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Page 223
had a pretheater dinner party. She made a scene in front of my friends and employees. I wanted to strangle her. I was so upset that I argued about everything, even which car to take to the theater. Finally I insisted on driving mine, but I was so angry. . . . "
He had to stop for a moment as the recollections overwhelmed him: the yelling in the car, the cloying miasma of her expensive perfume, his rage so great that he couldn't function, couldn't get the brakes to work
"Mike?" Abby's sweet voice brought him back to the present.
He didn't want to go into detail. He said simply, "I lost control on the way down the hill."
"Oh, Mike."
The sympathy in her voice unnerved him; he had to show it was unmerited. He pulled away from her, sitting straight in the bed. "I laughed, Abby. As we hurtled toward the cliff, I laughed. I remember thinking how ironic it was; neither of us would live to throw away my money."
"But you survived." Abby found him again in the dark, caressing his tense jaw with her fingertips.
"Yeah. Lucky me. Do you know the most ironic part of all? Right then, I didn't just want her out of my life; I wanted her dead. She died. I killed her."
"It was an accident, Mike."
"Sure," he spat. He waited for the usual wave of self-blame to drown him as it did each time he let himself remember the crash.

 
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