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“Juliet must have some, too.”
Marlys knew the name would come up. She willed her expression to remain unchanged. “She’s not invited to the event.”
It was Dean who looked unruffled. “Family friend puts on a big do for the general’s book and his widow’s not invited?”
Beneath the fleece decorated with photos of the four pretty boys, Marlys’s spine steeled. “I asked Helen to keep her off the guest list.”
“Christ, Marlys—”
“I have my reasons!” To her own ears, her voice sounded shrill. She swallowed, and tried smoothing out her tone, though obviously she had even better reasons to keep Juliet off the list now. “And Helen agreed with me.”
He shook his head. “Marlys.”
For a moment she felt like Blackie, not just chastised, but chagrined she’d disappointed him.
Fine! Let him be disappointed or disgusted or whatever that frown on his face meant. She hadn’t invited him over. She wanted to be alone, anyway.
“I’m going to bed,” she said. “You can see yourself out.” The back staircase was just a few feet away, but his voice halted her at the bottom step.
“There was nothing between them while your father was alive, Marlys.”
Again, betrayal bubbled and roiled in her stomach like bile. “Did they send you here to tell me that?”
“They didn’t, nor did they have to.” Dean’s voice was nearer now and she knew he was closing in on her. “Noah would never do that.”
“Yeah? And you know this how?”
“I know him. Time in Iraq is often numbing boredom only broken up by mortar rounds and bloody battles. The soldiers standing with you are your saviors from death as well as from tedium. You get pretty damn close. So I’m certain Noah would never have shown such disrespect to your father.”
“Maybe not while he was alive…”
Dean put his hands on her shoulders. “And now he’s dead, Marlys.”
Her body jerked away from his touch. “Thank you for that startling piece of information. Good night.” She marched up the stairs, slapping her hand against her thigh. “C’mon, Blackie.”
After a moment, the jingle of her dog’s collar followed. She breathed a sigh of relief. Unless Dean was on his way out, she didn’t think her fair-weather pet would have obeyed her command.
Her room was dim, lit only by the forty-watt bulb in the Sleeping Beauty lamp on her bedside table. It was another of her attic finds and she remembered it being in her room at Fort Bliss. She kneed her way across the mattress to pull at the spread covering the pillows. At the doorway, Blackie’s collar jingled again.
Without glancing back, she pointed to his bed on the floor. “There you go, boy. Right there.”
“I don’t think I’ll fit.”
Marlys stiffened. Unless Blackie had suddenly done a reverse Dr. Doolittle on her, Dean hadn’t left after all.
“I didn’t invite you in here.” Glancing back, she noted he was leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb and that Blackie’s shoulder was leaning against his leg. She glared at them both. Dogs.
“I brought Blackie up. He didn’t seem to be responding when you called him.”
Like she’d thought before. Dogs.
“Thanks. You can go now.” She snapped her fingers, and the dog pranced into the room, then he looked back at his new BFF, as if to say, Hey, aren’t you coming, too?
“No, Blackie,” she answered for him. “And don’t even try begging for his company, either. Dean thinks we’re spoiled enough as it is.”
“That’s not what I think,” Dean corrected, crossing the rug toward the bed. “I don’t think you’re acting spoiled right now, Marlys. Like I told you earlier today, I think you’re acting sad.”
“And like I told you earlier today, I don’t need cheering up.” She jerked the covers back to expose her flower-sprigged sheets. As if he wasn’t there, she yanked at the tie of her robe and tossed it away. Her toes slid down the icy cotton as she lay on her side and gathered the blankets around her.
“And now you’re sad because of what Juliet told you.” The mattress shifted as he sat in the space made by the C-curve of her body. “You’re upset about the ashes.”
“I don’t give a shit about those ashes!” Blackie’s head jerked up at the sharp edge of her voice. He whined.
Dean’s big hand reached out to brush her bangs off her forehead. “Angel—”
“I have my own ashes.” She snagged a piece of her robe and drew it across the bed toward her. From the pocket, she pulled the silver chain. “See? I carry around my own piece of my father.”
