Tuesday, August 14, 2018, 12:20 p.m.

E

ven overpowered, Nora raged. She struggled to resist Paul, but he swatted her attempts like harmless house flies. When she tried to strike him, he flung her arm away so hard that it propelled onto the coffee table, knocking his scotch glass into her delicate cappuccino cup, breaking it. While Paul fumbled with her waistband, she felt around for anything she might use as a weapon, fingering objects on the coffee table, measuring weight, shape and girth, identifying the crystal dolphin. She strained to grip it. Lift it. Bash Paul’s head with it. Nora mustered her strength and willed herself to heft it an inch, just one tiny inch off the table, but couldn’t. The thing was too heavy, wouldn’t budge. Her forearm lacked the strength, and her fingers failed, dropping limply into the puddle of spilled scotch and cappuccino, onto the slim, jagged edge of the cappuccino saucer.

Nora grabbed hold of it. With a growl from someplace deep inside her, she swung the shard at Paul’s head with all her strength. Her strength wasn’t very strong, though. Her fingers slipped and, too soon, before she’d finished digging the edge into Paul’s skull, the broken saucer fell from her grasp.

Paul cried out.

He released her and raised his hand to his temple. Blood swelled from a jagged gash and streamed down his face. He stared at the blood on his hands as if he couldn’t understand what had happened.

When his weight shifted, Nora lifted herself onto her elbows and worked her way out from under him. Paul was distracted, dazed, dabbing at his wound with his shirtsleeve. Nora tried to move quickly. Grasping the sofa for balance, she grabbed her pocketbook, pushed to her feet and stood unsteadily, eyes on Paul as she dared to take a step, then another. Carefully, she let go of the sofa and edged away from him, past the coffee table with its broken cup, spilled drinks, and crystal dolphin knocked onto its side.

When she looked back at him, Paul seemed stunned, one side of his face streaming red. He fumbled with his pants, cursing, blinking through blood, and groped in their pockets for a
handkerchief.

“What have you done?” he croaked, his voice as raw as if it, too, were bleeding.

Nora secured her bag under her arm and raced in slow motion. Each of her steps was too short, taking too long. She hiked up her culottes and struggled with shirt buttons—so many buttons that she abandoned the effort and kept moving toward the door. Except, no. That door led to Paul’s campaign offices, to his entire staff. Paul would chase after her, bloody and raging, and his staff would charge her like an angry mob. So she pivoted, aiming for the back door to the parking lot. But she spun around too quickly, and a wave of crippling dizziness almost brought her down.

“You fucking bitch!” Paul pressed the handkerchief to his temple. “Look what you did!” He stared in disbelief at all the blood, ribbons of it flowing from his head.

Nora didn’t look. Turning might make her dizzy again. Instead, she estimated how far it was to the door. Fifteen steps? Twelve? It might as well be miles. Her mind felt sluggish, her movements heavy and ineffective. But she had to move. At any moment, Paul was likely to get up and grab her. Hurry, she told herself. Faster! She held her breath and kept plodding ahead, braced for Paul to pounce.

When she dared to glance back from the door, though, Paul hadn’t moved. He remained huddled and groaning on the sofa, bleeding onto his fine, hand-tailored shirt, but he saw her looking at him.

“Nora, stop!” He billowed to his feet as if hoisted from above, as if about to sail across the room and catch her.

Nora froze. There was no sense trying to escape. It would take him no time, just a few sweeping steps to tackle her.

“Do not move!” He started forward.

Nora stiffened and closed her eyes, preparing for impact.

But impact didn’t happen. At least, not to her. When she heard the crash, Nora opened one eye and turned her head toward Paul. He had thundered to the floor, knocking into the coffee table and landing in a heap of succulents, newspapers and broken glass, his ankles tangled and trapped in his expensively
tailored, unfastened slacks.

Nora tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. Her pocketbook slipped to the floor. Slowly, leaning against the door, she stooped to pick it up, looking back at Paul.

He was on his knees, wiping blood from his eye with one hand and pulling his trousers up with the other, bearing little resemblance to the charismatic candidate she’d come to meet.

She tried the door again.

“Nora, wait. Listen.” Paul spoke softly, like a wolf. Like a snake. “I thought you’d be on board with this course of action. I never anticipated that you’d object. But since it didn’t work out, let’s agree, no hard feelings?” He stumbled to his feet and touched his forehead. He blinked at the wet blood on his fingertips and sank back onto the sofa. “Damn, this won’t stop bleeding. But listen, how’s this? I won’t report you for assault if you agree to keep our little liaison to ourselves. All right? Come sit. Let’s talk. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I just want to make peace so we can discuss what to do about our spouses. Please. Come sit.”

Nora didn’t go sit. She closed her fingers around the doorknob yet again, turned and pushed. The door still didn’t open. She pulled, but that didn’t work either. She leaned against the door, trapped. What could she do? Risk sitting with Paul again as if there were no hard feelings? Take her chances running through the outer office? Hopeless, Nora leaned her head against the door. And saw the dead bolt. Oh. No wonder. She wasn’t trapped after all. But she had to hurry, couldn’t take time to look at Paul again, couldn’t waste even an eye blink. She plunged ahead, pushing with all her strength, feeling a click as the bolt gave way. Nora reached for the doorknob, grabbed it, twisted, anticipating escape. But before she could get out, something whizzed past her ear and exploded against the door. Tiny shining sparkles erupted in the air around her head, floated snow-like to the floor.

The crystal dolphin lay shattered at her feet.

Behind her, Paul said, “That was a warning, Nora. Keep this to yourself or you’ll face consequences. Nobody crosses me.
Nobody. Understood?”

Nora swung the door open and barreled outside.

“Answer me, you pathetic cow!”

The rain had stopped. Puddles dotted the asphalt of the parking lot, reflecting white sunlight. A pair of aides wearing campaign T-shirts and carrying posters passed her on their way to the office. They stopped and stared. Damn. Did they know she was running from Paul? Were they his people—would they
accost her and force her back to Paul’s office?

“Ma’am?” one of them said. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t trust them. “I’m fine.” Her words sounded wrong, as if someone else said them, but she kept moving, leaving them standing there, frowning and whispering. What were they staring at? Did she have Paul’s blood on her? Or was her hair messed up? Oh God. Was Paul charging after her, bloodied and simmering? Nora didn’t dare look back. Holding onto her bag, she kept inching toward the street, one step after another, until she made it to the curb and stopped to lean against a light pole. Hailing a cab, she realized that her blouse was unbuttoned, hanging open. She managed to overlap the collar, holding it closed, by the time the driver stopped.

She half fell into the backseat. When the driver asked her where she wanted to go, she managed to articulate her address. He eyed her from the rearview mirror, probably assumed she was drunk.

As he pulled away from the curb, Nora risked looking back at Paul’s office. The candidate was nowhere to be seen.