Wrath Of A Woman

12. Confrontation

Things come apart so easily, when they've been held together with lies.
-Dorothy Allison

At first, she did not notice the heavy clouds that hung above the sky till pellets of water down the window alerted her to the rain.

Her eyes followed a few drops, intrigued by the way they joined other drops to form an increased mass of water meandering down the window, never descending fast enough.

Thunder followed the roaring sound of heavy downpour, then came the flash of lightning.

It illuminated the room and reflected on the liquid contained in the glass she held.

Baron de Sigognac; a popular brand of Armagnac.

It was quite the unusual choice for her, yet as it carved a hot path down her throat, she couldn't help but be glad she'd chosen something other than wine.

Something befitting the sombre atmosphere.

If she took her time to savour and test the liquid against her palate, she'd taste the woodiness lent it by the oak barrel it was stored in, and the fruitiness of the grapes from which it was made.

But she didn't; she took a long sip.

The snifter was warm to touch, which wasn't much of a surprise. She liked her brandy warm, and so had warmed the glass before pouring her drink.

If there was something she liked about brandy, it was its chameleon-like nature. One could never determine its colour; melted gold in some lights, caramel in others with a hint of burgundy when the light was at a particular angle.

It reminded her of Claudette.

Her mien changed with her company; a liar who adjusts her character to suit her current agenda. Who at all knows the true colour of a chameleon?

Then there was Travis, the fool who allows himself to be manipulated with every camouflage. It was piteous. Gabe has observed him: he seems to have the notion of control in their affair, like he ran the whole show. He should know Claudette better.

"Honey."

Presently he stood in the middle of their bedroom with his hands deep in his pockets. His mangled hair was sticking out in places, his bowtie was askew and he looked less than the formidable tycoon the public got to see. Gabe relished that she could make him miserable in seconds.

And she was about to make him more miserable.

"Don't honey me."

Her words sounded hollow to her ears, groggy from the alcohol.

"Gabe, please."

He ran his hands over his face. Gabe rotated her chair to face him, drawing her eyes from the window with its condensing vapour.

Her eyes caught a suspicious liquid on his cuff...wine, she suspected. The alternative was blood, and she wouldn't think of her husband as a murderer no matter how vile he was.

Cheater? Yes. Murderer? No. Absolutely not!

But then what did she really know? It wasn't like you could cut humans open to examine their inner thoughts. Besides, this man has been lying to her for years. Murder came naturally than truth these days.

"Please what?"

"I wanted to explain." His voice carried a tinge of desperation.

Gabe nodded. "Go on."