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daughter?
    While this fantasy was highly entertaining, I must admit that I often wondered: Would Detweiler and I have this appreciation for each other if we’d met at a different time in our lives? Perhaps we’d have noticed each other and walked on by. Was it the fact we were older, in our thirties, that gave us the ability to truly “see” each other the way we did? A large part of my desire for him was his constancy, his never-ending concern for me and mine. Even after I’d told him to go away, he worried about me and my daughter.
    And there was this almost physical, visceral connection between us. I felt this pang, right under my rib cage, whenever he was hurt or upset. He didn’t have to tell me something was wrong. I simply knew it.
    More than physical desire, he had my respect. I admired the fact he didn’t grouse to me about his marriage. He didn’t claim to be an injured party or speak poorly of Brenda. Instead, he simply told me they were working on problems, and that he owed it to her and his vows to give it his best shot.
    How can you hate someone who’s honest like that? Who doesn’t deep-six the other person just so he can look good?
    While I was reflecting on all this, all these fine qualities that Detweiler had, Mert peered down at my arm, then continued her harangue. “How dare she put a hand on you? Did you tell ’em to write her up? ’Cause you better. They’ll fire her so fast her head will spin like Chinese acrobats do them there plates. I can’t wait to see it. I want to stand here while they toss her butt right out the front door. See if I don’t.”
    Mert could fuss all she wanted, but I wasn’t changing my mind. So Brenda put a couple new bruises on my arms. Big deal. It was over. Done. Fini. I was ready to move on, but Mert wasn’t. Boy, was she mad. She was so upset, so off the wall, and so full of vinegar, she was making me queasy.
    “Mert, stop it. Please! You know I love you like family, but I’m asking you to back off. Promise me you’ll drop it. Promise.”
    Which she did.
    But she wasn’t happy about it. Not at all.

That was a little more than two months ago.
    Since then, I had kept my promise to Brenda. I steered clear of her husband. A couple of times Detweiler dropped by the store to see how I was doing. Strictly business, he assured me. After all, my husband’s murderer was still at large, and Detweiler considered the case still open.
    Fair enough. He was only doing his job.
    Life went on. I moved on. If staying away from Detweiler colored my life blue, well, I could manage. Blue wasn’t as bad as black. Sure, at night I mulled over what little I knew about his marriage. He and Brenda had split up at least once. They had problems. What couple didn’t?
    I admit: I did my fair share of fantasizing. And dreaming. A lot of dreaming. In the middle of the night, I would feel the warmth of his mouth on mine and wake up with a face full of covers. Ugh. My behavior, conscious or unconscious, struck me as pitiful.
    Why did I always want what I couldn’t have?
    When things really got to me, I stood in the shower and sobbed. That way Anya couldn’t hear me. When I finished, or cried myself out, I dried off, pulled up my big girl panties, and went on my way. As long as Detweiler’s path didn’t cross mine, I could cope. Growing up in an alcoholic home, I’d had a lot of practice lying to myself. Pretending the real world didn’t exist. Living on make believe and magic thinking. All that worked well right now.
    Okay … it sort of worked. I was giving it that old college try. (Says the woman who dropped out of school. Sheesh.)
    Most days, my life worked. Today, not so much. I couldn’t stop shivering. Bama, normally a cipher, was clearly upset, too. Shortly after the two detectives left, my co-worker called Dodie and told her about my gruesome discovery.
    Good old Dodie must have been rattled. I worked the sales floor as the two of them talked, but at one point, I needed