Free Back Talk by Saxon Bennett Page B

all about people, but you don’t like people.” She studied Hilton’s face.
    This was as close to personal as she had gotten with Hilton.
    Despite being secretly curious about her, Anne hadn’t managed to infiltrate her interior world. She kept her life, as Anne’s father would say, close to the vest. This made her all the more intriguing.
    “It doesn’t mean I like people. One can be surrounded and yet remain remote.”
    Anne turned onto Elm Street. “Why remote?”
    “You suffer less collateral damage that way.”
    “That’s true.” Anne saw the flashing red and blue lights at the end of the street. “That wouldn’t happen to be your house, would it?”
    “I think it is.” Hilton screwed her face up in obvious consternation.
    “Is this the logical end of every party?”
    “No. Tonight is special.”
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    “I have a really nice guest room. It’s perfect for two.”
    “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
    “Hilton, you wouldn’t be imposing. Look, you need some sleep and I owe you breakfast. It’ll be perfect.”
    Hilton was staring out the window. There were three police cars, and a crowd of women stood on the front lawn. Several of the neighbors had their lights on.
    “Sounds wonderful. I really don’t have the energy to deal with this right now.”
    “Good.” Anne turned the corner and they left the crime scene behind them.
    They didn’t speak until they pulled up in front of Anne’s one-story bungalow. Hilton gave Shannon the look, the kind Anne had seen mothers give their children before they went to a picky relative’s house. “No hopping on the furniture, excessive tail wagging or muddy paw prints on the windowsills. Got it?”
    Shannon barked.
    “All right, let’s go,” Hilton said.
    Anne opened the front door. “She’ll be fine, really.”
    They walked inside. Shannon stood close to Hilton. “This is nice.”
    “Courtesy of my gay ex-husband. Always be suspicious of a man who can decorate, cook and do laundry better than you can. I should have known something wasn’t right.”
    Anne watched as Hilton looked around. She tried to imagine what Hilton would think of it. It was tastefully decorated in dark brown leather furniture and lined with mahogany bookcases that contained leatherbound books grouped in sets and small brass trin-kets placed throughout in order to accentuate the embossed gold titles of the books. On one wall was a large fireplace with a heavy, ornately carved mantel. She remembered the afternoon Gerald came home, his face flushed with excitement at having found the mantel at an estate sale. It had been horribly abused, but Gerald 59
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    had restored it to its former condition, aside from a few irreparable nicks and scratches that he’d disguised as best he could. A thick Oriental rug finished off the room. He had spent months looking for that rug, making certain that the colors and the pattern went perfectly with the room. The windows had burgundy velvet curtains that were pulled back with gold cords.
    Shannon looked up at Hilton as if looking for a clue to her next move.
    “Let’s get a beer,” Anne said. She led them back to the kitchen, thinking that Shannon might be more comfortable there.
    “Sure, I’m still kind of wired. I guess I’m worried about what’s going on at the house, but at the same time I don’t want to know.
    You see, remote is better. There’s a crisis in my world but I’m not part of it.”
    Shannon lay down on the tile in the kitchen and let out what sounded to Anne like a sigh of relief.
    The kitchen had a huge island in the middle of it and Hilton took a seat on one of the tall chairs. Shannon got up and went to look out the French doors. Hilton went with her.
    “Oh, how nice. I like the deck,” Hilton said. “Do you need to go out?” she asked Shannon. Apparently not, as Shannon lay down on the braided rug in front of the doors and seemed