Free Blowing Smoke by Barbara Block

pink cotton material and shook her head. “I don’t... what did I say?” Then her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth as she understood what Geoffrey thought she’d meant. “Oh, no, darling ...” she stammered. “You can’t think I meant... my comment about being rich... I just meant I’ve been lucky... having this house.... You know I’d never... ever.” Her voice cracked. She ducked her head to one side.
    I studied the terra-cotta tiles on the floor. They were Italian, like the marble in the hallway, I decided as I watched two small black ants scurrying along a thin line of beige grout.
    â€œOf course we know,” Moss Ryan said, hurrying into the breach of Rose’s silence. He had one of those professionally calming voices, the kind religious leaders and doctors cultivate, the kind that makes you want to believe that everything will be all right even when you know it won’t be. He glared at Geoffrey, the irises of his eyes dark with anger. “I’m sure Geoff does, too. Don’t you? Don’t you,” he repeated after a few seconds had gone by.
    Geoffrey forced the corners of his mouth upward into a rictus of a smile. “Yes. Absolutely,” he told Rose Taylor, pointedly ignoring the other man. “I know you’d never say anything to hurt me.”
    â€œBecause...” Her voice quavered. She looked small all of a sudden, as if her body were shrinking in on itself.
    â€œNo. I was just being silly.” His voice had a hard, shiny quality to it, like a beetle’s shell.
    Rose Taylor reached up and clutched his arm, pulling him toward her. “So, you’ll forgive an old lady her mistake?” she asked him anxiously as her kitty meowed to be petted.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous; you’re not old,” Geoffrey countered with a gaily practiced, painfully false gallantry as he leaned over and hugged her.
    She clung to him, relaxing in his embrace. A moment later, he excused himself, claiming he had business to take care of. I watched Rose watch Geoffrey as he hurried across the floor, his chin tucked in, his eyes hooded over, looking neither to the right or the left.
    â€œMy,” she fretted after he’d gone. “I think I really have upset him. He’s so sensitive, and I always seem to be saying the wrong thing.” She gave Sheba an absentminded pat.
    Moss Ryan bent over Rose and made soothing sounds in her ear. “Do you want me to speak to him?” he asked, patting her shoulder, reassuring her the way a parent would a child.
    â€œPlease. I’d be ever so grateful.” Rose flashed him a smile, and he scurried off like a courtier on a mission from his queen.
    â€œI know I must appear ridiculous to you,” she said to me as soon as we were alone. “No.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and held up her hand. “Don’t say anything. I know what you’re thinking. I would have thought the same thing at your age. I don’t expect you to understand. How could you? Why should you? No one thinks I should be doing this. Not Moss. Not my staff. Certainly not my children. And they’re probably right. My life would be much simpler without Geoff. I’m not denying that.” She fingered one of her emerald earrings as Sheba, bored, twitched her tail.
    I waited for Rose Taylor to continue. After a few seconds, she did.
    â€œRheumatoid arthritis is a terrible thing. My first husband suffered horribly with it. In the end, his limbs were so twisted and swollen, even morphine wasn’t enough to keep the pain away.” She shuddered and quickly studied her own hands as if she were afraid she’d see the signs of the disease there. “I nursed Sanford for years. I never asked for anything. I was never unfaithful. I was at Sanford’s beck and call night and day. I did everything for him. Everything. He wanted it that way. He never wanted anyone