Claudia was in bed when Tamara got there—alone, fortunately. Her Oreo boyfriend, another lawyer like her, had his own crib; he’d been trying to get her to move in with him, but she kept saying no, she didn’t want to give up her independence. Why anyone would want to live with Claudia was beyond Tamara. Girl was a born-again vegan, wouldn’t eat anything that wasn’t grown organically and scrubbed in purified water, had about as much sense of humor as a duck, refused to own a TV set, and spent her spare time reading obscure law precedents.
She’d also inherited Pop’s sigh when dealing with her “difficult” little sister. She let loose three or four of them when Tamara told her she needed a place to crash for the night, she’d explain why in the morning. But Claudia didn’t argue or lecture, as she might’ve done some other time. Didn’t call her Tammie, either, a name she hated as much as Pop’s Sweetness and wouldn’t’ve put up with tonight. Claudia could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but she was a rock when it came to family unity. She cared in her own tight-assed way. Vice versa, though Tamara didn’t go around admitting it.
The guest room had a private bath. She soaked in a hot tub for half an hour, then swallowed three Tylenol and crawled between cool sheets. Was sure she’d be able to sleep right away, but it didn’t happen. Still too wired. Thoughts and emotions and flash images kept tumbling around inside her head.
So it was over, finished. The Delmans were going down—payback complete, and a good deed done besides, even if Judge Mantle and Doctor Easy didn’t agree. Revenge is sweet, right?
Then how come she felt low again? How come the taste was more bitter than sweet?
Somebody’d said that it was like eating a skimpy meal: you wanted it bad and it went down pretty easy when you got it, but it didn’t fill you up; it didn’t satisfy you for long. Yeah. Could be.
Could also be emotional wipeout. You couldn’t go through what she’d gone through tonight without a bad reaction. Happened that way twice before, hadn’t it? The Christmas hostage thing in the old agency offices and the kidnapping nightmare in the East Bay. The high might come back again tomorrow and last for a while. And every time she looked back on this week in her life she’d smile, feel satisfied and vindicated.
Maybe.
And maybe the high wouldn’t come again; maybe she’d be looking back and wondering if she hadn’t been six kinds of fool, and a lucky fool at that, to let herself get caught up in a personal vendetta that’d almost cost her her life.
She knew what Claudia would say when she found out, the same thing she’d said any number of times before. “When are you going to grow up, Tamara? When are you going to get wise to yourself?” She’d scoffed at that before because she’d always thought she had grown up, was wise to herself. Wrong?
No.
Yes.
Anyhow, she’d learned some things, some hard lessons. About men and relationships, about professional ethics and self-protection, about herself. One thing for sure: she wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice.