Part 22 (1/2)

Jordan Novick lay underneath the light down comforter, his face already starting to swell where he'd struck it. I brushed the hair off his forehead, feeling its thickness against my fingers. I was just looking, I told myself. My interest was purely professional. I had to make sure he wasn't bleeding. He sighed in his sleep and burrowed his head into the pillow, looking like a little boy. I went to the kitchen, wrapped ice in a dishtowel and pressed it against his cheek. He groaned and rolled over.

”Patti,” he said.

”Shh.” I let myself stroke his hair again, very gently, just once, and touched his cheek. This was what I'd wanted, maybe all I'd ever wanted: a man to lie beside at night, a man who knew me, and who'd say my name. Or who'd lie beside me and say someone's name. At this point, I'd take what I could get.

”Nighty-night,” said Jordan.

This was weird. What if he had a concussion? What if his brain was bleeding? I thought for a minute, trying to remember the dialogue I'd read in medical mysteries or remembered from TV. Pupils fixed and dilated were bad. Reactive pupils were good. A patient who was oriented to place and time was also good. I knelt on the bed beside him, took the shade off the lamp by the side of the bed, and brought the bulb down close to his face.

”Jordan,” I whispered.

He opened his eyes. His pupils shrank to slits. He squinted, then covered his eyes with his hand. ”Ow.” I flicked the light off.

”Do you know where you are?” I whispered.

”Bed,” he said. There was a pause. ”Florida.”

”Can I call someone?” I asked. ”Your wife or... someone?”

”No... wife.” He was struggling to push himself upright. The covers and sheets slipped as he did it, exposing white boxer-briefs. ”Divorced.” He rubbed his head, wincing. ”She married our dentist. They adopted a girl.”

”Oh.” I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say to that.

”You sure you don't know where Dan Swansea is?”

I sighed. ”Valerie-my friend Valerie Adler-thinks maybe she hit him with her car in the country club parking lot after the reunion.”

”She thinks?” I couldn't see his expression in the dark-couldn't see anything more than the outline of his face and body-but I could imagine the skeptical look. ”Isn't that the kind of thing you'd remember one way or the other?”

”For most of us, yes,” I agreed. ”My friend is an exception to many rules.” I gave Jordan a minute to take that in, then continued. ”She came to my house all upset because she thought she'd hit him...” I paused. ”In her defense, though, she said he jumped in front of her car. And he was naked. Val made him take his clothes off.” I waited for Jordan to ask me why, but he didn't. Then I remembered that Val had taken off his pants. Maybe he remembered that, too, and figured that, with Valerie Adler, de-pantsing was standard procedure. ”We drove back to the country club...”

”You didn't call the police?”

I pulled my knees up toward my chin. ”We were going to see if he was okay.”

”It was November, and he was naked, and he'd been hit by a car.” Jordan sounded skeptical.

”Well, Val wasn't sure she'd actually hit him. We just wanted to see...”

I heard Jordan take a slow, deliberate breath, the kind I'd heard the mommies in the coffee shop take when their kids dumped their lattes on the floor. ”Okay,” he said. ”Val shows up, you go back...”

”And Dan was gone! We found his belt... and then we went to look for him...”

”In Key West?”

I bit my lip. ”Well, no. We actually started our search in Pleasant Ridge. The Key West part was only after we couldn't find him. We thought maybe we'd get out of town until he showed up again.”

The bed creaked as Jordan s.h.i.+fted. ”He hasn't. Shown up.”

I wrapped my arms around my knees. Jordan sighed again, and when he spoke, his voice was a raspy growl. ”I liked you,” he said.

”You... you did?”

”I liked your house.”

I gulped, thinking I was going to start crying. ”Oh.”

”And your bedroom.”

My skin bristled with goose b.u.mps. ”Wait. You were in my bedroom?”

”Looking for you. Only because I was looking for you. Your neighbor's worried.”

I sighed. Mrs. Ba.s.s. Lord love her. But still. How long had I been waiting for a man to say that he liked my house, that he'd been looking for me? Under different circ.u.mstances, of course, with the words meaning something else entirely. Jordan reached for my face, cupped my cheek in his palm and turned me toward him.

”I liked you,” he said again, his voice cracking as he pulled me close. His lips were warm against mine, his hands moving in my hair, his body easing mine down into the bed. I felt like I was slipping under the water, as if the warm air, the heavy smell of flowers, the suns.h.i.+ne outside were all conspiring to make me behave in ways I never would in sober, cold Chicago. Jordan's whiskers rasped against my cheeks.

”Addie.” We kissed and kissed. The bed rocked like a boat on the sea, and I could feel myself glowing, every inch of my skin lit from the inside, and somewhere nearby, something was buzzing, louder and louder.

It took everything I had to pull myself away from him, to recognize the sound, to form the words. ”Phone,” I said, and reached across him to turn the light back on.

He sat up, bruised and blinking. ”Huh?”

”Phone,” I whispered, and pointed toward the chair where Val had left his pants.

Jordan crossed the room in three long steps, pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen.

”Novick,” I heard him say. ”Gary, is that you?” He listened for a minute, rubbing his head, frowning in the faint light, his body-stocky, but graceful-turned to the side. ”He's here?” he said after a minute. His voice had gotten louder, and he sounded confused. ”Turned himself in for what?”

I couldn't keep quiet, couldn't hold still. ”Is it Dan Swansea? Is he all right?” The words had barely left my mouth when Valerie burst through the door. She was wearing her Gap nights.h.i.+rt, and there was a small silver gun in her hand.

”Hands up. Drop your weapon.”

Jordan looked at her and let the cell phone slip to the floor, where it landed with a thunk. ”Chief?” said a tinny voice. ”Chief, you there?”

Valerie kicked the phone into the corner of the room without taking her eyes, or the barrel of her gun, off of Jordan, who had raised his hands in the air. ”Now listen to me, you son of a b.i.t.c.h,” she hissed. ”My friend and I are walking out of here. Doesn't make any difference to me whether we do it with you dead or alive.”

”Val,” I said.

”Chief?” said the voice from the phone. ”Chief, can you hear me?”

”She's sick,” said Val, pointing her chin at me. ”She needs to go home. She needs to see her doctor, and...”

”CHIEF! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT SWANSEA?” shouted the voice on the telephone. For a minute, there was silence. Then Jordan looked at Valerie, eyebrows lifted.

”May I?” he asked.