The Lonely Hearts Club (5 page)

Catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, she studied Reilly returning. Even though she wasn’t Liz’s type, Liz had to admit that in her low-slung, boot-cut jeans, sneakers, and scrub shirt, with the hot summer breeze ruffling her hair, Reilly looked plenty sexy.

“God,” Liz muttered, “no one mentioned this was going to turn me into someone completely unrecognizable.”

“Talking to yourself?” Reilly asked as she slid into the front seat and handed Liz a bag. “Hot out of the oven.”

“Delirious from hunger. Hurry.” Liz clutched the warm bag. If she
had
been taken over by aliens, there was nothing she could do about it now.

Laughing, Reilly gunned the big engine and followed instructions.

*

“There’s soda and juice in the refrigerator, if you want something to drink,” Liz said as she held open the door to her ninth-floor condo. “As soon as I change, I can make coffee, if you’d rather.”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Reilly said.

Liz indicated the living room on the right. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

“Take your time.”

When Liz disappeared in the opposite direction down a hallway that ran through the rest of the apartment, Reilly slid her hands into her jeans pockets and strolled around the large room that took up the entire width of that end of the condo. Tall windows faced out toward Rittenhouse Square, the small Center City park that was a focal point for tourists and residents alike. Two sofas sat at right angles to one another on an oriental carpet, a gleaming dark wood coffee table between them. Neat and orderly and barely lived-in. She gravitated toward the far wall where built-in bookcases held an assortment of books, photographs, and an occasional vase.

These weren’t the legal tomes that Reilly imagined Liz kept in her office, but an eclectic array of literature—popular fiction, biographies, nonfiction. She noticed a photograph of Liz with a man who looked about Liz’s age. They were both dressed in white shorts and polos with a logo Reilly couldn’t read over the left breast, and carrying tennis rackets. The dark-haired man, well built and what most people would consider handsome, had his arm around Liz’s waist, and Reilly felt a pang of disappointment which she quickly pushed aside. Looking for other photographs, she was surprised that there were no others in the room. In fact, the entire room looked slightly barren, as if something or some
things
were missing.

Reilly returned to the photograph. She guessed that Liz was a decade younger in it, and although she was smiling, her expression was shuttered. Whatever she was feeling, she wasn’t going to reveal it for posterity.

“Do you play?” Liz asked from somewhere behind Reilly.

“Not tennis,” Reilly said, turning. Liz had changed into sage slacks with an off white shell, beneath which the barest hint of her lace bra showed. Reilly quickly averted her gaze. “I was more of a sandlot baseball kind of kid.”

Liz smiled. “Hence your interest in sports medicine.”

“When I figured out I wasn’t going to be an Olympic caliber softball player, I had to do something.” Reilly indicated the photograph. “Do you still play?”

“No,” Liz said abruptly. “I’ve graduated to squash. Do you? Still play ball?”

“Yep. In the city league in Fairmont Park,” Reilly said. “The hospital has a team. Well, several actually, but I play on the all women’s team. I never liked mixed teams.”

Liz eyed the photograph. “I know what you mean.”

“Is he your, ah…husband?”

“Stepbrother.”

Relieved, Reilly almost grinned before reminding herself that could mean anything. Liz might still have a husband, an ex-husband, a boyfriend—or several. Liz stood only a few feet away, but suddenly the distance between them felt heavy with unspoken questions.

“I’m gay,” Reilly said.

“So am I.”

“I could use one of those bagels.”

“Come on out to the kitchen. I’ll fix you one.”

The kitchen was bright and sleek and spotless, like the rest of the condo. A round wooden table big enough for two sat in front of a window that also overlooked the park. A stack of newspapers—all from that morning, Reilly was willing to bet—was piled neatly on the wide window ledge. A coffee pot and a single mug sat upside down in the dish drainer next to an otherwise empty sink. Reilly took that to mean Liz lived alone. Of course, it could simply be that her girlfriend, or partner, was traveling or had worked all night and wasn’t home yet. And why she was even speculating, Reilly grumbled mentally, she didn’t know.

“Do you want your bagel toasted?” Liz asked, her back to Reilly as she took plates down from the cupboard.

“However you’re making yours is fine,” Reilly replied. “Can I do anything? I’m pretty handy with a knife.”

Liz looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Sit. You must be tired.”

Reilly pulled out a chair at the small table, although she wasn’t tired. Usually when she came off an overnight shift she was too keyed up to sleep, even though mentally and physically she was often drained. This morning she wasn’t worn-out at all, and she couldn’t credit that to an easy night. She’d operated until almost five a.m. on a young man who had tangled with a jet ski and lost. No, being with Liz made the difference. Reilly hadn’t spent time alone with a woman in years, and she’d forgotten the simple pleasure of watching a woman move comfortably around her own kitchen, and the way a quick smile could feel like a gift.

Liz worked quickly and efficiently, aware but not minding that Reilly was watching her. That surprised her, because ordinarily intense scrutiny made her wary. Usually, close observation in the courtroom meant her opponent was looking for a weak point in her argument or some telltale sign in her expression that she was not as certain as she wanted to appear. It was nice not to be on guard, although she couldn’t quite decide why she felt relaxed with Reilly. She didn’t know her very well, but then maybe it was because Reilly had already seen her at her absolute worst. On her knees, helplessly vomiting.

“God,” Liz muttered in disgust.

“What?”

“Oh,” Liz said quickly, wondering when she had started talking out loud to herself. “Nothing.” When Reilly raised a quizzical eyebrow, she added, “I was merely bemoaning the fact that you saw me in a less than shining moment this morning.”

“It was just a human moment. It happens to all of us.”

“Yes, well, there are some things some of us would like to pretend we aren’t susceptible to.”

“Like getting sick once in awhile?”

“You know what I mean,” Liz said, carrying the food to the table. She passed one plate to Reilly.

“I know you don’t like it when you’re not in charge, and you probably prefer to do everything for yourself,” Reilly said.

“Don’t you?” Liz countered, deciding not to question how Reilly had come to that conclusion about her. It might be accurate, but deflecting the conversation was better than going down a road that might result in personal disclosure.

“Like to be in charge? Pretty much. I think it’s an occupational thing.”

“Maybe. But I think we choose our occupations because they suit our personalities, and not the other way around.”

“That’s what the psychologists tell us.” Reilly munched the bagel. “These are the best in town. Can I get some of that soda you mentioned?”

“Oh, sorry,” Liz said, rising quickly. “My entertaining skills are a little rusty.”

“Can’t be any worse than mine.”

When Liz opened another cabinet to retrieve glasses, Reilly noticed empty shelves. The same had been true for the cabinet with the dishes. It looked like someone had recently moved out. Liz turned and must have seen the question in her expression, because she answered before Reilly could comment.

“I live here alone, but until a few months ago, I didn’t.”

Reilly took the drink Liz held out to her. “Thanks.”

Liz nodded and sat down.

“I never know what to say to something like that,” Reilly said. “Sorry seems natural, but maybe you threw her out. Or she could have been just a roommate, in which case I’d be presumptuous.”

“Neither is the case,” Liz said without inflection. “She was my partner, and she left me.”

“Then I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure if I am or not,” Liz mused.

“That’s good.”

“Maybe.” Liz shrugged. “I
am
pissed that she left me for a younger woman, though.”

“Younger? Like what—twelve years old?”

“Smooth. Very smooth.”

“Not usually,” Reilly said, “but thanks. And I wasn’t kidding. What are you, twenty-eight? Thirty?”

“I’m thirty-five. Julia took up with a twenty-three-year-old.”

“Julia has judgment problems.”

“That’s kinder than what I’ve called it.”

Reilly grinned. “Well, I don’t know her. If I did, I might not be so nice.”

Liz laughed. “My best friends are outraged for me, and I love them for it. But neither one of them has made me laugh about it yet. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Reilly added seriously, “And I really am sorry. I know it’s tough.”

“Yes…well.” Liz stood with the pretense of taking her plate to the sink when she felt the sting of tears threatening. What was wrong with her? Confiding in someone she’d just met and now on the verge of crying in front of her?

Hoping to redirect the conversation, Liz rinsed her dish, and when she had herself under control again, turned back to the table. “How about you? Got a girlfriend, or are you the swinging surgeon type?”

“Neither one.”

Liz had asked the question casually, but she caught a flash of pain course through Reilly’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get personal.”

“That’s okay.” Reilly took a breath and seemed to visibly force the tension from her shoulders. “We seem to get personal when we talk. It’s strange.”

Liz nodded, but said nothing, having learned that there was much to be heard in silence.

Reilly met Liz’s gaze. “She died.”

“Oh Reilly,” Liz murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was quite a while ago.” Reilly stood, having come to a place she couldn’t revisit or explain. “I should let you get back to your day. Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Liz didn’t know what to say, an occurrence so rare she was momentarily stunned. Reilly hurt, she knew that, and she wanted to…what? Comfort her? Make the sadness in her eyes disappear? Touch her? With a start, she realized they were standing a few feet apart, staring at one another. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Reilly smiled a slightly crooked smile that made her look at once wistful and sexy. “You need a ride to work?”

Liz glanced at the clock. “I’m not going right back to the office. I have a standing lunch date with friends on Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Nice,” Reilly said, looking relieved at the change of subject. “The best friends who are outraged for you?”

“They’re the ones,” Liz said as she led Reilly through the condo. “We’ve known each other since school and dubbed ourselves
The Lonely Hearts Club
. We used to sit around commiserating about our dateless status or our most recent break-up.” She stopped abruptly. “God, I can’t seem to get off this subject.”

“Understandable.”

“Well obviously, I need a diversion. I’m beginning to bore myself.”

Reilly laughed. “Come to the softball games if you need a change of pace. Friday, Sunday, and Wednesday nights.”

“When’s
your
next game?” Liz asked impulsively.

“Tomorrow night. Six o’clock. The field at the top of the plateau,” Reilly replied slowly.

Liz realized she hadn’t even thought about work or Julia or the uncertain future for the last hour. Even at her most relaxed with Candace and Bren, she was always aware of time passing and of all the things she still had to do. When she was with Reilly, though, she lost track of everything else. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll take you up on your prescription, Dr. Danvers.”

“If you do, be sure to say hello.”

“I will,” Liz said lightly, while silently asking herself what she was doing.

When Liz said goodbye to Reilly on the sidewalk in front of her building, she watched Reilly walk away and decided there was nothing wrong with allowing herself a pleasant uncomplicated diversion.

*

“Oh my God,” Candace announced dramatically as she dropped into the booth across from Bren and Liz. “I’ve been running around like a madwoman all morning. Can you believe it? I overslept and almost missed the opening of the market.”

Bren laughed. “Let me guess. Wednesday night. Probably wasn’t bingo. Not bowling. Ballroom dancing?”

Liz tried unsuccessfully not to snort.

Candace looked aggrieved. “I’ll have you know, I worked late at the office updating portfolios. And then…” She paused for effect and waited until she was certain that she had Liz and Bren’s total attention. “I went home, had a leisurely bubble bath, and…read a book.”