Текст книги "Trouble in Paradise"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Crawling to stay out of sight, she went past the cellar window and tried the cellar door. Locked. She looked up at the cellar window. The one on the left was locked; she could see the latch. The one on the right had no latch. She reached over and pushed up on one of the mullions. The window didn't move. She took the flat end of the tire iron and slipped it under the bottom of the window and pried up. The window went up without much noise. Molly dropped the tire iron and waited. No sound. No movement. She slid as close to the edge of the window as she could and peered around it. There was a laundry room. The laundry room door was closed. No one was in the laundry room. Molly stood and boosted the window wide open and climbed through. She stood in the laundry room and listened. The house was quiet. But then she heard footsteps on the floor above. She stood motionless. The footsteps moved away. She strained to hear them and realized as she listened that she had been right. It sounded like someone walking from one room to another, looking out the windows.

Crouching next to the washer and dryer, Molly took off her shoes and socks. It made her pants too long, and she rolled the cuffs up over her calves. Then she straightened and took out the gun.

She'd never fired it at anyone. She was a good shot on the range.

She opened the laundry room door. It was dimmer in the rest of the cellar. The cellar stairs ran up from the front, the oil burner to the right. She could see the electrical board on the wall to her left.

Barefooted and silent she went across the cellar and up the stairs.

Policy was never to cock the piece until you were going to shoot.

Standing on the top cellar stair, struggling to take in enough oxygen to keep up with her heart rate, Molly looked at the service pistol for a moment and then carefully pulled the hammer back. Fuck policy! She put her hand on the knob and listened again. She heard the footsteps get closer, moving slowly. Then they went past the door and faded into another room. Molly opened the door and stepped through in a crouch, the pistol aimed in the direction of the footsteps.

Bright. She was in a front hall. There were glass lights on either side of the front door, and sunshine streamed through the glass.

Dust moats danced in the light. She saw no one. She stayed where she was frozen in her crouch, holding the gun with both hands, her finger on the trigger. Not policy either. Then she heard movement in the next room. She moved toward it silently, almost without volition, feeling nothing now, not even fear, her concentration so focused ahead of her that nothing else registered. In the living room, looking out the window, was a well-built blond woman in a black sweatsuit and white sneakers, carrying a black shoulder bag. Molly took two soundless barefoot steps into the room, and the woman became aware of her. She half turned, fumbling at her shoulder bag.

Molly said, "Freeze. Police." She stepped forward and got a handful of the woman's hair and pressed the muzzle of her service pistol into the woman's neck and slammed her against the wall face first.

"Don't move a fucking muscle," Molly said.

*.

She hated how choked her voice sounded. The woman stayed where Molly had put her.

"What's your name?" Molly said.

Faye.

"Okay, Faye. Let the purse slide off your shoulder."

Faye did as Molly told her and the purse fell to the floor. With her left foot Molly kicked it away.

"Now lace your hands behind your head," Molly said.

She moved the gun back enough so the woman could move her hands up. When the woman's fingers were laced, Molly got a good grip on the interlaced little fingers. Then she holstered her weapon, still cocked, and took her handcuffs off her belt and handcuffed Faye's hands behind her. Then she stepped away, took her service pistol out of the holster again. She didn't lower the hammer. She didn't know if Faye was alone.

"Where's Abby, Faye?" Molly said.

With her face still pressed against the wall, Faye answered, "Upstairs."

"She all right?" Molly said.

"Yes."

"Let's you and me go take a look, Faye. You first."

They went slowly up the stairs to where Abby was handcuffed to the bed. There were tears, Molly noticed, running down Faye's face.

SIXTY-FIVE.

Staying close to the edge of the road, unlit by streetlights and undisturbed by traffic, Jesse felt as alone as he had ever felt. More alone even than the day after Jenn moved out. It was an alone of silence where there should have been sound and emptiness where there should have been activity. His jacket was warm enough for the sharp fall night. He was comfortable, and if anything he was invigorated by the slow swim ashore. Had he been walking alone at night under the thin crescent moon for other purposes, he would have felt buoyant. He didn't know where everyone was. Hiding in their homes, he surmised. He didn't know what had happened on the island. Robbery, he surmised. But whatever had gone down before he got there, the silence and emptiness excited him. He was full of energy, and his legs felt loose and strong as he walked toward the ocean side of the island where the restaurant was.

He heard the three shots before he could see the restaurant. He crouched beyond some trees and listened. Nothing. Just the silence that followed the shots. He moved forward again slowly. The smell of the leaf mold under his feet was strong and mixed with the salt smell of the ocean. He could hear the water now, moving against the shore, and then he could see the restaurant in the dim light of the slim moon. There was no movement outside. The dim flicker of candle light showed through the windows. Near the back of the restaurant, there were no windows. Jesse dropped to his hands and knees and crawled carefully, staying in the shadows, toward the Dumpster. When he reached it, he squatted on his heels behind the Dumpster and looked. There were two shapes on the ground a few feet from him. He slid along on his belly now and reached the shapes. Two men. He felt them carefully. It was too dark in the shadows to see much. One with his throat cut. One shot more than once. That must have been the three shots. Nearby on the ground were two shotguns. Jesse felt in their pockets. Both men were carrying extra shotgun shells.

Okay, Jesse thought, two less bad guys. More money for the ones that are left. Neither one is Macklin. Neither one looks like the Indian.

I don't know the deal. I don't know who did the shooting, but now I know who got shot. I think they've got hostages. I don't know how many. I don't know how many bad guys there are. I can't go charging in there. I don't even know where exactly they are. Maybe they're not in there.

Jesse scanned the shoreline in front of the restaurant and then the dark movement of the ocean. Close to shore, he thought he could make out the darker bulk of a boat. He looked hard and it blurred. He looked away and then let his eyes drift back, looking at it from an angle. The dark bulk was there.

Okay, now I know how they plan to get off. Doesn't do me much good. I cant do anything about it until I shake the hostages loose. Or even know who they've got or how many.

There was nothing to do at the moment, Jesse realized, but what he was doing. Stay here in the shadows and watch the candles glimmer in the windows and await developments. He thought about Marcy and how afraid she must be. He wondered how she was handling it. He was scared himself, he knew, but he was used to it. He'd been scared before, and he was able to put it away in one corner of himself and proceed as if the rest of him were not scared.

Marcy had no experience with this kind of scared.

Inside the restaurant, Macklin drank some of his martini and smiled at Marcy.

"Okay, Marce," he said.

"Let's get organized."

"Meaning?" Marcy said.

"Meaning you and the other ladies each take a duffel bag and carry it out to the boat."

"Through the water?" Marcy said.

"Yep, it'll only be about three-and-a-half, four feet deep. You hand the stuff up and then climb in the boat."

"You're going to take us?"

"A little farther," Macklin said.

"We'll let you go next stop."

Patty began to cry.

"I can't go. I have to go home," she said.

"Got to do what you got to do," Macklin said.

"Get 'em started, Crow."

Crow nodded and gestured at the women. All of them were terrified to go. But they were more terrified of Crow. Each took a duffel bag of pillage and started toward the water, walking awkwardly in their high-heeled shoes. Crow stood at the water's edge watching them. Freddie Costa held his boat in as close as he could. Macklin stood just outside the restaurant door, sipping the last of his drink. Waist deep in the water Judy slipped and fell and dropped her bag. Both woman and bag went under water. Crow went in and caught the bag as it started to sink and reached in with his other hand and yanked Judy up right. He put the wet duffel bag back on her shoulder and shoved her toward the boat. In deeper water, Pam floundered and Crow salvaged her. Crow and the women reached the boat. Crow went up over the side of the boat as if he were on springs. The women handed in their bags and then went into the boat as Crow, one at a time, pulled them up by the wrists and over the railing.

Crouched in the shadows Jesse realized that the hostages were going. I can't let them go. It was less a thought than a feeling, an impulse, really, that seemed to originate in his solar plexus. If I'm going to do it, I have to do it now. The Indian was on the boat. Macklin was alone on shore. If he could take him out quietly... With his gun out, he ran silently from the shadows and along the side of the restaurant. He had to compromise silence and speed. If Crow looked in and saw him... The compromise failed. Macklin heard him, or sensed him, and spun toward him with his hand moving toward his gun.

"Freeze!" Jesse said, as hard as he could say it softly.

Macklin stopped and peered at him in the insufficient light.

"Goddamn," Macklin said.

"It's you."

"Hands behind your head," Jesse said softly.

"Fingers locked.

Move."

Macklin grinned at him.

"It would have been a good move if you could have taken me out without a sound," Macklin said.

"But now you're fucked."

Jesse knew Macklin was right. He held the gun steady on the middle of Macklin's mass.

"Maybe," Jesse said.

"But I've got you, you son of a bitch."

"Or have I got you?" Macklin said, and raised his voice.

"Crow," he yelled.

"The police chief's here."

From the boat Crow said, "Yeah?"

Crow could only dimly make out the two figures in front of the restaurant.

"Shoot a hostage," Macklin said.

"Get his attention."

"I hear a shot," Jesse yelled, "and Macklin dies."

"Do it," Macklin shouted.

On the boat, Crow said quietly to the women, "Climb over the side and wade ashore."

"What are you doing?" Costa said.

"I don't hide behind women," Crow said.

"But they're our passport out of here," Costa said.

"They're Jimmy's passport."

"Get off the boat," Crow said.

The women scrambled over the side. Checkmated in front of the restaurant, Macklin and Jesse tried to see what was happening on the boat.

"Crow?" Macklin yelled.

On the boat, Marcy was the last woman over the side. As she hit the water, she heard Crow say to Costa, "Okay, crank it."

"What about Jimmy?"

"Jimmy's on his own. Get this thing out of here."

The big engines, which had been idling, roared to full throttle as the boat heeled away from the shore and headed for the open sea. The women stumbled and flailed and half swam in toward the shore. Neither Jesse nor Macklin moved out of the frozen tableau they formed in front of the restaurant door.

"That fucking Crow," Macklin said, staring out at the dark ocean.

"So," Jesse said, "I've got you."

Macklin looked back at Jesse.

"You might," Macklin said.

"It looks like you might."

"Hands behind your head," Jesse said again, no longer speaking softly.

Marcy was the strongest of the women. She reached shore first and stood in the knee-deep surf helping the others ashore. Agnes Till was the last one. Except for Marcy, the women collapsed onto the rocky beach above the water line. When she got Agnes ashore, she turned and looked at the dark forms in front of the restaurant.

"Jesse?" she said.

"I'm here," he said.

"Get on the ground and stay there until I tell you."

In front of the restaurant, Macklin began to back slowly away from Jesse.

"You know I fucked her?" Macklin said.

"That's your business," Jesse said, "and hers."

"Goddamned if Faye wasn't right," Macklin said.

He backed up a little more.

"Stand where you are," Jesse said.

"I don't mind shooting you."

Macklin stopped.

"You could at least make it sort of a sporting thing," Macklin said.

"I'm not a sporting guy," Jesse said.

"You holster your piece," Macklin said.

"We see who can draw and shoot quicker. Women can watch."

"Nope."

"Okay, just lower your piece. See if I can pull and shoot fast enough."

"Nope."

"You scared to play?"

"I don't need to play," Jesse said.

"That's all there is," Macklin said.

"Take a chance, Jesse. See what you got."

Jesse shrugged. , "I won't tell you again," Jesse said.

"Hands behind your head."

"I done time," Macklin said.

"I ain't doing more."

"Your choice," Jesse said.

Macklin's hand dropped to his holster, and Jesse put two rounds into Macklin's chest.

Macklin went down slowly as if the strength were draining away in stages. Jesse went over and took the half-drawn gun from Macklin's hand and tossed it away. Macklin's breath was irregular and growing more so. He swallowed repeatedly. Jesse knelt beside him. Macklin muttered something that Jesse could not hear. Jesse bent closer.

"Faye," Macklin said.

"I want Faye."

Jesse was aware of the women standing in a circle around him.

Despite what he'd told them, they had walked silently up behind him and now stood staring down at the men. The smell of gunpowder still hung on the salt air.

Jesse felt the big artery in Macklin's neck. There was still a pulse, and then there wasn't.

SIXTY-SIX.

Before she got into the big Coast Guard helicopter, Marcy Campbell put her arms around Jesse and held on to him as if there were a windstorm and he was a tree. Then she left him and got into the helicopter with the other women. They rose straight up and planed sideways and clattered over Paradise Harbor and landed on the high school football field, entering into an aurora of television lights and flashbulbs.

That was thirty-six hours ago and now having told everything she knew to Suitcase Simpson and the good-looking State Police SWAT team person, having been examined by a doctor, having showered and slept nearly eighteen hours, and showered again, and had some coffee, and orange juice, and eaten two soft boiled eggs and four slices of whole wheat toast with a butter substitute spray, she was waiting without much enthusiasm to do something she knew she had to do, without exactly understanding why she had to do it. She was sitting in a coffee shop in Government Center waiting to have lunch with Jenn Stone.

Marcy recognized her when she entered. She had made it a point to watch Jenn do the weather on Channel 3, and, while the forecast was laughable, she was as good-looking as Marcy had assumed. Several people recognized her as she came in, but if Jenn noticed she didn't let it show.

Marcy raised a hand as Jenn looked around the room, and Jenn saw her and came to the table.

"Hello," she said and put her hand out, "I'm Jenn."

"Marcy Campbell."

Jenn's grip was firm. Her body bespoke a personal trainer. Her hair was thick and intelligently cut. Her makeup was flawless. Her jewelry was quiet and expensive. The casual comfortable look of her clothes, Marcy knew, had cost her a lot of money. Jenn sat down opposite her, and Marcy knew she had taken the same inventory.

And Marcy realized suddenly that Jenn looked a little like her.

Younger. Probably better-looking, but Marcy could see that there was a resemblance. Jenn picked up the menu, a single mimeographed sheet of white paper.

"Have you ordered?"

"No, let's before we talk."

They were silent, briefly looking at the menu, and the waitress came and took their order. They both ordered a mixed green salad and a diet Coke, and they laughed at their common concern.

"It's a fight, isn't it?" Jenn said.

"You seem to be winning it," Marcy said.

Jenn smiled, comfortable with the compliment, accepting it as if it were expected.

The waitress reappeared with their salads and a bread basket.

"You wanted to talk about Jesse," Jenn said.

Marcy had thought about what to say since last night when she'd made her impulsive call. She had finally decided that she didn't know what to say and would wait and see what came out when the question was asked.

"Have you ever seen him at work?" was what came out.

"Marcy, he was a cop in Los Angeles when I married him."

"But did you ever see him being a cop, you understand?"

Jenn got it quickly.

"You mean like you did?" Jenn said.

"Yes, and I know it's not my business, and I'm probably driven by gratitude and maybe post traumatic shock syndrome, but God if you had seen him."

"Tell me about it," Jenn said.

"He was, I don't know, there we were, like captives being led away, and then there was Jesse. One minute everything is hopeless and we're all terrified, and then..." Marcy couldn't think how to put it.

"Was he calm?" Jenn said.

"Yes."

"He would be," Jenn said.

"And you saw him shoot this man."

"Yes."

"Was that awful?" Jenn said.

"No "Marcy said.

"Jesse can be very tough," Jenn said.

"And very brave."

Jenn nodded.

"Yes," she said, "very brave."

They both picked at their salads for a moment. The salads were mostly iceberg lettuce with a single red onion ring on it and two cherry tomatoes.

"This will not make us fat," Marcy said.

Jenn smiled.

"Nor happy," she said. She took a bite of salad. The dressing was on the side in a little cup. It was a bright orange.

"Sorry about the restaurant," Jenn said.

"It's right near the station."

"That appears to be its only charm," Marcy said.

"I'll know better next time."

They each had a bite of salad.

"What is the point of you telling me about Jesse?" Jenn said.

"I guess I hoped it would help you make up your mind."

"He's told you about me."

"Yes."

"You lovers?"

"No, good friends."

"You fucking him?" Jenn said. ," "Yes."

"But you don't love him."

"Been a long time," Marcy said, "since I thought those two were inseparable."

Jenn smiled without committing herself on sex and love.

"And you like him a lot," she said.

"Yes."

"It's easy, isn't it," Jenn said, "to like him a lot. I like him a lot too."

"And love him?"

"Yes, absolutely, I love him," Jenn said.

"Then?"

"

"Then'... loving him and living with him are different things."

"I don't see why."

"You don't have to."

For the first time, Marcy heard the iron in Jenn's voice and realized that she was something a little more than a media cutie. It startled her a bit, though it didn't frighten her, and it made her feel better for Jesse, knowing he wasn't wildly in love with an airhead.

"No," Marcy said, "I don't. But it would be good if you did."

"I know some" Jenn said.

"I know that Jesse loves me, but I know that he has to back off a little and give me some airspace."

"Obsessive?"

"Some."

"He doesn't seem obsessive to me," Marcy said.

"He's not in love with you," Jenn said.

"Ah-ha," Marcy said.

Jenn was quiet.

"If I could be a friend to both of you," Marcy said, "I'd like to be."

"Hard to figure how that will work," Jenn said.

"Might be worth a try," Marcy said.

"What's in it for you?"

"Payback, I suppose," Marcy said.

"What's in it for me?" Jenn said.

"A girlfriend isn't a bad thing," Marcy said.

Jenn finished her salad and broke off a piece of bread.

"May I call you?" Marcy said.

Jenn ate the piece of bread without butter.

When she had chewed and swallowed, Jenn said, "Will you tell Jesse?"

"No."

Jenn smiled at Marcy and nodded.

"Sure," she said.

"Call me."

SIXTY-SEVEN.

Jesse had Faye brought from her cell to his office. Molly stayed in the room.

"You can un cuff her, Molly."

Molly unlocked the cuffs.

"Sit," Jesse said.

Faye sat. Her face was without expression. Her eyes seemed empty. Jesse looked at some papers on his desk for a moment.

"Faye," he said.

"We got you for assjjjlL and kidnapping."

Faye didn't say anything.

"You wanna explain to me what you were doing?" Jesse said.

Faye shook her head.

"Okay," Jesse said.

"Then I'll explain it to you, and you tell me if I got anything wrong."

Faye was silent and motionless. Molly was equally still against the wall near the door, her service pistol looking, as it always did, a little too large for her.

"You're James Macklin's girlfriend."

"Was," Faye said with no inflection in her voice.

"And you saw me one night in the Gray Gull having a drink with Abby Taylor, and because of the way she was acting, you decided she must be my girlfriend."

Faye had no reaction.

"And when I came to ask you about Macklin and Cromartie, you knew that the thing on Stiles Island was already going down, and you got scared that I'd screw it up, so you went and grabbed Abby to use as a hostage. In case I had Macklin, you figured maybe you could barter my girlfriend for your boyfriend. You were wrong about me and Abby, but that wasn't your fault. You made a reasonable surmise."

Faye sat motionless, looking at nothing.

"Why'd you do that?" Jesse said.

Faye looked at him sharply. It was the first reaction he'd gotten.

"Why the fuck do you think?" she said.

"I figure it's because you loved him and would do anything you could to save him."

Faye was silent a long time. But she was looking at Jesse. Her eyes were alive. She began to nod her head slowly.

Finally she said, "Yes," her voice full of force.

Jesse leaned back in his swivel chair and rocked gently, balancing the chair with the tips of his toes.

"You got any money?" Jesse said after a time.

Faye didn't answer.

"She had a thousand dollars in her bra when I brought her in," Molly said.

Jesse nodded. Faye's face was pinched and white as if she were in pain.

"Go get her money," Jesse said to Molly.

Molly stared at him for a moment and then left the room without closing the door. Neither Faye nor Jesse spoke while she was gone. Molly came back into the room with an envelope and handed it to Faye.

"I'm going to take her for a ride," Jesse said.

"Alone?" Molly said.

"Yep."

"A female prisoner, Jesse? You're leaving yourself wide open."

"It'll be okay," Jesse said in just that calm way that Molly understood. It meant, I will do this no matter what anybody says.

Molly nodded once in submission and went back to the front desk. Jesse took Faye's arm, and they walked out to Jesse's official car and got in. Faye didn't say a word. She held the envelope that Molly had given her in her lap. She hadn't opened it. She didn't ask where they were going. Jesse went over the Tobin Bridge and turned off in City Square and drove back down past the Navy Yard to Faye's condo. When he got there and parked the car, he turned in the seat and looked at her.

"I know you don't believe it, but maybe you can remember that I said it. You will get over this. In time you will feel better. In time, and I know you don't want to now, you may meet another guy."

Faye shrugged, looking at the envelope in her lap.

"You're free to go," Jesse said.

Faye stared at him.

"I killed Jimmy because I had to," Jesse said.

"I don't have to do anything to you."

Faye stared at him some more without moving.

"This doesn't wash it clean," Faye said.

"Nothing will," Jesse said.

"In time it will be easier."

Faye still sat in the car, staring.

"Get going. Don't hang around here. Go far away, and I won't look for you."

Faye opened the car door and got out slowly and walked toward the stairs to her condo. Jesse waited as she went up. She took a key from the mailbox and opened her door. She stopped in the doorway and looked back at Jesse. Then she went in and closed the door, and Jesse backed the car around and drove back to Paradise.

When he walked into the station alone, Molly said, "Where's the woman?"

"She escaped," Jesse said and kept walking into his office and sat down at his desk.

Molly followed him in.

"Escaped?" Molly said.

Jesse nodded.

"The biggest collar I ever made," Molly said.

"You still get credit for the collar. I'm the one lost her."

"Lost her, bullshit," Molly said.

"You let her go, you sentimental dumb son of a bitch."

"Molly, I am your chief."

"And you are also a sentimental dumb son of a bitch," Molly said.

Jesse shrugged. Molly came around the desk and bent over and kissed him on the mouth, then straightened and walked out of the office. Jesse got some Kleenex out of the bottom drawer and wiped his mouth.

SIXTY-EIGHT.

It was Sunday morning. Jesse and Jenf were in Rowley, sitting at the counter of the Agawam diner, eating ham and scrambled eggs and home fries and toast.

"Do you know what happened to the ones that got away?"

"Not exactly. A big power boat washed up on the beach north of Port City couple days ago. There was a dead man in it. Guy , named Fred Costa, had a record."

"How'd he die?" Jenn said.

The diner was warm with the smell of coffee and bacon. Outside the diner, along old Route One the trees were just beginning to turn.

"Bullet in the head."

"You think he was involved?"

"Maybe."

"And the Indian one?"

"Wilson Cromartie," Jesse said.

"No sign."

"And all that money?"

"Gone."

"Still you got three of them," Jenn said.

"Actually I got one of them," Jesse said.

"They had already killed two of their own."

"And you saved the hostages."

"Sort of," Jesse said.

"What do you mean sort of?"

Jesse nodded at the thick woman behind the counter, and she poured more coffee into his cup. He added some cream, looked at it as it spiraled slowly into the coffee. He added two spoonfuls of sugar and stirred it, watching the color change. Then he took a sip.

"Well," he said.

"Marcy Campbell told me that Cromartie let the women go."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He said he wasn't hiding behind women. If he'd held them and stayed put, I'd have been fucked."

"You think he was that gallant?"

"Gallant," Jesse said.

"Nice word. I don't know. Maybe he just wanted all the money."

"He could still have taken them as hostages to protect himself until he got away."

"True," Jesse said.

"On the other hand, he might have figured he could move better traveling lighter."

"I think he was gallant," Jenn said.

"If Fred Costa was the guy driving the boat, he gallantly shot him in the back of the head."

"You don't know that he was."

"No. Maybe we will. Fred was from Mattapoisett. State Cops are down there asking around, see if we can turn up anything. A connection to Macklin or Cromartie or either of the two dead guys."

"You've ID'd them? The other two men?"

Jesse smiled. A cop's wife, she fell into the jargon easily, and what sounded natural in the station sounded strange from her lips.

"Yeah, they've both done time. One's from Baltimore. One's from Atlanta."

"Well, I hope the Indian man gets away," Jenn said.

"Even though he seems to have abandoned his partner to me and may have shot some guy to death on his boat and who knows who did the two guys on the island?"

"Yes."

"Because he was gallant about the women hostages?"

"Well, he was."

Jesse smiled at her.

"Okay," Jesse said.

"And if I ever catch him, I'll tell him you said so."

"I hope you don't catch him. Is that Hopkins bitch still after you?"

"Probably," Jesse said.

"But she's laying low at the moment."

"Be kind of hard to say you weren't doing your job right, with all the papers in the state calling you a hero."

"She'll wait," Jesse said.

"I don't think she'll go away."

"She can't be happy you let me go."

"No."

"You let a woman go too," Jenn said.

"Molly told me."

"She's supposed to keep her mouth shut," Jesse said.

"It's okay to tell me," Jenn said.

"You're special?"

"I certainly am," Jenn said.

"You certainly are," Jesse said.

Jenn was quiet while she sipped some coffee. Jesse ate some eggs.

"How you and short stuff doing?" Jesse said.

"Tony?"

"Yeah. He fall off his cowboy boots yet?"

"Oh, Tony's a news anchor, Jesse."

"So?"

"So he's frivolous."

"How about policemen, are they frivolous?"

"No," Jenn said.

Jesse bit the end off of a triangle of toast.

"So are you being frivolous with Tony these days?"

"I guess that isn't really your business, is it?"

Jesse felt the lump that was always there thicken again inside him.

"No," he said, "I guess it isn't."

Jenn patted his forearm.

"I understand that it's hard not to ask," she said.

"But sometimes the only way to keep something is to let it go."

"Divorce isn't letting go enough?"

"Maybe not," Jenn said.

"Well," Jesse said, "isn't that swell."

"Jesse, I'm not saying that this is the way it ought to be. But it is the way it is. I'm trying too."

"I know," Jesse said.

They were quiet while the counter woman cleared their plates.

Jenn spent the time looking at his face.

"I'm very proud of you," Jenn said when the plates were cleared.

"Yeah," Jesse said.

"I did all right."

"You did. And I'm proud of you for the way you're handling your drinking. And I'm proud of you the way you let that woman go. And I'm proud of the way you are staying steady on us. I know how hard it is."

"Like a rock," Jesse said wryly.

"And I love you," Jenn said.

"I love you too, Jenn. You know that."

"What was it that baseball person said about being over?"

"Yogi Berra," Jesse said.

"It's not over till it's over."

"Well he's right," Jenn said.

Jesse nodded. Jenn put her hand on top of his. Jesse felt slightly short of breath. He inhaled deeply.

What I need now, he thought, is a drink.

The End

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