Speaking in Tongues

was this? she thought like an excited high school girl.
    He was kissing her on the mouth. Or am I kissing him? Bett didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to be close to him. To the man who’d found her single worst fear and killed it dead.
    “No,” he protested. But his voice was a whisper.
    But she was not letting him go. She knew she should stop but she couldn’t. She pulled him down next to her on the couch, refusing to let go, arms fixed forever around his neck. The room filling with heat, spinning, orange lights, yellow lights . . .
    Kissing harder now.
    Hands on her belly, then her chest. She glanced down and wasn’t surprised to see her blouse was undone. Her bra up, his fingers cupping her breast. This seemed completely natural. A pop, the snapof her jeans opened. Had he done that, or had she? It didn’t matter. Getting close to him was all that mattered, hearing him whisper whatever he would whisper in her ear as he lay on top of her. That was what she wanted, hearing him speak to her. The sex wasn’t important but she’d gladly give him that if only he’d keep reassuring her, keep speaking to her . . .
    She opened her mouth and kissed him hard.
    And then the world ended.
    The front door was swinging open. And a familiar voice was crying, “Bett . . . why, Bett!”
    Gasping, she sat up.
    Dr. Peters backing away, a shocked look on his face.
    Brad Markham stood in the doorway, his face a horrified mask. His key to her house dropped to the floor with a loud ring. “What . . .” He was breathless. “What . . .”
    “Brad, I thought . . .”
    “I was in Baltimore?” he spat out. He shook his head. “I was. A policeman called and told me about Megan. I drove down to be with you . . . Your daughter’s missing and you’re fucking somebody. You’re cheating on me?”
    “No,” she said, feeling faint and nauseous from the wine and shock. Tears coming again. Tears of horror. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
    “I’m sorry.” Dr. Peters looked horrified. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. You never said anything.”
    “Boyfriend?” Brad spat out. “We’re engaged.”
    “You’re what?” The doctor stared at Brad. “I’m so sorry. She never said anything.”
    “How could you?” Brad spat out, raging at her. “After everything I’ve done for you? And Megan? How could you?”
    “I don’t know what happened . . .”
    Brad stalked outside leaving the door open.
    “No!” Bett cried, sobbing, pulling her bra down and buttoning her blouse as she stumbled toward the door. “Wait.”
    Through her tears she saw Brad’s car squeal off down the street.
    Leaning against the doorjamb, sobbing, sinking to the floor. Close to fainting, wishing to die . . .
    “No, no, no . . .”
    Then the doctor was standing next to her, crouching down. His mouth close to her ear. When he spoke the voice was so different from the soothing drone of ten minutes ago. It was flint, it was ice water. “What I told you Megan said about you? That wasn’t true. I only said it to make you feel better . . . All she told me was that you were a selfish whore. I didn’t believe her. But I guess she was right.” He took a final sip of wine. “What a pitiful excuse for a mother you are.”
    The doctor rose, set the glass on the table and stepped over her, out the door. It seemed he was smiling, though Bett was blinded by the tears and couldn’t say for certain.
    •   •   •
    Tate Collier hung up the phone. Sighed.
    No, man, Josh still isn’t home. I don’t know where he is. You called, like, three times already. Maybe we’ll give it a rest now? Okay?
    Well, where the hell was Megan’s boyfriend?
    Konnie too was still out of the office. And it irked Tate that the detective hadn’t returned his page.
    He fed the Dalmatian and paced up and down his front porch, looking at the clear early evening skies and the dusting of April growth over his fields.
    No more Dead Rebs that he could see.
    Again his eye settled on the dilapidated picnic bench in the backyard. Remembering Bett unhooking the Japanese lanterns, feeling the odd heat of that fall so many years ago, feeling the residual exhaustion from the funeral. Sweating in November, the hot wind pushing crisp, curled leaves over the shaggy grass.
    He remembered:
    Bett looking down at him. Asking, “What is it?”
    Alarmed, as she gazed at the expression on his