Authors: Carolyn Nash
He dropped the wallet on the table and picked up the
envelope. Fifty and one hundred dollar bills filled it, topped by a small note.
He tossed the money after the wallet and opened the note. “Thank god,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“Lance. He’s out of danger.”
“Oh good!”
“The police have questioned him, but he doesn’t remember
anything about the explosion. He didn’t mention you.” Andrew looked up from the
note. “It was just luck that you got away without being questioned. I was
afraid that whoever destroyed the lab might have found out you were there, and
that you saw something.”
Saw something. Saw something.
A chill swept over the skin of my arms. “Good lord, I did!”
“What?”
“I did see something!” I said. “That’s why the short blond
man looked familiar! When I went to the lab Friday morning, he was coming out
the back door as I went in. He was there. It was him. He set the bomb!”
“Do you think he recognized you?”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But
wouldn’t this clear everything up? I mean, I can place him at the lab. And the
hotel people saw him at the Pacific Crest.”
“Sorry, but I don’t think at this point they’re going to
believe anything you say.”
“Oh, right. But maybe Lance saw him.”
“If he did, he doesn’t remember it. Maybe he will in time.”
He kept reading. “He’s put private guards on Lance, Chuck,
and your friend Cheryl and he’s got private investigators looking into J.P.’s
finances and business dealings. He’s spoken to the police and repeated what I
told them, but they are having trouble believing that J.P. Harrison had
anything to do with a lab explosion 400 miles away plus he’s got alibis coming
out his… ear.”
“Ear,” I said.
“Well, add an ‘r’ to that and you’d be a little closer to
what he actually said.”
He read further and then sighed. “Oh good. He acknowledges
that I’m probably the only one who can find the evidence to clear myself. We
had a hell of an argument about that before I left.”
He scanned down the page then grimaced. “Rips me a new one
for involving you.”
“I’ll explain how it happened,” I said.
“Good, then explain it to me. I know, I know, it’s just that
I wish you’d never gotten involved. I wish… Well, as my great-aunt used to say,
If wishes were horses, we’d all be hip deep in manure.”
“And aren’t we just.”
He laughed. “He’s sent someone up through Oregon to lay a
false trail to get the pressure off us here.”
“That’s good to know.”
He put down the letter and grinned. “He just finishes with a
lot of Dad stuff.”
I looked up at Andrew. “Nice letter.”
“Yeah. He didn’t get me a dirt bike, but in almost every
other way, he’s a hell of a father.”
“It must be great to have a dad like that,” I said. Andrew’s
head came up and he looked over at me.
“Why, wasn’t yours?”
I laughed. “No, not quite.”
“What do you mean?”
I shook my head, wiped my mouth, and started to push back
from the table. “It’s a long boring story.”
“I’ve got time,” he said.
“No, you don’t. We don’t. After all, we’ve only finished
phase one of the great Brenner-Richards plan.”
He reached across to lift my hand, but I reached for another
grape. He dropped his hand back in his lap. “Melanie, I want to hear.”
“It’s not the time or the place.”
“If not, when is?”
I shook my head again and my hair slid down around my
shoulders. I raked it back. “Really,” I said. “It’s the same old boring story: alcoholic
abusive father and warped mother dump family, run away, are never seen again.”
“It wasn’t boring to you. It must have hurt like hell.”
I nodded slowly, and then the words formed, rising in my
throat, seeming to come of their own accord. Something about Andrew made me say
things I’d never say to another living soul. “Yes it did,” I said. “The
stupidest thing is—they were awful, I know I would have been worse off if they’d
stayed, but even now, even this morning while I was walking through the crowds
to get to John Chambers office. There was this intersection near the office,
very busy, lots of traffic and people. As the light changed I stepped off the
curb and I looked up. A couple of people ahead of me I saw the back of this man’s
head and his hair was the right shade of brown, he was the right height, the
right build, and suddenly, there I am, walking on tip toe, elbowing past
people, trying to see him, because maybe, just maybe it’s my father.”
I shook my head. “A split second later he turned and I saw
it wasn’t him, but then the whole train of thought started: I wonder if he’s
nearby; I wonder where she is, what they’re doing, if they are even alive. I
wonder if I had just said the right thing and behaved the right way, if they
would have been like the parents in the books I read as a child. It’s stupid, I
know. I’ll never know what happened to them and mostly I don’t care, but still
when I’m in a crowd, on a street, part of me still is looking.”
“That isn’t stupid.”
I looked up.
Andrew shrugged. “I do it too. I lost somebody, once.”
I almost didn’t say it, but part of me had to know. “Beth?”
His hand stopped in the act of eating a wedge of apple. “How?
Where did you hear about Beth?”
“The other night. You said her name.”
He dropped the apple on his plate. “No, I didn’t.”
“When… when you were feverish. I think you were sort of
dreaming.”
“Oh.”
“If you want to talk about it…”
“No.”
“Really, I can be a good listener.”
“Beth is none of your business.”
I pushed back from the table, stood, and picked up my plate.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, “but she is not someone… I just
don’t want to talk about her.”
“That’s fine.” I crumpled up my napkin and picked up the empty
cups and plastic utensils.
“She’s from a long time ago.” Andrew picked up the fruit
plate which still had a few grapes left
“Look, Andrew, if you don’t want to talk about her, it’s okay.
I’m not asking you to.” I stood, hooked the bucket with the Diet Pepsi bottle
and headed inside.
Andrew followed with the rest of the leftovers.
In the kitchen, I dropped everything on the counter, pulled
the soda from the melted ice, wiped it down and stuck it in the fridge.
Andrew held out the fruit plate. “You want the rest of the
grapes?”
“No,” I said. “You have them.”
“Nah, I’m not hungry.” He dropped the plate into the paper
bag I’d been using as a trashcan.
“Well you didn’t have to waste them,” I said.
“Sorry. I’ll put them in the fridge.”
“Not now! They’ve been in the trash!”
“Fine. Whatever.”
I dropped the plastic utensils and cups in the sink.
Andrew stood in the center of the room watching me, and then
he started looking around the kitchen. “You know?” he said, looking around. “They
should have put an entrance from the kitchen to the patio. It’s not a very good
design to have to walk through the living room or the bedroom to get to the
kitchen.”
“I think it’s fine.”
“But it’d be better with a direct door to the kitchen.”
“Maybe you can buy the place,” I said. “Then you can cut a
door anywhere you want.”
He gave me a look. “I was just making a comment.”
“Well, I was just kidding,” I said, and smiled. “You don’t
really have to buy the place.”
“All I’m saying is that it would make sense to have a door
from the kitchen to the outside,” he said.
“Maybe, but I think this place is pretty nice the way it is.”
“Well, sure, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be improved. Look.”
He walked over to the sink under the window. “Move the sink over here, and you
could cut a door in where the window is now.”
“I like the window and the sink where they are,” I said.
“But wouldn’t you rather have a door in here?”
“Look, Andrew. This isn’t my apartment. It isn’t your
apartment. We’re only going to be here, hopefully, just the rest of today. So,
I don’t think it really matters whether a door would be better there or not. Okay?”
He emptied the bucket into the sink. Water splashed out on
the counter. “Neither one of us has to spend the rest of our lives here to
agree on the fact that a door would be better in here than a window.”
I grabbed a sponge and started wiping up the water he’d
sloshed. “Andrew, I really couldn’t care less about the goddamn door, but if it
will end this stupid conversation, yes, I think a door in here would be
infinitely better. You’re a genius to have thought of it. Architectural Digest
will want to do a cover article on this place once you’ve remodeled. Okay? Can
we drop it now?”
He dropped the bucket by the fridge. It hit the refrigerator
door and clattered on the floor. “Damn it, don’t patronize me.”
I turned and pointed the sponge at him. “And don’t insist
that I stand here and agree with every little pearl that happens to fall from
your lips.”
“I wasn’t asking you to.”
“Okay, you weren’t. You’re right. Besides, I’m just one of
your lowly students who couldn’t possibly understand the wonderful things you
have to impart, anyway. If I were on your higher plane I would have instantly
recognized the fundamental rightness of having a door in here and we wouldn’t
be having this discussion.”
“The reason I don’t want to talk about Beth,” he said
slowly, “is not because I don’t think you’d understand.”
I laughed and threw the sponge in the sink. “You think I
care to hear you discuss your ancient girlfriends? Like I have the time or the
inclination to hear who did what to whom, and who dumped who? Don’t be
ridiculous.”
He stood for a long time, staring at me. “She wasn’t my
girlfriend. She was my wife,” he said, “and she didn’t dump me. She died.” Then
he turned and walked from the room.
After a few minutes, I followed him to the bedroom. He was
buttoning up the light brown flannel shirt I’d bought for him. I stood in the
doorway and watched him.
“Does it fit okay?”
“It’s fine.”
“Look, Andrew, I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” He pulled on his socks and then reached for his
shoes.
“I guess I’d better get ready, too,” I said.
He pulled his left shoe on and started tying it. “I decided
it’s better if I go alone.”
“What?” I watched him loop the strings, tie them into a firm
bow, reach for the other shoe. “I said I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“What you said’s got nothing to do with this. I’m going
alone.”
“But you can’t. You need me.”
He laughed. “Need you? No. Look, now don’t get all
misty-eyed. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but it’ll go more smoothly if
I’m alone.”
“I’m not getting ‘misty-eyed’! I told you, I’m part of this.”
“What part? You said yourself everybody thinks you’re some
little grad student who succumbed to my charms. Ain’t that just about the way
it is?”
I pressed my hand to my stomach, just below my breastbone
where the black hole had reappeared. “But I have to look out for those two men.”
“I really don’t think I need you to spot those two guys.”
“But you only saw them briefly at the airport.”
“Even so, I hardly think I’ll forget them, do you?”
“But, you’re still not well. What if something happens, if
you start bleeding again?”
“I’ll sit down, put a Band-Aid on it, and wait for it to
stop.” He finished tying his other shoe and then pushed up off the mattress. He
didn’t even wince. “I’m feeling fine. I don’t need help.”
He walked over and put a hand on each of my shoulders. “You
stay here and take a break from all of this. After all, you want to be
well-rested when you get back. First biochem exam is in two weeks.”
I twisted out from under his hands. “I don’t care about the
stupid biochem exam.”
“You’d better. If you don’t pass biochem we’ll throw you out
on your keyster.” He laughed. “Come on, don’t argue now. It’s better this way.”
“No.”
“Good God, what does it take? Look Melanie, as I said, I
really do appreciate everything you’ve done. But I need to do what I have to do
without you interfering at every turn. It’s gotten so I can’t make a move
without an argument.
“I’m not arguing.”
“What do you call this?” he asked. “Just for once shut up
long enough to listen. I don’t want you. Got it?”
“Oh,” I said.
“Sorry to be so blunt.”
“No,” I heard myself say. “That’s okay. I can be pretty
stupid sometimes.”
I twisted out from under his hands and walked to where my
skirt and my pink sweater were drying in the sunlight coming through the door. I
had washed them out the night before and they should have been dry, but when I
knelt down to feel them, they were both still a little damp. I fingered the
sweater. Why in the world had I ever chosen that color pink? And the style was
definitely not me; I was baggy sweatshirts and jeans, not frou-frou little
feminine trash like this.
I snatched it and the skirt up and headed for the bathroom. The
few cosmetics I’d brought in my purse were scattered on the counter. I pulled a
t-shirt off the curtain rod, swept the cosmetics into a pile and brushed them
into a pouch I made out of the shirt. I looked around. The only thing left was Andrew’s
white, tattered silk shirt hanging on the shower curtain rod. I reached out and
touched where the bullet had gone through, then angrily snatched my hand back.
“Go back to Miss Perfect,” I whispered. “What do I care?” I
grabbed my brush and walked back out into the main room.
Andrew was sitting on the mattress. When I walked out, he
didn’t look up. He quickly bent over his shoe, pulled the laces loose, and then
retied them carefully. He tightened the strings, adjusted them, pulled them
tighter. His eyes flicked over at me and he brought his other foot up, untied
the lace, and started the whole process again.