Where there were no whispers.
As she drove, a swell of memory assaulted her. Images her brain was able to suppress in Chicago reared their nasty heads here, so near her childhood home. In her mind a memory of her mother flickered. The middle-aged redhead stood on the lawn of their home brandishing a grilling fork, insane words pouring from her lips. Flames and the scent of burning. .
Sarafina lunged for the radio and found a good station that played loud hard rock music. She opened the window of her car and threw herself into the song, singing the lyrics out loud. She wouldn’t allow her mind to go back there, she just couldn’t.
Instead, she thought of Grosset, her Pomeranian. She’d left him with her neighbor for the trip south and couldn’t wait to see him again. Sarafina smiled. See? Life wasn’t so bad. She had friends, a job, and most importantly, she had the love of a good dog.
Then there was that guy who kept asking her for a date. His name was Brian. No. . Bradley. Cute, too. He was a UPS guy, came into the office every afternoon and sought her out specifically to sign for the deliveries. What was it about UPS guys? He flirted with her every day, cajoling her to go to dinner with him. It was flattering. She’d been turning him down because of Alex, but now she was free. Maybe the next time he asked, she’d say yes.
She rolled into a northern Chicago suburb in the early evening and parked in front of the beautiful eighteenth-century home where her apartment was located. It was only a few blocks from her office downtown, though she always took the EL in to avoid parking problems.