Free Deadly Charm by Claudia Mair Burney

tore through my tendons. I yelped in agony, blind through my tears. I didn’t crash into his chest this time. I fell on the hard ground.
    For an intoxicated man, he moved quickly and made his way to my side in an instant, his arms reaching out to hold me. I slapped them away, near hysterical now. I kicked the offending high-heeled shoe off my left foot, pulled myself up, grabbed my keys off the floor, and ran as fast as I could out of that wretched place amid the laughter of his colleagues.
    They had seen.
    Jazz called my name. Bell .
    I made my way outside, hobbling. The sidewalk stung my shoeless foot, and my ankle throbbed, hot with pain. I willed myself to keep going, too humiliated to stop until I got myself inside my welcoming yellow Beetle, still warm from my trip to Detroit. I slammed the door and tore out of that parking lot as fast as the law and the Love Bug would allow, still crying out my embarrassment and grief.
    When I was a safe distance away, I pulled over into a parking lot, lay my head on the steering wheel, and wept until my eyes were sore.
    The oddest thing came to mind when I stopped crying. I thought about my work. My clients never cease to amaze me. They hurt, but somehow they find it in them to seek help. What they don’t realize is that I don’t do much. Most of the time I simply remind them of what they already know.
    So…physician, heal thyself.
    I hurt, badly. In the interest of my own healing, I asked myself what I knew to be true. First things first: I knew God loved me, and I needed Him right now. I may not have been in mortal danger, but when it came to Jazz, my heart felt perched on a precarious precipice above a bottomless ache that I could fall into at any moment.
    Next, I knew Jazz to be a good man—someone trying hard to do what’s right—but I also knew that when Kate betrayed him, he cut her off without mercy. Although they divorced, for months they’d continued to enjoy a sexual relationship. I didn’t want to go to that same place with him. Finally, my thoughts went right back to God. I needed Him to be my firm and loving Father. My own father left me to navigate my teenage years onmy own. I hadn’t had his crucial protection when I’d needed it most. He should have been there to say, “This young man isn’t good enough for you” or “That one doesn’t respect you. You deserve better.” I may not have been a teen anymore, but I needed my daddy. God knew that a part of me was more than willing to be “easy” when it came to Jazz. Yes, we were married. I loved him. It felt right to be in his arms, but like Ma Brown would say, “If you want to drink the milk, you’ve gotta buy the cow.” We’d be married in every way, or we’d be separated, and only one of those came with conjugal rights. I didn’t trust myself with Jazz unless we were ready to reconcile.
    In that lonely parking lot, I told myself to buck up. I righted my blouse as best I could and buttoned my coat again. I had to be strong. When Jazz and I met, we’d made rules to keep us safe. Sometimes we broke them, but other times we abided in a wild, green, springtime place that made it possible for us to grow a friendship.
    I had a lot to talk to God about when we had our private time, but for now I had to go home and rest a moment, then hurry back to Rocky’s house. I had hurt him, but he’d put that aside and come back to me. And when he thought my husband and I needed him, Rocky showed up at my intervention. I may have felt powerless when it came to Jazz, but I could walk Rocky through whatever sorrow had come to visit him.
    That I could do.
    chapter seven
    I ARRIVED AT THE R OCK H OUSE HOUSE , and reporters—both local and national—had gathered, including CNN. I stepped out of my Love Bug and immediately the press surged at me, shoving at least a half-dozen microphones in my face. I remembered what Jazz had