Final Breath (30 page)

"There now," Sydney whispered, stroking his back. "It's not your fault."

In this strapping, handsome twenty-five-year-old, she could still see the burnt and broken little boy she'd saved from that fire. Sydney still felt a connection to him after all these years. This was the first time she'd actually been able to hug him. "It's okay, Aidan," she said. "It's okay..."

Then Sydney started to cry with him.

Beyond the raindrops slashing at the front window of Everyday Music, Eli saw his uncle's Mercedes SUV come up Broadway and pull over to the curb by a life-size statue of Jimi Hendrix playing his guitar. Running out of the CD store, Eli covered his head from the rain with a free music magazine, and then he jumped in the front seat. Uncle Kyle was at the wheel. His eyes narrowed at him. "Where's your friend?" he asked.

"Oh, um, he--he wanted to go to Broadway Video," Eli lied. "He said he'd get home on his own. Thanks a lot for picking me up, Uncle Kyle. I'm really sorry I screwed up. I didn't mean to make you worry."

Pulling into traffic, Kyle studied the road ahead. The windshield wipers squeaked a bit. "I should be seething right now," he said. "Just consider yourself lucky that I met this total hunk on the beach while I was looking for your sorry ass. I was so worried about you, I didn't even pick up that he was interested in me. Anyway, I was just on the phone with him ten minutes ago, and we have a date tonight." At a red light, he glanced at Eli. "Is this too much gay stuff for you?"

"No, it's cool," Eli said. "I'm just glad you're not really, really pissed."

His uncle squinted at him. "Hey, where's your backpack?"

Eli's hand automatically felt along the side of the car seat--even though he knew the backpack wasn't there. He realized now that in his panic, he'd left it in the library. He tried to remember if there was anything valuable in it: his book, a beach towel, and sunscreen.

His uncle pulled forward as the traffic light changed. He was looking ahead once again. "You had a backpack when we went to the beach. What happened? Did you leave it in the store?"

"Um, no, I--I let Earl borrow it," he lied. He figured he'd call the library when they got home. Maybe they had the backpack in their Lost and Found unless that creepy man with the weird eye ended up stealing it.

Eli asked if his mom was home yet. His uncle explained that she was probably still visiting this sick old lady. It was the mother of the kid she'd saved from that fire. "We'll call her when we get home," his uncle said. "I can't stick around too long. I need to get ready for my big date."

Because of the rain, parking spaces had opened up near the beach, so his uncle was able to park right in front of the Tudor Court. They walked through the courtyard together. "Well, it looks like Earl was here before you," his uncle said, as they approached the front door.

For a moment, Eli didn't know what he meant. But then he saw something by the doorstep, and Eli stopped dead.

It was his backpack.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

A soft breeze drifted through the kitchen window as she washed the dinner dishes. Sydney shook the water off her hands, then turned and grabbed the pot and dish towel from Aidan. "You're a guest here," she said. "And you've been through a hell of a lot today. Let me pamper you, okay?" She pointed to the kitchen table. "Sit."

She'd watched Aidan for nearly two hours this afternoon in his mother's pigsty of an apartment. He seemed shell-shocked as he'd dealt with the police, paramedics, and finally the coroner. Sydney had made her exit when the two men from the funeral home had arrived, but before leaving, she'd invited Aidan to dinner. She'd figured he shouldn't be alone tonight. He'd given her a sad smile and nodded. "Here you are, rescuing me again," he'd said. "Dinner would be great, thanks."

Sydney had returned home to Eli, in her office using her computer, and Kyle, all pumped up about a date tonight with some guy he'd met on the beach. She hadn't heard back from Troy Bischoff, and thought about calling him again. Sydney had wondered if perhaps she'd indeed overreacted about the Heimlich maneuver fax. Maybe Kyle had been right. Yes, the news about Leah and Jared's and Angela's deaths had been a shock, very disturbing and sad. But she'd let her imagination go wild with her theories and paranoia.

Maybe all it took for her to stop obsessing was someone who really needed her right now--someone who wasn't her son.

In fact, she'd even left Eli alone in the apartment for a few minutes while she'd run to the Apple Market to pick up some food for dinner. She hadn't seen any sign of Mr. 59 since Saturday--two days ago. She'd figured Eli would be safe for twenty minutes, and he had been.

While dinner had cooked, she'd jumped into the shower, and then thrown on a pair of white slacks and an orange print top. She'd even put on some makeup. In the middle of getting ready for Aidan, she'd wondered why it was so important that she look pretty tonight.

While polite all through dinner, Eli had seemed uncomfortable around Aidan. Maybe he'd just felt awkward around this stranger whose mother had just died this afternoon. Yet he'd also seemed a bit resentful of the handsome young man at their dinner table, this man who wasn't his father.

Eli was in the living room right now, watching
The Bourne Ultimatum
for the fourth or fifth time.

"That was a terrific dinner," Aidan said, sitting on one of the stools. "I hope you didn't knock yourself out too much."

"Oh, please, a bottle of Newman's Own, some Italian Chicken Sausage, and pasta. I didn't have to do much." In the darkened window above the sink, she could see him sitting at the table behind her.

"Eli's lucky to have a mom who cooks. I grew up on Chef Boyardee and Spaghetti-o's, which I learned to cook for myself when I was eight. Way too often, my mother wasn't around at dinnertime, and I had to fend for myself."

"Well, Eli has had to fend for himself on a few occasions, too," she said, eyeing his reflection as she scrubbed out the salad bowl.

"It's not the same thing, Sydney," he muttered. "Rikki was a pretty crummy mother. I don't have many good memories of her. Well, you know what she was like. You had to deal with her from time to time. On the way here tonight, I was racking my brain trying to come up with something nice about her that I could hold onto. Right now, I'm just angry with her."

Turning off the water, Sydney dried her hands. She looked at him and shrugged. "Well, maybe anger is what you need right now to get you through this. People grieve in different ways."

Aidan sighed. "Did you see the way everyone was looking at me this afternoon? The cops, the paramedics, the funeral guys--I could tell they thought I was total shit for letting my mother waste away like that." He shook his head. "I can't believe how quickly she slid downhill since I saw her last weekend. I really did as much as I could for her..."

"Your mother's neighbor told me how you tried to get her some help," Sydney said, leaning back against the sink. "And you flew up from San Francisco to visit her every weekend. That really adds up--in time and money and patience."

"Well, money hasn't been that much of a problem," he mumbled.

"So--the acting is paying off?" Sydney asked.

"Two commercials for a Honda dealer in Oakland, one for a bank in Sausalito, and eight weeks doing
Barefoot in the Park
for a dinner theater." He gave her a sardonic smile. "My career isn't exactly skyrocketing."

Sydney remembered Aidan's mother saying something about an older woman who was supporting him. She decided not to ask about her.

Aidan glanced toward the wall at her autographed poster of the 1994 Olympic Games in Lillehammer. He pointed to it with his thumb. "I guess if it hadn't been for me, you'd have been on that team, maybe even brought home a medal."

"Oh, I doubt it. There were some incredibly talented skaters that year." Sydney came and sat down at the table with him. "To be honest, I do miss skating sometimes. But I really love what I'm doing now. And that might never have happened if I hadn't...been incapacitated for a while. I probably wouldn't have met my husband either. Anyway, I can't complain."

"Speaking of your husband, what's happening with you two?" Aidan leaned forward a little. "Do you mind me asking?"

Sydney hesitated. "We're--separated right now."

Aidan looked into her eyes for a moment, and then he smiled. "Well, he's a damn fool for letting you go. You're so beautiful."

Sydney felt herself blushing. "Thank you," she said. She felt a spark with him. It was strange, like having a little crush on someone she used to babysit. Maybe she was just lonely--or mad at Joe--but she felt a real attraction to Aidan. "As long as we're passing out the compliments--and I'm not just saying this--you certainly turned out to be a very handsome young man."

"For a long time, I wasn't that easy to look at." He tugged down his shirt collar to show his neck. "This was all scarred from the burns," he said. "Well, you remember, you saw what I looked like in the hospital. Anyway, I had extensive plastic surgery two years ago. No more scars...." He unbuttoned his shirt to show her his smooth chest and shoulders. "You'd never know I was that same burnt-up kid. I can go outside with my shirt off now and not scare people."

Sydney stared at his chest and nodded. "Well, they--they did a beautiful job."

He took her hand and guided it to his chest. "Here, feel."

Her fingers glided over the silky skin. She could feel his heartbeat. Sydney nodded again, then gently pulled her hand away.

"They fixed my back, too," Aidan said, buttoning up his shirt. "It was like a miracle--the end to twelve years of agonizing pain." He left the last three buttons undone, and took hold of her hand once more. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, but I feel kind of bad I don't have any more scars...."

"Why in the world would you feel bad about that?" she asked.

"Because I don't have anything left over from that day, but you--you're still limping, Sydney. I did that to you. It's my fault."

She didn't know what to say. She shrugged. "Oh, please, don't worry about it."

He kissed the back of her hand and pressed it against his face.

Sydney gingerly took her hand away, and then patted his shoulder. Even if Aidan was attracted to her, his mother had just died this afternoon. And Eli was in the next room, for God's sake. She could hear Matt Damon on TV, kicking someone's ass. What if Eli had come in there two minutes ago and found her fondling Aidan's bare chest?

She slid off the stool and went back to the sink. Grabbing a towel, she started drying some cooking utensils. "So what are you going to do now?" she asked.

"Well, my mother will be cremated," he said. "I don't think I'm having a service for her or anything. It'll take a few days to clean out her apartment. Right now, I should be looking for a cheap motel. I certainly can't stay at my mother's tonight..."

"You're more than welcome to stay here," Sydney offered.

He got to his feet. "No, thanks, I've imposed on you enough. In fact, I should get going. Thanks for a wonderful dinner."

Putting down the dish towel, Sydney walked him toward the front door.

"So long, Eli," he said, passing by the living room. "It was nice meeting you."

Eli put the movie on pause. "Bye. I'm sorry about your mom."

Sydney stepped outside with him. "I hope I'll see you again before you go back to San Francisco."

He nodded and said nothing for a moment. His eyes wrestled with hers. "I--I need to tell you something, Sydney," he whispered at last. "The reason I can afford all these trips back and forth between here and San Francisco is because of this--older woman. Her name's Rita. She's very rich, very high society. She's about sixty-five, and has had about a dozen tummy tucks and face-lifts. It was her surgeon who did the repair job on me. She paid for it. She paid for my back surgery, too. She pays the rent on my one-bedroom apartment. If you ask any maitre d' or salesperson in the finer San Francisco restaurants or department stores, they'll tell you that Rita Bellamy is a raving bitch. But around me, she's very sweet and vulnerable. She saw something in me when I was still hideous-looking. I'm very grateful to her. Anyway, I guess you could say I'm her 'kept man.'"

Sydney stood on the front stoop, her hand still on the outside doorknob. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it matters to me what you think," he whispered. "I care about you, Sydney--and not just because you saved my life. I want you to know me. Do you--do you think I'm sleazy for letting this woman take care of me?"

She shrugged. "No, I wouldn't think that of you, Aidan." She couldn't really judge him. Considering how awful his mother had been, and everything life had offered him, he was probably doing the best as he could.

"Thank you," he said. He hugged her. As he pulled away, his lips brushed against her cheek and touched the corner of her mouth.

"Good night, Aidan," Sydney said, awkwardly pulling back.

"I'll call you, okay?"

Touching her lips, Sydney nodded and watched him walk away.

On the TV, Matt Damon was in
PAUSE
mode, frozen and suspended in midair as he leapt off a tall bridge. Sitting on the living room floor with the DVD remote in his hand, Eli squinted at her. "What were you guys doing outside for so long?"

His mother shut the front door. "We were just talking, honey."

"Does Dad know that guy?" he asked.

"No, they've never met. The last time I saw Aidan, he was only a year or two older than you are now. I've already explained that to you." She started toward the kitchen. "Anyway, thank you for being nice to him at dinner. He's been through an awful lot today. Poor guy, he's been through an awful lot--period."

Eli followed her into the kitchen. "Does he want to date you or something?"

She started to dry the rest of the cooking utensils. "Eli, I'm fourteen years older than him."

There were several knocks on the front door.

His mouth open, Eli glanced at his mother. She put down the dish towel. "He must have forgotten something..."

Eli ran ahead of her and checked the peephole. Aidan stood outside. He looked like he was about to knock again. Eli quickly opened the door.

Aidan seemed out of breath. "I don't mean to scare you," he said. "But maybe you should call the police. I was about to leave and glanced back. I saw this creepy-looking guy sneaking around your place. He was peeking into the living room window."

Sydney stared down at the footprints in the muddy garden directly below her living room window. The cop, a slightly beefy, tanned man with a strawberry-blond crew cut, shined his flashlight on the evidence. "Thanks to the rain today, this guy left his calling card," he said.

Sydney shuddered and nervously rubbed her arms. Eli and Aidan stood beside her. Aidan put his hand on her shoulder, but then Sydney caught Eli glaring at them and she delicately pulled away. They followed the cop to the front door. He directed his flashlight beam on the door--around the lock. The wood was chipped in spots near where the catch protruded. Some paint had been scraped away at the corresponding location on the door frame. "Somebody's been trying to force his way in," the stocky policeman said. "And not just tonight; it looks like they've been at it for a while."

Sydney felt stupid for not noticing it earlier. She told the cop about the possible break-in on July Fourth and the dead bird she'd found on her bed on Saturday. "Also on Saturday afternoon," she continued. "I'm pretty sure someone followed me from here all the way out to Auburn. He was in his late twenties, about six feet tall, with black hair and a dark complexion." She turned to Aidan. "You sure you didn't get a good look at the prowler out here just now?"

Frowning, he shook his head. "I just saw him in the shadows. As soon as I got close to the apartment again, he must have seen me coming, because he just shot out of there." Aidan nodded toward the alley on the other side of the courtyard driveway, where the patrol car was parked with its blinkers going. "He disappeared down there. It all happened so fast, I never got a good look at him."

"I think I saw the guy you're talking about at the beach today, Mom," Eli piped up. "He's dark, and one of his eyes is all red and bloodshot, right?"

Sydney stared at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Wincing, he shrugged. "I think he was there yesterday, too."

"Good lord, Eli! I asked you about him yesterday, and you said you didn't see anyone like that."

"Did he approach you or threaten you in any way?" the cop asked him.

Eli shook his head. "No, sir. He was just there."

"But he was close enough that you could see his bloodshot eye," Sydney said, edgily.

"Um, the guy wasn't around for very long, Mom, just a few seconds. That's why I didn't remember it until I saw him again today."

The cop said they would step up patrols in the area. He recommended that in the meantime she have a locksmith install metal plate locks on both her front and back doors; and maybe she should install a few more lights outside, too--with motion-detecting sensors. Getting together with the other Tudor Court residents and starting a Neighborhood Watch wasn't a bad idea either.