by Joy Fielding
“I didn’t hear one.”
He laughed. “You’re right. It was a guess.”
She handed him his drink. “Then you guessed right. Twelve dollars,” she said. “Unless you want to run a tab.”
He handed her a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” he said.
Kristin pocketed the money before he could realize he’d made a mistake or change his mind. Her expression betrayed no sign of surprise or undue gratitude.
“These clowns really think they have a chance with someone like you?” the man asked.
“Can’t blame a man for trying,” Kristin said, echoing Mike’s words. “Or so I’ve been told.”
The man laughed. “Must get pretty old though.”
“I guess there are worse things.”
“I’m sure there are.”
“Hey, Kristin,” a man at the other end of the bar called out. “Can we get a couple more beers down here?”
“Coming right up. Excuse me,” Kristin said to the man in front of her.
“Take your time. I’ll be right here.”
It was almost ten minutes before she returned. “Rowdy bunch,” she said, laughing over the increasing din from the far end of the bar. “How are you doing with that drink?”
The man held up his glass. “Just about ready for another one.”
“Another vodka, rocks, on the way.”
“Your name’s Kristin?” he asked.
“It is.”
“Pretty name.”
“Thank you.”
“So, tell me, Kristin,” the man said, the name settling comfortably on his tongue. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Kristin groaned silently, although her smile remained steady. She’d been expecting a much better caliber of line than that. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m pretty much grown.”
“Oh, I noticed. You’re very beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Too beautiful to be tending bar.”
“Is this where you hand me your card and tell me you’re a photographer or a modeling scout?”
He laughed. “I’m not a photographer or a modeling scout.”
“Movie producer? Talent agent? TV director?”
“You’ve met them all?”
“Every last one.”
“You meet any doctors?”
“What kind of doctor?”
“Radiologist. Over at Miami General.” He extended his hand. Kristin noted the bruises around his knuckles. “Dave Bigelow,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”
JEFF WAS JUST getting out of the shower when the phone rang. Probably Will, he was thinking as he wrapped a flimsy white towel around his waist and raced toward the phone in the bedroom. Will hadn’t been there when he’d returned home at just past six o’clock. There’d been no note. Probably off somewhere with Suzy, Jeff had thought, deciding he’d been a fool for delivering her right to his brother’s doorstep. My doorstep, he thought now, grabbing the phone from the nightstand beside the bed and raising the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”
“Jeff? It’s Ellie. Please don’t hang up.”
Jeff’s chin fell toward his chest. “How are you, Ellie?” He pictured his sister swaying from one foot to the other, her top teeth biting down on her narrow bottom lip, her long slim fingers twisting the cord of the phone’s extension wire, her gray-green eyes already filling with tears. All he’d asked was how she was, and already she was crying.
Ellie swallowed the catch in her voice. “I’m fine. You?”
“Never better.”
“How’s Kirsten?”
“Kristin,” Jeff corrected her.
“Sorry. Of course. Kristin. I’ll have to meet her one of these days.”
Jeff said nothing, his wet hair dripping down his forehead onto his cheeks. He glanced at himself in the mirror over the dresser, thinking it was probably time for a touch-up.
“Will says she’s terrific,” Ellie said.
“Then terrific she must be,” said Jeff sardonically.
“Jeff . . .”
“How are Bob and the kids?”
“They’re good. Taylor’s going to be two in August. I can’t believe you haven’t seen her yet,” she continued when he failed to respond.
“Look, Ellie. You caught me at a really bad time. . . .”
“You have to come home, Jeff,” Ellie pleaded.
“I can’t do that.”
“Our mother is dying,” Ellie told him. “She took a turn for the worse last night. The doctor says she has maybe another week, two at the most.”
“What do you want me to say, Ellie? That I’m sorry? I can’t say that.”
“I want you to say that you’ll come home, that you’ll see her before she dies.”
“I can’t say that either.”
“Why not? Would it be so hard to hear her out?”
“Yes,” Jeff acknowledged. “It would be so hard.”
“She knows what she did was wrong. She just wants to apologize.”
“No. What she wants is forgiveness,” Jeff said. “That’s not the same thing at all.”
“Please, Jeff. She cries all the time. She’s so sorry for everything.”
“It’s easy to be sorry when it’s too late to do anything about it,” Jeff said.
“It doesn’t have to be too late,” Ellie insisted. “Not for you.”
“It was too late a long time ago.” Jeff lowered the phone to the nightstand.
“Jeff, please—” he heard his sister say before he disconnected the call.
He stared at his reflection. “It’s way too late,” he said.
“NICE TO MEET you, Dr. Dave Bigelow,” Kristin said, shaking the man’s hand.
“You can call me Dr. Bigelow,” he joked, and Kristin obliged him with a smile.
“So what exactly does a radiologist do at Miami General?” she asked.
“He reads X-rays, makes diagnoses, heals the sick, cures the afflicted, performs miracles on a regular basis.”
“Sort of like what I do here.”
“More or less,” Dave said, and laughed. “Have you worked here long?”
“Since it opened. About a year, I guess. This your first time in the Wild Zone?”
“It is. I just moved here a few months ago. Just starting to feel my way around.”
“Where are you from?” Kristin asked.
“Phoenix, originally. More recently, Fort Myers.”
“Really? I just met someone from Fort Myers. Suzy somebody. You know her?” She laughed.
“I might. I actually used to know a Suzy. And Fort Myers isn’t that big a place. You know her last name?”
Kristin shook her head. “I don’t think she told me.”
“What’s she look like?”
Kristin pictured the door to her apartment opening and Jeff ushering the young woman inside. “Pretty, dark hair, pale complexion,” she rattled off. “Very thin.”
“Doesn’t sound familiar. She come in a lot?”
“No. Just a few times.” She wondered what, if anything, had happened between Suzy and Will. By the time she’d returned to the apartment to get ready for work, no one was there.
“You ever go to a movie together?” Dave was asking.
“What?”
“The Suzy I knew in Fort Myers loved movies.”
Kristin nodded. “I love movies, too. Not that I get to see too many of them, what with the hours I work.”
“Somebody told me there’s a movie theater nearby that’s open all night.”
“Oh, yeah. The Rivoli. It’s great. One of those really old-fashioned movie houses. One screen, actual curtains, no stadium seating, great popcorn. You should go.”
“Are you asking me out?”
Kristin smiled. “Afraid I can’t do that.”
“Against house rules?”
“Against my rules.”
“So it’s true you have a boyfriend? It’s not just something you tell guys to keep them
at bay?”
“I have a boyfriend,” Kristin said.
“And I actually do have a friend who’s a photographer.” Dave winked.
Kristin laughed.
“Scout’s honor. His name’s Peter Layton. I understand he’s pretty famous.”
Kristin shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”
“He does a lot of fashion and magazine work. You should meet him.”
“I probably should.”
“I could set something up, if you’d like.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Hey, Kristin,” the man at the end of the bar called out again. “We’re feeling a bit neglected down at this end.”
“I’m coming,” she called back.
“I’m not bullshitting you,” Dave said, reaching out to cover her hand with his. “I’m a doctor, remember? And doctors never lie.”
Kristin felt an unwanted jolt of electricity pass from his fingers through hers. She made no attempt to dislodge her hand. “You really have a friend who’s a fashion photographer?”
“I swear.”
“Don’t. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”
“She’d like you though. She’d say, ‘Dave, that girl’s a spitfire. Don’t let her get away.’”
“I have a boyfriend,” Kristin said again.
Dave smiled. “Here’s my card. Call me if circumstances change.”
SIXTEEN
“I’m TELLING YOU, MAN. He didn’t score.” Tom took a deep drag off his cigarette, then laughed, long and loud, into his cell phone.
“You’re crazy,” came Jeff’s immediate reply. “How could he not score? I hand-delivered her, gift-wrapped, for Christ’s sake. I did everything but tuck them into bed together.”
“He didn’t score.”
A second’s silence. Then, “How do you know?”
Tom repeated the details of his day, including his encounter with Lainey at Donatello’s and his subsequent visit to Jeff’s apartment. “Looks like I might have gotten there just in the nick of time,” he boasted.
“Well, then, kudos to you, Tommy boy. You saved the day.”
“Not to mention a hundred bucks.”
“You may still lose that hundred,” Jeff said. “Looks like big brother’s back in the hunt.”
Tom forced another laugh from his throat. It was just like Jeff to make it all about him, to turn Tom’s moment of glory into a mere anecdote while, in the same breath, dismissing Tom’s chances for scoring with Suzy himself. No, not dismissing. Negating. Negating utterly and entirely. As if the possibility of Tom’s succeeding with Suzy was too ludicrous to even consider. Worse—as if it had never even crossed Jeff’s mind. Big brother was back in the hunt, after all. There was no need for anyone else to bother showing up. “How come it took you so long to answer the phone?” Tom asked, trying to mask his irritation.
“I thought it might be my sister again,” Jeff said. “She’s trying to get me to come home, see my mother before she dies.”
“You gonna do it?”
“I don’t know,” Jeff admitted after a pause.
“Don’t let her lay a guilt trip on you, man,” Tom said. “You got nothing to feel guilty about.”
“I know that.”
“She deserted you, man. Pawned you off on the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Apparently she wants to apologize.”
“Bullshit. She only wants to see you so she can feel better about herself before she dies.”
“I know that, too.”
“She’s going to hell, man. Hell in a handbasket. What’s that mean anyway?”
Jeff laughed. “Damned if I know.”
“Women,” Tom sneered, sucking on his cigarette, then blowing out a long puff of smoke and watching it circle his head like an angry cloud. “Hold on a minute. I gotta open the window.”
“What window? Where are you?”
“In my car.” Tom took a final drag off his cigarette, opened his window, and tossed the still-burning butt onto the road.
“I don’t hear any traffic.”
“That’s because there isn’t any.”
“Where are you?”
Tom almost laughed at the wariness he heard in Jeff’s voice. “Nowhere special.”
“Please tell me you’re not still following Lainey.”
“I’m not still following Lainey,” Tom repeated dutifully.
“Good man.”
“Don’t have to,” Tom said.
“Meaning what?”
Tom shrugged. “Meaning I already know where she is. She and the kids are staying with her parents,” he continued unbidden. “Bitch came home about an hour ago. Hasn’t budged since. They’re probably finishing up with dinner right about now.”
Another silence. Then, “You’re parked in front of their house,” Jeff said.
Tom could almost see Jeff shaking his head in dismay. “No.” He laughed. “I’m parked three houses down.”
“Shit,” Jeff exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s no big deal. They don’t know I’m here.”
“You’re sure about that?” Jeff’s question made it clear he wasn’t sure at all.
“Sure as shit. You want to bet on it?”
“I want you to get the hell away from there.”
“I’m just looking out for my interests.”
Jeff sighed loudly. “Okay, look. Do what you have to do. I’m heading over to the Wild Zone in about an hour. You want to meet me there, fine.”
Tom looked out the car’s front windshield toward the sprawling, vine-covered bungalow where Lainey’s parents lived. All the lights in the place seemed to be on, he noted, even though it was still quite bright outside. He snorted derisively. Lainey was always on his back about conserving energy, trailing after him from room to room, turning off the lights he’d left on, unplugging appliances that weren’t in use, quoting various experts on global warming. What a hypocrite, he thought, grabbing another cigarette from the front pocket of his blue plaid shirt and lighting up.
The bungalow’s front door suddenly opened, and a man—short, barrel chested, full head of black hair graying at the temples—emerged. He stood motionless in the doorway for several seconds and only moved when he was grabbed around the knees by his young grandson. “Cody,” Tom whispered.
“What?” Jeff asked in his ear.
“Grandpa, come on,” Cody squealed. “It’s your turn to hide.”
“Tom,” Jeff said, “are you still there? What’s going on?”
“Sam, what are you doing out there?” a woman’s voice called from inside the house, her voice skipping effortlessly down the street.
“Come on, Grandpa. Let’s play.”
“Tom?” Jeff asked. “Tom? Talk to me.”
“No way I’m letting that bitch take my kids away from me,” Tom said as Lainey’s father retreated back into the house with Cody, closing the door after him.
“Tom, listen to me. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“See you in an hour,” Tom said, clicking off.
“SO, I SPOKE to Jeff,” Ellie was saying.
Will leaned back into the park bench on which he’d been sitting for the better part of an hour trying to calm his nerves after the shocking events of the late afternoon. One minute Suzy was in his arms, the next minute Tom was waving a gun in his face. What the hell had happened? Had he actually dared Tom to shoot him? Will stretched his legs full out in front of him and switched his cell phone from his left ear to his right, realizing his hands were still shaking.
“When did you speak to him?”
“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes ago.”
“And?” Will heard small children squabbling in the background. He pictured Ellie in her tiny kitchen, her light brown hair falling past her chin in a succession of loose waves, a faint trace of blush staining her cheeks, her two children running in circles around her.
“He says he won’t come.”
“
And you’re surprised because . . . ?”
“I’m not surprised. I’m disappointed.”
“Can you really blame him?” Will asked.
“It’s not that I blame him. Taylor, stop hitting Max.”
Will chuckled, picturing the little firebrand that was his two-year-old niece laying into her more sedate five-year-old brother.
“I just think it’s really important for his mental health that he sees our mother before she dies.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Jeff’s mental health.”
“He has to come to terms with his feelings,” Ellie said.
“I think Jeff knows exactly how he feels,” Will stated. “He hates his mother’s guts.”
“Adults don’t hate each other’s guts,” Ellie said.
Will shrugged. Ellie had majored in psychology in college. There was no point arguing with her. Especially when she was right.
“You have to talk to him,” Ellie urged.
“I did,” Will argued. “He’s not buying it.”
“You have to convince him.”
“Give it up, Ellie. He’s not going back.”
“What if you talk to Kirsten?”
“Kristin,” Will corrected her.
“Whatever,” Ellie said impatiently. “Maybe she can persuade him.”
“Trust me,” Will said. “She knows better than to try.”
“It’s in her own best interests,” Ellie insisted.
“Meaning?” The word was out of Will’s mouth before he had time to stop it. The last thing he wanted to do was prolong this conversation any more than he had already.
“Until he resolves things with our mother,” Ellie stated emphatically, “he’s always going to have issues with women. He’ll keep putting her face on theirs, revisiting old wounds. . . .”
“Somebody’s been watching too much Oprah,” Will said, hearing Tom’s sneer in his voice. He softened it immediately. “Listen, I’ve really gotta go.”
“Why? What are you doing?” Ellie asked.
“Getting ready to go out,” Will lied, his eyes scanning the park. Across the way, a young father was pushing his child on a swing, and a man was tossing a Frisbee toward a large black Lab.
“Do you have a date?”
Will could hear the hope in her voice. “Ellie,” he began, “you’re only my half sister. Do you think you could dial down the concern half a notch?”
