Part 22 (2/2)

I looked up and saw Jackson standing on the other side of the hedgerow that separated our driveways. I shoved the envelope into my pocketbook. ”Hi, Alison,” he repeated.

I wasn't in the mood for chitchat and I wanted to get to school so that I could get a few things organized in my office before the summer started. I looked at him and didn't respond.

”Nice car.” He looked uncomfortable. ”Is it new?”

”Yes.” I stood on the driver's side of the car, peering at him over the roof.

”Where are you going?”

”Graduation.” I opened the car door.

”You look nice.”

”Thanks.”

”She told me,” he blurted out. He blinked a few times as tears came to his eyes.

I looked at him, not caring. I put my elbows on top of the car and clasped my hands together.

”We're working it out.”

”Good,” I said.

”I'm sorry,” he said quietly. His face went sad.

My eyes filled with tears; he was kind, and I was a b.i.t.c.h. ”Me, too,” I said, and hastily got in the car, slamming and locking the door. I backed out of the driveway quickly and headed down the street, wiping my eyes on a balled-up tissue that was on the pa.s.senger's seat. I was finding a lot of them around lately.

I got to school and parked behind the dorm next to my building. I took my pocketbook and walked the length of the parking lot to the back stairs, treading carefully on the unevenly s.p.a.ced steps behind the building.

I let myself in by the back door and walked the short distance between the back door and the office area. It was early-about four hours before graduation-so n.o.body would be in the office for at least another two hours. I pulled the door open and entered, my thin heels making a clicking sound on the hardwood floors.

Crawford stood in front of my office and turned when I entered. I stopped at the end of the table where, just two weeks earlier, I had laid his head when he had lost consciousness. He turned and looked at me, a mixture of despair and confusion on his sad, handsome face.

His arm was still in a sling and he was a little thinner. His color was better than it had been in the hospital though, and his hair, slightly longer. He wasn't wearing the sad face or even the really bad-news face; this was clearly the ”I'm a s.h.i.+thead” face, and it became him at that moment. He had on baggy jeans and a Lavallette PD T-s.h.i.+rt, untucked. He was holding a paper bag. No gun, no badge.

I put my bag on the table. ”Doing surveillance?”

He shrugged. ”I'm awake, aren't I?”

I pointed to his s.h.i.+rt. ”Where'd you get the s.h.i.+rt?”

”Ted,” he said. ”I went down to the sh.o.r.e for a few days. He left it in the mailbox for me after he read in the paper about what happened.” He smiled. ”He left one for you, too.” He offered me the bag. I took it and opened it to find a light blue LPD T-s.h.i.+rt.

”I can add this to my collection of police-issue clothing,” I said, almost forgetting how angry I was. ”Tell Ted I said thanks.”

”You look beautiful,” he said.

I looked down.

”You cut your hair.”

”You don't miss a trick.”

”You've lost weight. When's the last time you ate?”

”I had four frozen cannolis and two martinis on Tuesday,” I said, my tone cutting. He winced. I think I was madder than he expected me to be after two weeks.

”Graduation is today, right?” he asked.

I nodded.

”What time?”

I got angry. ”One. What do you want, Crawford?”

”To find out why you never took any of my phone calls. To explain. To say I'm sorry.”

”For what?” I asked. ”Lying? I don't even want to hear it.” I headed toward my office, taking my keys out of my purse. The words were caught in my throat, but I managed to get out, ”How could you?”

He looked down at me, and I almost felt sorry for him, but I pushed those feelings aside. I started crying, furious at myself for letting him see me lose control. ”After everything I told you about Ray, and what he did to me, and how I felt, how could you?” I rooted around in my bag for one of the handy balled-up, used tissues, but I didn't have one.

He handed me a neatly folded, pressed white handkerchief. ”Here.”

I blew my nose loudly and handed it back to him. He laughed. ”I don't want it back.” He finally took it after I continued to hold it out; he put it in his pocket. ”Can we go in your office?”

I opened the door and waved him in. He waited until I entered and then followed me in, closing the door. ”Sit down,” I said.

”Your zipper isn't all the way up.” He came up behind me and zipped up my dress. He let his hands fall onto my bare shoulders, but after a few seconds pa.s.sed, and I didn't turn around, he took his usual seat across from me. I sat behind the desk. It was my turn to ask questions. ”Yes or no. Are you married?”

He let out a breath and went pale. ”Yes.”

I caught a sob as it tried to escape from my throat by swallowing hard.

”Technically,” he amended.

I rolled my eyes. ”That's like being a little bit pregnant.” I went for the jugular. ”You're sounding like Ray.”

He closed his eyes and leaned forward in the chair, wincing as his bad arm caught the armrest. ”I can explain.”

I looked at my watch. ”You've got five minutes. Go.”

He put his good hand under the elbow in the sling. ”We're separated.”

”Oh, thank G.o.d,” I said, rolling my eyes in disbelief.

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