I wasn’t after anything.”
    “Me either.” He set the beer down, then killed her temper by stepping to her, framing her face with his hands. “Maybe I can stop what’s going on in me. Maybe I should try. But I look at you, I touch you, and the edge doesn’t just get closer, it gets more appealing.”
    He touched his lips to her forehead, then released her and stepped back.
    “Every time I figure some part of you out, you sprout something off in another direction,” she said. “I’ve only been in love once—the genuine deal—and it was everything I wanted. I haven’t figured out what I want now, beyond what I have. I don’t know, Logan, if I’ve got the courage to step up to that edge again.”
    “Things keep going the way they are for me, if you don’t step up, you might get pushed.”
    “I don’t push easily. Logan.” It was she who stepped to him now, and she took his hand. “I’m so touched that you’d tell me, so churned up inside that you might feel that way about me. I need time to figure out what’s going on inside me, too.”
    “It’d help,” he decided after a moment, “if you could work on keeping the pace.”
     
    HER CLOTHES WERE DRY BUT IMPOSSIBLY WRINKLED, her hair had frizzed and was now, in Stella’s opinion, approximately twice its normal volume.
    She dashed out of the car, mortified to see both Hayley and Roz sitting on the glider drinking something out of tall glasses.
    “Just have to change,” she called out. “I won’t be long.”
    “There’s plenty of time,” Hayley called back, and pursed her lips as Stella raced into the house. “You know,” she began, “what it means when a woman shows up with her clothes all wrinkled to hell and grass stains on the ass of her pants?”
    “I assume she went by Logan’s.”
    “Outdoor nookie.”
    Roz choked on a sip of tea, wheezed in a laugh. “Hayley. Jesus.”
    “You ever do it outdoors?”
    Roz only sighed now. “In the dim, dark past.”
     
    STELLA WAS SHARP ENOUGH TO KNOW THEY WERE talking about her. As a result, the flush covered not only her face but most of her body as she ran into the bedroom. She stripped off her clothes, threw them into a hamper.
    “No reason to be embarrassed,” she muttered to herself as she threw open her armoire. “Absolutely none.” She dug out fresh underwear and felt more normal after she put it on.
    And reaching for her blouse, felt the chill.
    She braced, half expecting a vase or lamp to fly across the room at her this time.
    But she gathered her courage and turned, and she saw the Harper Bride. Clearly, for the first time, clearly, though the dusky light slipped through her as if she were smoke. Still, Stella saw her face, her form, the bright ringlets, the shattered eyes.
    The Bride stood at the doorway that connected to the bath, then the boys’ room.
    But it wasn’t anger Stella saw on her face. It wasn’t disapproval she felt quivering on the air. It was utter and terrible grief.
    Her own fear turned to pity. “I wish I could help you. I want to help.” With her blouse pressed against her breasts, Stella took a tentative step forward. “I wish I knew who you were, what happened to you. Why you’re so sad.”
    The woman turned her head, looked back with swimming eyes to the room beyond.
    “They’re not gone,” Stella heard herself say. “I’d never let them go. They’re my life. They’re with my father and his wife—their grandparents. A treat for them, that’s all. A night where they can be pampered and spoiled and eat too much ice cream. They’ll be back tomorrow.”
    She took a cautious second step, even as her throat burned dry. “They love being with my father and Jolene. But it’s so quiet when they’re not around, isn’t it?”
    Good God, she was talking to a ghost. Trying to draw a ghost into conversation. How had her life become so utterly strange?
    “Can’t you tell me something, anything that would help? We’re all trying to find out, and maybe when we do ... Can’t you tell me your name?”
    Though Stella’s hand trembled, she lifted it, reached out. Those shattered eyes met