Groundhog Day…
“Well, don’t just stand there, bring me my lunch.” Sara laughed and beckoned for Amanda to climb the stairs. Mr. Orlando started to follow, but Sara held up her hand. “Stop, Daddy. I need to speak with Amanda alone. Go back to Mom, I’ll be all right.”
As Juan departed Amanda carried the heavy tray upward, careful to watch the steps instead of Sara’s face. Sara relieved her of her burden and carried the tray to a tiny kitchenette at the far end of the amazing room.
“You’ve been living up here?” As Amanda looked around, still in shock at finding Sara, she admired the compact living space: wood floors covered with colorful scatter rugs, two bright sling back chairs and a striped futon. The walls were adorned with large abstract paintings, and a door opened to a full bath. An enormous picture window overlooked the back woods and an empty field.
“Yes, this is my own special hiding place. When we were teenagers, Marc and I fought all the time. I guess we were tired of the twin routine and everyone expecting us to be joined at the hip. I rebelled, making life unbearable for my parents, until Daddy finally relented and built this room for me.”
“Very cool. You were a lucky girl. If I’d had a place like this, maybe I wouldn’t have run away from home.”
They watched one another through a long silence. Neither wanted to break the magic of their reunion by jumping right into the tragic circumstances leading to Amanda’s visit. At least, the reunion felt magical to Amanda, who couldn’t tear her eyes from the black-and-blue bruise circling Sara’s right eye. Six days after Ben punched her, the bruise had taken on interesting hues of yellow and green, making her lovely face look like one half of a comical raccoon.
“You ran away from home?” Sara responded at last. “You want to talk about it?” She winked.
Amanda couldn’t help but laugh as they both moved toward the chairs. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me again? You look awful, by the way.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you should see the other guy,” Sara joked.
Amanda’s spirits plunged. “I did see him, Sara. I was the one who found Ben’s body.” Each word felt like a gut punch as the horrible image of the corpse assaulted her in vivid detail. The words clearly hurt Sara too. She turned deathly pale and ran trembling fingers through the silken tangle of her black hair.
“God, I am so sorry, Amanda. I remember reading that in the paper. It must have been terrifying for you. I would give anything to take it all back.”
Take what back? Amanda was confused. Impulsively, she reached up and stopped the motion of the fingers in Sara’s hair. She held her hand. “What do you mean, Sara?”
“I mean I wish I could take back time and rewind the clock to last Saturday evening. You know, like in the movie Groundhog Day? When Bill Murray gets a chance to relive one day again and again, each time making a little change in the present which alters the outcome of the future? If we hadn’t gone to the café at that moment, if I hadn’t met up with Ben, maybe he’d be alive today.”
Amanda captured both of Sara’s hands and held her breath. “Are you saying your fight with Ben caused his death?”
Sara, looking shocked, searched Amanda’s eyes. “Of course not! No way! If you think that, you must believe I killed him, or else Marc killed him for revenge. Because the two of us were the only ones who might respond that way to the fight—if we were deranged killers. Is that what you think, Amanda?”
The outburst brought back the color in Sara’s cheeks and her eyes caught fire. Amanda was alarmed and ashamed. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that at all. I’m sorry, Sara. I know you had nothing to do with Ben’s death.”
Sara pulled free of Amanda’s hands and sank into one of the chairs. “I’m sorry too. What I meant was it’s possible that because of the fight, Ben came back to the building looking to get even with me. Since I was long gone, he must have connected with someone else, who then killed him. Maybe he even tangled with the thief who stole the Lincoln-Davis letter?”
It was a bizarre theory that didn’t quite work for Amanda. She wished it did.
“If I could rewind time, I’d never have touched that damned tomahawk,” Sara continued. “It was the murder weapon, wasn’t it?”
Amanda sat in the other chair and sadly shook her head. “You’ll have to talk to the police sometime, Sara.”
“You mean I can’t just run away from home like you did?” She tried for a brave smile. “Or maybe I can elude them just long enough so this bruise will be gone and my mugshot will look less scary when they plaster it on the front pages or flash it on TV.”
“I’m so sorry, Sara. It’s my fault. I had to tell the cops about the fight.” Amanda was in misery, but at least she’d had a chance to articulate her guilt.
“So you came to apologize?” Sara rolled her eyes. “You had no choice, and I totally understand. Besides, three cops witnessed that fight, so there was no hiding it.”
“I wish I could help.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve been trying to help. Lena called Mom and said you’d paid her a visit.”
“I was trying to find you, Sara, but Lena didn’t give you away. She never told me you were here.”
“That’s because Lena doesn’t know I’m here. I gave my parents strict instructions to tell no one. Not Marc, and especially not Lena.”
Amanda couldn’t hide her surprise. She’d have thought Lena would be the first to know. Her face must have been a complete question mark, because Sara said, “Yeah, I know it’s weird, but Lena and I have been going through a rough patch lately. Not your problem, Amanda.”
Not her business either, and suddenly Amanda felt like she’d overstepped her bounds. Why was she doing this? As she stared at her companion, who looked sexy even in worn cutoffs, a raggedy Duke T-shirt two sizes too large and fuzzy pink slippers left over from high school, Amanda knew the shameful answer. She was attracted to this woman with an intensity that made her blush, and she had no idea what she could or should do about it.
“Okay, why did you agree to see me?” she said at last.
Sara got to her feet and moved closer. “I don’t know. Why do you think?” She held out her hand. “Maybe I wanted you to see my little room so you could design a sculpture for me?”
Amanda took her hand and allowed Sara to pull her upright. Standing side by side, she felt Sara’s heat and sensed she was in dangerous territory. Nervously, she gestured at the paintings on the wall. “Did Marc do those?”
“Yes. I think he told you he paints when he gets bored with the browsers at Metrolina.” Sara ran a friendly arm around Amanda’s waist. “It’s just a hobby with him, but do you like them?”
Sara’s touch made it nearly impossible to concentrate on the art, let alone offer coherent criticism. As she tried to understand Sara’s motives, her body began to respond and she quickly moved away. The paintings were colorful, exuberant, and even somewhat violent. All she managed to say was, “Well, they have a lot of energy.”
Sara gave her full-throated laugh. “They are emotional, aren’t they? But let’s not talk about Marc.”
By that time Amanda was way past emotional, so putting some distance between them, she moved briskly toward the kitchenette. “Hey, you said you were hungry. Our stew is getting cold.”
Sara followed way too close. “Thing is, most of my women friends want only to talk about Marc. Having a handsome brother is a curse. Do you have a crush on him, Amanda?”
She stopped and faced Sara. “God, no, I don’t have any feelings at all for your brother.” Was the woman teasing her, or testing her?
“Really?” Sara said as something electric sparked between them.
In Amanda’s mind, it was a now-or-never moment. “Honestly, Sara, I’m not attracted to any men. I much prefer women.”
For a split second, the time Sara had wanted to turn back stopped completely, freezing them in an odd suspension of reality. As their eyes locked, Amanda trembled in disbelief at her boldness, while Sara’s porcelain skin glowed like a transparent ruby. For Amanda, it was like that first epiphany—Sara in the sunbeam—but all too soon the spell was broken.
“Oh,” Sara said. And then, as if an afterthought, “Good to know.” She smiled and drifted away toward the banister overlooking the utility barn and seemed mesmerized by the scene outside the far window, of the home and the road beyond.
Amanda could detect neither approval nor disapproval in Sara’s response. She had worried about overstepping her bounds, but now she had jumped off a cliff. “Are you okay, Sara?”
“It’s all good.” But she kept gazing out the damned window. “But I think I’m in trouble.”
Trouble was an understatement, turmoil more like it. Getting her emotions in check, Amanda also peered out the window and saw a dark sedan slow down out on the street. It did not park at the curb, as Amanda had done. Instead it came down the Orlandos’ driveway, bypassed the house, and parked right outside the steel building.
Detective Rick Molerno climbed purposefully from the driver’s seat. Before he shrugged into his suit coat, Amanda saw a shoulder holster and gun against his white shirt. A uniformed officer stepped from the passenger side, and suddenly they were banging on the door.
Amanda’s mouth went dry and Sara’s hands gripped the banister until her knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry, Amanda,” she said. “It looks like our lunch will have to wait.”