Ripple Effect

Chapter Sixty-Seven: ...checks and balances.

Elizabeth

1:01 PM

"Your pal, Durchenko, came through." Russell stooped over the coffee table that stood between the pair of leather armchairs and the couch opposite. He placed a wooden fork atop each of the two pallid-yellow polystyrene cartons, and then hauled the table closer to the couch; its feet scuffed against the carpet, and the light above rippled off the glass. Then he twisted around and shot Elizabeth a look. "Wasn't happy about you calling in a favour though."

Elizabeth lifted her bottle of water to her lips, and then paused and arched her eyebrows. "He never is."

"Told me to tell you that you're even now." Russell slumped down onto the cushion next to her, and smoothed his tie to his chest as he did so. He snatched up his fork and popped the lid off his carton. The smell of sautéed garlic, slow-simmered tomatoes and creamy béchamel spilled out.

Elizabeth's grip on the water bottle tightened a fraction, and the plastic crackled. At Russell's glance, the whites of his eyes alight with a flash of concern, she placed the bottle down on the table and dragged her own carton closer, avoiding his stare. "Well, I don't know about that."

She unfastened the lid and poked at the pasta with the prongs of her fork. Outside, gravel churned and brakes whined to a stop. She wound half a ribbon of pappardelle around the fork and lifted it above the dish; as it hung there, streaks of the orange and white sauces slithered down the rest of its length. Her hunger had been less than inspiring prior to Russell arriving, but now the growing clench in her stomach told her that she would have to force the mouthfuls down.

She let the pasta drop back onto the nest below. "Plus, so long as I'm secretary of state, I can always have him removed from US soil. Not a bad piece of leverage to have."

Russell studied her as he chomped over a mouthful. His gaze raked hot against her cheek. "Another reason for you to get yourself signed off."

"I'm working on it."

"I know you are. You just need to keep it up. No nosediving at the last hurdle."

She scooped up a forkful of the bolognese sauce. She lifted it to her mouth. She paused. "I'm beginning to think that home itself is the biggest hurdle of all."

The words fell into a lull.

Russell continued to watch her as he chewed. Then he wedged his fork between the tangle of pasta ribbons and the edge of the carton, and with his gaze never leaving her, he leant back into the corner of the couch and rested his arm along the top of the cushions. He drummed his fingers there for a moment, and then stilled. "Mike mentioned you were feeling apprehensive."

Elizabeth snorted. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips as she swallowed the bite. "I'm sure that's not the word he used." It did explain the impromptu pasta delivery though.

"Your family are fine, Bess, and they'll be glad to have you home. Once you're ready."

"Sure." She attempted a shrug of nonchalance, as though it really were that simple, but it came out as more of a flinch, an exclamation mark to the lie that word held. Because, in truth, the closer she came to being allowed home, the more distant she felt from the way things were before the poisoning...and all that had followed.

The clunk and slam of a car door echoed out, muffled by the glass of the window and followed by the scrunch, scrunch, scrunch of footsteps over the gravel.

When the footsteps quietened, the silence in the room felt deeper than before. Perhaps a taste of what would greet her when she finally went home.