Part 13 (1/2)

I shook my head.

There was a mirror over what had once been Crazy Mary's sewing table. He grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly over to stand in front of it.

”Look at yourself,” he said.

I looked at the pale skin, the greasy hair, the deep circles under my eyes. It was the same face I'd been seeing for six months.

”Look at yourself,” he said again. ”You look like a corpse and you're acting like a lobotomy patient. What the h.e.l.l happened to you?”

The man standing next to the wan girl in the mirror was touching her face just as Jack was touching mine.

”Time and s.p.a.ce,” the girl in the mirror said. The man's arm crept around her waist and his body curled against hers.

”When I was here, you were always beautiful,” he said. ”You're the only girl I've ever known who could be beautiful and hung-over at the same time.”

I watched the wan girl smile slightly.

”You were alive then.” He was crooning now, his voice low and smooth and rich. ”You were amazing. We were amazing.”

”It wasn't ever me.” My voice seemed to come from someone else.

Jack's mouth was close to my ear, against the soft place beneath my earlobe; and when he spoke, his words and his lips were like kisses. He was kissing me.

”My poor little sister,” he said. ”Poor, pretty little sister. What happened? What happened to you?” His hands were on my stomach, under my sweaty T-s.h.i.+rt, stroking the skin and my thin ribs, and I was s.h.i.+vering, tensing, with each touch. I turned toward him, feeling the desperation in my face and hating it.

”You did,” I said.

During the long six months that we'd spent apart, I had often lain curled in my bed at night, imagining the warmth of his body wrapped around mine-of any body wrapped around mine-trying to remember what it had been like to be a person touched by another human being. The feel of hands on my skin. The warm pulse of another heart, my ear pressed close to hear it. A body protecting me from the rest of the world.

It was a simple thing. At that moment, it was all that I wanted.

I was crying. Sitting on the floor of the hallway crying.

”Stop it,” he said.

”I'm sorry.” I wiped my running nose on the back of my wrist.

”Don't be sorry. Just quit crying.” He shook his head and stood up. ”I hate it when you cry.”

”Then quit making me,” I said softly.

He didn't answer. He ran his hands through his hair and then held them out to me. I took them and he pulled me to my feet.

”You're starting to look like you again.” He kissed my forehead absently and started checking his pockets, methodically. ”Listen, Jo, do you think you could get me those earrings?”

”Earrings?”

”The pearl ones.”

Numbly I went to get them. Jack had taken them out of my ears when I was pa.s.sed out after the Christmas party. He'd left them on the dresser and I hadn't touched them since. I stood for a moment with them in my hand. Then I reached behind the headboard and took the charm bracelet out of its box.

When I came back out into the hallway he was gone and my breath caught. Then I heard the Wagner playing downstairs, in the study.

He was going through the books on the shelves, making a pile on the couch of the oldest ones with the most elaborately tooled covers. They were Raeburn's first editions. ”Thanks,” he said when I gave him the earrings, and stuck them carelessly in his pocket without looking at them or me.

”This too,” I said and held out the bracelet.

He stared at it for a moment and then reached out to touch it with one finger. ”I remember that. Where did you get that?”

”It was Mary's,” I said. ”It's mine now. You can have it.”

And I gave it to him. He touched the tiny test tube with something akin to reverence and slipped the bracelet carefully into his pocket with the earrings.

”Where have you been?” I asked softly.

He picked up a book and blew dust from its spine. ”I don't think I want to talk about that.”

”I didn't hear from you. I didn't think you were ever coming back.” He didn't answer. ”Why did you?”

”Come back? Why do you think?”

I stared at my hands. My thumbnail was ripped down to the quick. ”If I knew,” I said, ”I wouldn't have asked.”

”Fair enough.” Jack tossed the book carelessly down onto the couch. ”I came back because I needed money, and because I knew there was stuff here I could sell. I came back because I liked the idea of breaking into Raeburn's house and making off with everything that was worth more than two cents.”

”Did you do the break-ins on the Hill?” I interrupted.

”Have there been break-ins on the Hill?” he said evenly.

I looked at him for a long moment.

”Okay,” I said. ”Go on.”

”Go on? There's nothing left to tell. I came back because of you.”

”But you're not going to stay.”

He laughed. ”Are you kidding?”

”So what's the point of coming back at all?” I was getting angry.

”To get you,” he said simply. ”What did you think?”

I stared at him.

”Unless you want to stay,” he offered.