Mind Over Matter

gravel road. For several moments there was silence as the rain drummed and she sat hunched under the blanket.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said at length.
    She was better now. She took a steady breath to prove she had control. “Tell you what?”
    “That you were like your mother.” A.J. curled into a ball on the seat, cradled her head in her arms and wept.
    What the hell was he supposed to say? David cursed her, then himself, as he drove through the rain with her sobbing beside him. She’d given him the scare of his life when he’d turned around and seen her standing there, gasping for air and white as a sheet. He’d never felt anything as cold as her hands had been. Never seen anything like what she must have seen.
    Whatever doubts he had, whatever criticisms he could make about laboratory tests, five-dollar psychics and executive clairvoyants, he knew A.J. had seen something, felt something, none of the rest of them had.
    So what did he do about it? What did he say?
    She wept. She let herself empty. There was no use berating herself, no use being angry with what had happened. She’d long ago resigned herself to the fact that every now and again, no matter how careful she was, no matter how tightly controlled, she would slip and leave herself open.
    The rain stopped. There was milky sunlight now. A.J. kept the blanket close around her as she straightened in her seat. “I’m sorry.”
    “I don’t want an apology. I want an explanation.”
    “I don’t have one.” She wiped her cheeks dry with her hand. “I’d appreciate it if you’d take me home.”
    “We’re going to talk, and we’re going to do it where you can’t kick me out.”
    She was too weak to argue, too weak to care. A.J. rested her head against the window and didn’t protest when they passed the turn for her apartment. They drove up into the hills, highabove the city. The rain had left things fresh here, though a curling mist still hugged the ground.
    He turned into a drive next to a house with cedar shakes and tall windows. The lawn was wide and trimmed with spring flowers bursting around the borders.
    “I thought you’d have a place in town.”
    “I used to, then I decided I had to breathe.” He took her purse and a briefcase from the back seat. A.J. pushed the blanket aside and stepped from the car. Saying nothing, they walked to the front door together.
    Inside wasn’t rustic. He had paintings on the walls and thick Turkish carpets on the floors. She ran her hand along a polished rail and stepped down a short flight of steps into the living room. Still silent, David went to the fireplace and set kindling to blaze. “You’ll want to get out of those wet clothes,” he said matter-of-factly. “There’s a bath upstairs at the end of the hall. I keep a robe on the back of the door.”
    “Thank you.” Her confidence was gone—that edge that helped her keep one step ahead. A.J. moistened her lips. “David, you don’t have to—”
    “I’ll make coffee.” He walked through a doorway and left her alone.
    She stood there while the flames from the kindling began to lick at split oak. The scent was woodsy, comfortable. She’d never felt more miserable in her life. The kind of rejection she felt now, from David, was the kind she’d expected. It was the kind she’d dealt with before.
    She stood there while she battled back the need to weep again. She was strong, self-reliant. She wasn’t about to break her heart over David Brady, or any man. Lifting her chin, A.J. walked to the stairs and up. She’d shower, let her clothes dry, then dress and go home. A. J. Fields knew how to take care of herself.
    The water helped. It soothed her puffy eyes and warmed her clammy skin. From the small bag of emergency cosmetics in her purse, she managed to repair the worst of the damage. She tried not to notice that the robe carried David’s scent as she slipped it on. It was better to remember that it was warm and covered her adequately.
    When she went back downstairs, the living area was still empty. Clinging to the courage she’d managed to build back up, A.J. went to look for him.
    The hallway twisted and turned at angles when least expected. If the situation had been different, A.J. would have appreciated the house for its uniqueness. She didn’t take much notice of polished paneling offset by stark white walls, or planked floors scattered with intricately patterned carpets. She followed the hallway into the kitchen. The