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much."
Michael PACED THE corridor, stabbed out his cigarette, then paced again.
"I don't like it."
"I'm sorry you feel that way." Emma took her breathing carefully. After
three weeks, her ribs still tended to twinge if she moved the wrong way.
"It's what I want to do, and what I feel is best."
"Holding a press conference the same day you're being released from the
hospital is just stupid. And stubborn."
"I'm better off making a formal statement than trying to dodge them."
She spoke lightly, but her arms were ice-cold under her linen jacket.
"Believe me, I know more about this than you."
"If you're talking about that bulls.h.i.+t Blackpool started, it's already
blown over. He did himself more damage than you."
"I don't care about Blackpool, but I do care about my family and what
these last few weeks have put them through. And I want to have my say."
She started to walk into the conference room, then stopped and turned
back. "The police investigation ruled it self-defense. I've spent the
last three weeks convincing myself of the same thing. I want my record
clear, Michael."
It was useless to argue. He'd come to know her well enough to
understand that. But he tried anyway. "The press has been behind you
ninety-nine percent."
"And that one percent makes an ugly stain."
He relented enough to cross to her and brush a thumb over her cheek.
"Have you ever wondered why life gets so screwed up?"
"Yes." She smiled. "I've begun to believe that G.o.d really is a man.
Are you coming in with me?"
"Sure."
The press was waiting. Cameras, lights, microphones at alert. Flashes
went off the moment she stepped up to the podium. Murmurs accompanied
them. She was very pale so that the healing bruises showed in vivid
contrast on her skin. Though no longer swollen, her left eye was a ma.s.s
of ugly fading colors that spread to cheekbone and hairline.
When she began to speak, they quieted.
She gave them only the facts, and not her feelings. She had learned
that much. What she felt inside was hers alone. It was a brief
statement, just over eight minutes. As she read, she was grateful that
Pete had helped her refine it. She ignored the cameras and the faces
that studied her. When she was done, she stepped back from the mike. It
had already been established that she would not take questions, but the
questions came.
She had turned away, her hand on Michael's arm when one penetrated.
"If he had abused you all those months, why did you stay?"
She didn't intend to answer, but she looked back. They were still
hurling questions. Only that one lodged in her mind.
"Why did I stay?" she repeated. The room fell silent again. It had
been easy to read the statement. She almost knew it by heart. It was
just words printed on paper, and they hadn't touched her. But this,
this one simple question drove straight into her heart.
"Why did I stay?" she said again. "I don't know." She fumbled,
