Girls' Night Out Read Online Free Page A

me, and I’d been meaning to do this picture for months.
    I had Palestrina playing, soothed and succored by the moving combination of peace and inspiration in those lovely voices. For the first time since Ellen had called, her speech broken and shaking, to report the incident with Jay Hanrahan, the world felt good. Orderly. Not tinged with gray around the edges. I felt as though I could take full breaths without a catch, without that constant pit of anxiety that I’d been living with.
    Cliché or not, the expression that fit was “today is the first day of the rest of my life.” Not that every day wasn’t. But today felt clear, like a weight had been lifted off my life. I must be a horrible person, because Jay Hanrahan was dead and I felt good.
    Then, at 4:00 in the afternoon, just as I was struggling to get deeper apricot shading on the underside of a petal, someone rang the bell and then pounded on the door. My heart jumped and for a crazy moment, I imagined opening it to find Jay Hanrahan on my doorstep.
    Carrying my brush, I went to answer it.
    A tall, stern-looking policeman, badge shiny and belt weighted with equipment, stood on my steps.
    â€œAurora Dillon?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’d like you to come down to the station with me, ma’am. Chief wants to see you.”
    I tried to keep worry off my face and breathe normally, even as panic flooded through me. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
    He shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. I was just told to bring you down to the station.” He didn’t say it was urgent, but the way he shifted restlessly from foot to foot said it for him.
    â€œI just need to finish this petal, then I’ll drive myself down.”
    â€œSorry, ma’am. Chief said I was to bring you.” He’d paused to answer and now resumed his metronomic shifting.
    I looked at the paintbrush in my hand. The perfect color. Thought of the unfinished painting. Kissed my incredible feeling of lightness good-bye. “I’ll get my shoes.”

    ***

    It’s a power thing, I suppose. That’s why they make you hurry, then keep you waiting. Never mind the drying paint and stifled creativity, years were peeling off my life like calendar pages in an old movie. When the police call, if you’re a good citizen and not a bad guy, you show up.
    It felt like I had a lead ingot in my stomach. Lead in my gut and whirling in my brain, wondering whether I should have gotten some advice from Georgia last night. What would they ask and what would I say? How had they found me? What did they know? Was Tess here, too, sitting in another room, asking herself the same questions? Would she stick to the script? I wished I knew as I sat in a room no bigger than a closet, with only a table and one other chair for company. No color, no pictures, no texture. Nothing to look at. Must be hell for some people. I was fine. I didn’t need the outside world to entertain me. I could look at those walls and project my own pictures..
    The officer who’d delivered me here had asked if I wanted anything. Water? Coffee? A soft drink? I hadn’t wanted any of those. There was nothing worse than waiting or being interviewed when you had to pee.
    When I went to get my shoes, I thought about calling Georgia, but we’d agreed—no cell phones. Cell phone calls can be traced. The time, the recipient, the caller’s location. If they didn’t know about the others, I wasn’t about to tell them. I’d willingly gotten myself into this and I would tough it out, whatever that meant. Right now, it meant waiting. I was infinitely patient with my work, with however long it took to get a picture right, however many tries. I was fine with the blank walls. But I was horrible in situations where someone wanted to waste my time. Then I could feel time sliding like silk through my fingers, twining around them teasingly as it escaped. It was