Part 29 (2/2)

When I came back out, most of the lights had been turned off. Alex was standing behind Joanne rubbing her shoulders, then Joanne turned to her and they kissed for a long time. I crept back into the bathroom, not wanting to intrude. After what seemed like a decent interval, I made a noisy exit back out to the living room.

”About time,” Ranson commented. Alex winked at me.

”Mexican food always slows me down,” I said and winked back.

They finished in the bathroom, said good night, and then shut the bedroom door, leaving me on the couch.

They were pretty quiet, but I did hear an occasional noise from beyond the door and I knew they were making love.

I felt like an intruder; I imagined that they were being quiet for my sake. They had waited for a while before they started, probably hoping that I would be asleep.

But I couldn't sleep. Memories of both Frankie and Barbara were too clear, too sharply etched to allow the blur of sleep to overtake me.

It was probably the sharp edge of my senses that allowed me to hear Joanne and Alex make love.

* 195 *

Hearing them only made me sad, not in an envious way, but with a wistfulness for something I never had and probably never would. I knew Joanne meant what she said about holding me in the night if I really needed it, but there is a difference in being held by arms that are close and always there and arms that aren't.

After their quiet rustlings had stopped and been still for a while, I found my suitcase and the bottle of Scotch. I badly needed to dull my edges. I lay in the dark drinking Scotch out of the bottle.

I heard the bedroom door open. I lay motionless, hoping whoever it was wouldn't notice my wakefulness.

It was Alex who walked past me to the bathroom. I put the bottle down on the floor, hoping to make it invisible in the dark.

The door clicked open and Alex came back out, but I didn't hear her footsteps pa.s.s me. I lay still, hoping she would think I was asleep. I heard a soft swish and realized that she was standing next to me.

”I saw the bottle,” she said softly.

d.a.m.n it.

”Can I turn on the reading light?” she asked.

I reached up and did it for her.

”I couldn't sleep,” I mumbled.

She picked up the bottle and looked at it.

”Three fingers' worth,” she said. ”Joanne's parents were alcoholics.

She knows all the tricks. She found it earlier.”

”I'm not an alcoholic. I just don't sleep very well when my friends have been murdered,” I answered back.

”This isn't the solution,” she said. She was kneeling on the floor next to me.

”Then give me one,” I demanded in a low voice. I didn't want Ranson to come out here and find me with the bottle.

Alex sighed. ”I wish I could,” she said. ”I've known Joanne for a long time now and held her through a lot of nights, but I can't make her pain go away. I couldn't presume to touch yours.”

”Which is?” I wanted to know what Ranson had told her.

”I don't know. Only you do. Want to talk?”

”No, I'm okay. Just thinking too much. The Scotch helps.”

”For a while.”

”Every bit helps. It's a distraction.”

”There are better ways to be distracted,” Alex said.

* 196 *

”Not at hand.”

”How about a bedtime story?” she suggested.

I looked at her like she was crazy.

She tiptoed to one of Joanne's bookcases and after a minute pulled out a battered old book.

”This is one of the books from her happy days,” Alex said.

She read me the tale of Peter Rabbit. I can vaguely remember my mother reading to me as we sat in front of the fireplace. My dad was probably hunched over his desk, doing the books for the s.h.i.+pyard or paying bills. I don't see him in the picture with my mother, but I remember him later doing that and the memories blur.

Alex had a soft, expressive voice. For the minutes that she read to me, I felt warm and cozy, away from my clangorous and hostile adult world. Maybe Joanne was right, maybe you can't go back to your childhood, but tonight I caught a glimpse of it.

Two months ago I would have been, at best, indulgent at the idea of someone reading me a children's story. Now I desperately needed a hint of innocence and an act of simple kindness.

Alex finished reading and smiled at me. She was sitting on the floor like a big sister reading to a little sister. Her hand was resting on my shoulder.

”Thank you.” I smiled back.

”Sometimes we all could use a bedtime story,” she said as she stood up. ”Good night, Micky, sleep well.” She kissed me on the forehead.

”Good night, Alex.”

She went back into the bedroom. I quietly hid my bottle of Scotch back in my suitcase, then I lay down and fell asleep.

I awoke sometime later, when the gray is still so dense that it is more night than morning. I had been dreaming. I could only remember the last bit. A soft brown rabbit was running down a trail in the woods.

The rabbit was slowing, having escaped whatever was chasing it. Then it turned the corner-I could still feel the jolt of fear-and found a rattlesnake. It was not just a snake, but a nightmare snake. Large, the size of a python with red eyes and fangs dripping blood. It was coiled to strike. That was when I woke up. I looked about the gray room, wanting the dawn to come. I knew what the snake represented. But who was the rabbit? Barbara? Frankie? Or me?

* 197 *

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