She still hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to Ashlock. Elsie was determined to grab him outside the courtroom, but she didn’t see him in the crowd milling in the hallway.
She shoved her way to the elevator bank; but just as she pushed the button, she saw a familiar figure on the stairway, heading down at a fast clip.
“Ash,” she said, but he didn’t pause, didn’t look around.
Elsie’s jaw tightened; and she made a beeline for the stairs. When a man wearing a business suit blocked her way, she shouldered him out of her path, not pausing to offer an apology. She called Ashlock’s name again, but he had disappeared down the stairwell.
She grasped the banister, moving as fast as her feet permitted. She regretted her choice of footwear, wishing she hadn’t opted to wear the aging pair of spiked heels. She’d thought they would give her confidence when she walked into court. Hadn’t considered how they might interfere with a chase.
Her shoes echoed on the concrete steps. When she reached the ground floor, she ran for the exit. As she stormed the doorway, the loose sole on the toe of her left shoe caught on the metal threshold strip. Like Cinderella’s glass slipper, the shoe remained in place on the strip, throwing her off balance. She stumbled and fell to her knees on the concrete just outside the courthouse door.
“Fuck!”
Ashlock must have heard her, at last. He paused on the sidewalk and turned around with a bemused expression.
Elsie crouched on her hands and knees, trying to swallow back the string of curse words in her chest. A man bearing a briefcase paused nearby.
“You okay, ma’am?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t okay, far from it. When he offered a hand, she grasped it, managing to get to her feet. Her pantyhose were shredded, and the skin was scraped off both knees. Examining the injury, she saw blood begin to seep out and run down the front of her legs.
Ashlock appeared at her side. To the man with the briefcase, he said, “I’ll take care of this.”
Elsie was so glad to hear his voice, tears welled up; but she blinked them back. With a phony show of bravado, she laughed.
“So, this is what I have to do to get your attention these days.”
Instead of offering a reply, he squatted on his haunches in front of her bloody knees. Looking down at the top of his head, she saw that he had more gray hair then she’d realized. It looked good on him.
Elsie cleared her throat; it felt like something was lodged inside her trachea. “I don’t suppose you’re carrying a handkerchief. I could use one.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not a hankie-carrying guy. You have any Kleenex?”
“No. Not since ragweed season ended.”
He stood, sighing. When he didn’t offer any further comment, Elsie added, “I wish I’d let my mom come along today. She’s always prepared for every possible disaster. Never goes anywhere without a packet of tissues.”
Ashlock’s eyes shifted. Looking past her, he said, “About Marge. I need you to pass on a message for me. Let her know I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Okay.” Elsie tried to make him meet her eye, but he wouldn’t look her in the face.
“Tell her I appreciate the invitation.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.” When he didn’t speak again, she said in a voice that couldn’t quite disguise the hurt, “She knew not to boil an extra potato. Because she got your text on Thanksgiving morning. Did you have a nice time in the Bootheel?”
He nodded, without further comment.
She could feel the blood trickle down her skin, but she chose to ignore it. “You want to get a cup of coffee somewhere?”
He scanned the street. “There’s got to be a pharmacy around here. I saw a Walgreens when I drove in. You can get some Band-Aids, something like that.”
She nodded as she digested his choice of words. Elsie could get the Band-Aids. As opposed to Ashlock getting Band-Aids on her behalf.
Elsie squared her shoulders. “Let’s talk.”
Finally, he met her gaze. “Okay.”
“Where do you want to go?”
He pointed at a bench nearby. “We can sit down over there.”
Elsie led the way, ignoring the pain in her knees as she attempted to walk tall, pretending that the ensuing conversation wouldn’t devastate her.
As she sat, she thrust her legs before her, reluctant to flex her shredded knees. When Ashlock joined her, he looked at her scraped skin with concern on his face.
Elsie didn’t want to see it. She shucked off her suit jacket and threw it over her kneecaps, not caring that the stains would be impossible to remove.
Keeping her voice deliberately casual, she said, “So how was your Thanksgiving weekend? Did your ex-wife put on a good feed?”
“It was nice. Family time.” He reached over and took her hand. His grip was cold. “Elsie. We’ve been down this road before.”
Before he could continue, she interrupted. “What road is that?”
He looked at her, regret in his eyes. “Elsie, hear me out. You know I really like you.”
In spite of herself, she laughed. “Those three magic words. What every woman longs to hear. I like you.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “This isn’t easy for me.”
A ball of fury started to form in her chest; she welcomed it. It would replace the longing and self-doubt she’d suffered in recent days.
The anger kept her voice steady as she said, “That’s so pitiful. I’m really feeling sorry for you now.”
He gave her a warning look, but she waved it off. “Just do it. I’m ready. Kick me to the curb. But don’t tell me it’s gonna hurt you more than it hurts me.”
He took a deep breath and held it for a long moment. Then he exhaled, and said, “My primary responsibility—”
Elsie groaned. “Oh God. Here it comes. I wish I had a drink.”
At that, he snapped. “That’s the problem. You still want to be a kid. And I have kids, three of them. They are number one, the most important thing in my life.”
She slumped on the bench. Bending over, she lifted her suit jacket and used one of the sleeves to swipe at her legs, bloodying her hand in the process.
He went on, his voice growing heated. “When you’re a father, you can’t let an irresponsible relationship stand in the way of parenting. I have a son at home, two little girls down in Kennett, and an obligation to enforce law in my community.”
“Our community,” she muttered.
“Okay, fine. But I can’t be worrying about what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into. And Elsie, you’re always in some kind of mess.”
Her face twisted. “True that.” She tossed the ruined jacket onto the ground. “Let’s part as friends.”
His face registered surprise. “Good. I’d like that.”
“Will you give me a hug? As an old friend?”
Ashlock nodded. “Sure.”
They embraced, facing each other on the bench. When he tried to break away, she squeezed him tightly, her hands gripping his suit coat.
He finally pulled away, running a hand down her cheek. “Get to a pharmacy before you head back home. So you can get those knees bandaged.”
“I’ll do that.” It wasn’t a false promise. She had planned to visit a pharmacy while she was in Springfield, even before she required Band-Aids.
She watched as he walked off, the lump in her throat returning. She glowered at Ashlock’s retreating figure. There was only one thing on earth that gave her satisfaction. It was the sight of her bloody handprint on the back of his gray suit jacket.