Maura pulled back suddenly. “And I’m not?” she almost spat the words out. “I don’t want to have to pretend that I don’t hear what isn’t being said all the time.” Charles frowned as he searched the eyes before him; it was obvious she was trying to tell him something but her meaning was lost in her elusiveness. “I’m tired of no one coming out and saying what they want.” Maura put it as plainly as she could think of, “but there are some people who need to not talk about our relationship.”

Charles nodded as his whiskey clouded mind finally caught up with where Maura was, albeit scenically, heading with her thoughts. “Does it help that I don’t think you’re a lesbian?”

Maura fell back, putting as much distance between herself and the man she thought she knew as the couch would allow.

“You’re not even listening!” she barked, “I’m not talking about sexuality.” She slammed the glass onto the table, spilling the aged blend onto its surface. “I don’t care that they think that we’re flinging, I just want Jane to stop being so elusive and let me help her!”

Charles sat back and frowned. “Flinging?” A wry smile crept over his expression and Maura felt the same fire in her stomach. He wasn’t laughing with her, he was laughing at her. “Does the vernacular really matter right now?” she got to her feet. “I’m sorry Doctor Beck, I don’t think you’re in a position to help me. You don’t seem to understand people at all; in fact, I’d go as far as to say that your people skills are worse than some of my patients.” She turned smartly and headed for the door.

As she slammed the front door behind her, Maura slipped from her shoes and crossed barefoot, to her car, throwing the Balenciaga pumps violently into the back seat before starting the car and heading aimlessly into the night.

Maura drove. It was all she could think of to do, to return home felt like a betrayal and yet she wasn’t ready to face Jane or her temper. Since the shooting, Maura had seen her own bed only once and that had been the night Jane had returned home. After dropping her off at her apartment, Maura had returned to her own home and retrieved a 2005 Poderi Colla Barolo Bussia Dardi le Rose, a $50 bottle that she’d received as a gift from Angela on her birthday, and poured herself a large glass, and then another and another before falling into her own bed and finishing the remaining liquid.
When she awoke the next morning, with a pounding headache, it was all she could do to leap from the bed. The secret truth being that sleeping in her own bed, without Jane, made her feel lonelier than she’d ever anticipated it possible. Without Jane by her side, she had slept in either the guest house, the guest room or, more often than not, curled up on the couch.