Someone Else's Lady

Barely a year after moving in with Michelle, we decided to tie the knot. We opted for a small wedding with just our closest friends and a few coworkers. I didn't have any family anyway, and most of hers weren't local. We flew over the Pacific Ocean for a wonderful week of nothing but beaches, food, sex, and relaxation in Hawaii. I'm not sure which one of us hated returning to San Francisco the most, but as long as we had each other, it didn't matter much where we were. I didn't see Angela for nearly a year. If she was in the building at all, she usually didn't work in the area I worked in. I didn't even see Michelle that often at work because we tended to be in different departments. One day, I was fetching some old evidence files from a large room in the basement known as the Time Machine. It housed many files along with evidence from cold cases. I was to go through some of them and see if I could get a sense of anything from them. I brought a stack of files back to a large room on the ground floor where I spent most of my time. I set them down on an empty desk and began to go through them, many of which were horrifying and included some very graphic and gruesome crime scene photos. Not something I looked forward to seeing, especially before lunch, but one did get used to it to a degree over time. There were only a few other officers in the far corners of the room because most had already gone to lunch. "Hey," I heard a familiar voice say. I looked up to find Angela gazing down at me. Her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, was a little longer now. She wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and a couple of small beaded necklaces in turquoise and orange. As was usually the case, she had on very little makeup that was barely noticeable. An older woman about my size was heading in our direction. She smiled at Angela, and Angela smiled in return. "Oh, hiya, Angela. Long time no see." "Yeah, wie geht es dir?" "Ich bin gut. Und du?" "Just fine." She began to say something else but stopped abruptly when all of a sudden we could feel and hear a faint vibration, which quickly escalated into a violent one. It took my brain a moment to register what was going on. "Oh my God!" I said. "What the hell?" "It's an earthquake. Quick," Angela said, running to me and grabbing me by the arm. She shoved me under a table, even though the other woman was closer to her, and I later wondered why she didn’t help her first. The next few minutes were the longest and scariest of my life. I really thought the whole building was going to come down. Angela, nearly twice my size, dove under the table with me and shielded me with her body. My body was ramrod stiff as objects fell off desks, tables, and shelves and crashed to the floor. Despite the terrifying chaos around me, I was acutely aware of Angela's closeness. I could smell her shampoo and also a faint hint of some kind of woodsy perfume. I found it odd that at that moment, which I knew may be my last, I was wondering if she could smell my own perfume, sweet and flowery. The crashing and vicious shaking continued. I whimpered and felt her arms tighten around me. I was lying on my right side with her body both spooning and shielding mine. I felt one hand on the left side of my ribs, and the other was almost underneath my right side. I also felt her breath on my neck. "Oh my God, I don't want to die," I cried. "Please save me one more time, Angela!" Angela said nothing. Instead, she wrapped her arms even tighter around me and pulled me closer. Any tighter and she'd just crush me before the building could, if it did indeed come down. But after what seemed like an eternity, the calm returned. My body was trembling and I was nearly hyperventilating. "Calm down," she said, gently rubbing my back. "It's okay now." Once we, along with the others in the room, felt brave enough to give up our cover, Angela and I rose to our feet. My legs felt like rubber and were shaky at first. Angela put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. "You okay?" I looked up at her and nodded. Then I saw something in those blue eyes—something that gave me a profound sense that she felt something during our so-called "close" connection. Ignoring it, I said, "Yeah, thanks. I promise never to call you a bitch again in any language." She laughed. "Well, danke. Bist du noch bei Michelle?" I nodded, showing her my wedding ring. She said nothing, but I had to wonder… was that disappointment reflecting in her eyes?