Time Off for Good Behavior (7 page)

“
And I
’
m not crazy.
”

“
I didn
’
t say you were.
”

“
But you were thinking it.
”

“
You don
’
t know what I
’
m thinking.
”

“
Oh, please. If you told me you were hearing phantom music no one else could hear, I
’
d think you were crazy.
”

“
Good thing you
’
re not me, then.
”

Well, shut me up.
I took another sip of my Sco
tch.

“
Where are you from?
”
I asked.
“
Not from around here.
”

“
No.
”
He looked at me, his enjoyment of my irritation clear in his eyes.

“
Well?
”

“
Well, what?
”
He smiled. He knew damn well what.

“
You
’
re from up East, aren
’
t you?
”

His smile broadened.
“
How
’
d yo
u know?
”

“
Because conversationally, you
’
re a pain in the ass.
”

“
Well, that makes two of us.
”

I huffed.
“
Fine. Chappaqua, New York.
”

He nodded.
“
Newton, Massachusetts.
”

I took another drink. I
’
d earned it. Walter
’
s smile played on his lips a moment longer b
efore he spoke again.

“
Phantom music,
”
he said, looking at me. He
’
d put down his legal pad.
“
And how is that the hospital
’
s fault?
”

“
It
’
s not.
”
I took a sip of my Scotch. The drink was still mighty foul, but I was beginning to appreciate its effects. And I
’
d found that the more I drank, the less I disliked it.
“
It
’
s just that they didn
’
t do anything about it. Basically, they flashed a light in my ears, said it wasn
’
t tinnitus, gave me a bill, and booted me out. I can sue for that, can
’
t I?
”

Walter tapped hi
s pencil against the table but kept his eyes locked on me.
“
I don
’
t think so.
”

His eyes had subtle smile crinkles around the edges; I read them as indicating a healthy sense of humor but not an overbearing cheerfulness. My stomach lurched again, making me
feel vulnerable and off balance. I adjusted myself to sit up straighter and went into attack mode, which was traditionally my response when I found myself attracted to someone.

Drive them away.
Fast.

I met his gaze and raised him an eyebrow.
“
So what
’
s you
r deal, Walter Briggs?
”

“
What do you mean, Wanda Lane?
”
Smile. Lurch.

Attack.

“
I mean the nurse told me you were at my bedside every day during the coma. She even thought you were my boyfriend.
”
I could see his confidence deflate a little, but he maintaine
d eye contact.
“
I can
’
t figure out why someone I don
’
t know would sit by my bedside for five days.
”

Walter shrugged.
“
I heard about what happened at the courthouse. I thought you had a case.
”

“
Against the city of Hastings.
”

He nodded.
“
Yes.
”

“
So you visite
d me every day for five days so you could drop off your business card?
”

“
Pretty much. Yes.
”

I crossed my arms and sat back, eyeing him sharply.
“
Even an ambulance chaser wouldn
’
t be that desperate for work, and you don
’
t look desperate. So what gives?
”

“
I
’
m not an ambulance chaser,
”
he said, shifting in his seat.
“
I
’
m a civil attorney.
”

“
Exactly. So what gives?
”
He sighed and stared at me, his mouth clamped shut.
“
Have you ever sat by an accident victim
’
s bed for five days before?
”
I prodded. I saw a flash
in his eyes, but it passed.

“
Not to get a case, no,
”
he said thickly.

“
Then I still don
’
t understand why you were there.
”

He sighed and sat back.
“
I was in the courthouse that day. I heard what happened. I knew there was no padding under the carpeting, whi
ch would have minimized your injuries. I had another client in the hospital, so I stopped in to check up on you when I was visiting him.
”

He kept his eyes locked on mine as he spoke, and his composure was steely, but I still knew he was lying, or at least
not telling the whole truth. I
’
d accomplished my goal of toppling his balance, however, and I wasn
’
t in the mood to beat the whole story out of him, so I held up my drink and waved at Tumbleweed, giving the international sign for
“
Make it two.
”
Walter let
loose with a subtle smile.
“
I usually don
’
t drink during the day.
”

“
Well, Walter,
”
I said,
“
if you
’
re going to be hanging out with me, you
’
re gonna need a drink.
”

***

When I was sixteen, I lost my virginity to a guy who went by the nickname of Shooter. W
e were in the back of his pickup truck, which was parked in the lot of the elementary school. It was ten-thirty at night. We
’
d just gotten off a shift working at the local grocery store, where I was a cashier and he was a stock boy, and had gone for a dri
v
e. I was crazy about him, and he was crazy about getting some, and before I got my jeans buttoned up again, he was revving up the engine and ready to drive home. He was halfway to his own house before I got over my humiliation enough to remind him that I
w
as still in the car with him. At first, he didn
’
t get my drift, so I explained that my car was back at the store, and I
’
d need to be getting home sometime that evening. He dropped me off at my car and didn
’
t speak to me again until about seven years later,
when he called me out of the blue, apologizing.

It was one of his twelve steps.

My point is, I
’
m great at witty repartee and I
’
m a hell of a dancer, but when it comes to important life decisions, I
’
m dumber than dirt. Which was why, two seconds after ente
ring my apartment from lunch with Walter, I rushed back outside to wave his car down and tell him I didn
’
t really want to sue anyone.

By the time I got outside, all I could see were the taillights on Walter
’
s Chevy Blazer disappearing from sight as he turn
ed from Carmella Street onto Pine. I trudged back up into my apartment and called him on his cell phone.

“
Walter Briggs.
”

“
Yeah, Walter, it
’
s me. Look, forget the whole thing. Forget the lawsuits. I
’
m just... you know, I
’
m not thinking straight. Too much S
cotch. Too little sleep. Good thing you were driving, huh?
”
I gave an insipid little giggle and punched myself on the leg to make it stop. I sounded like an idiot. Like a schoolgirl. I could feel the upper hand I
’
d gained at lunch slipping like wet rope th
rough my hands.

“
Wanda?
”
His voice crackled through.
“
I can
’
t hear you. Look, I
’
m gonna turn around. I
’
ll be at your place in a minute.
”

Click.
I put the phone down on the counter and backed away from it slowly as though it were a snake. Somehow, right the
n, I knew that I was going to sleep with Walter when he walked through the door. What I didn
’
t know was whether that was going to be a decision I
’
d simply regret, like sleeping with Shooter, or a decision that would haunt me for the rest of my days, like
m
arrying George. I ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Either way, I was gonna need fresh breath.

Walter
’
s finger was barely off the buzzer before I had the door open. He stepped into the apartment and I shut the door behind him. I smiled at him. He smil
ed back, the right comer of his mouth creeping up faster than the left, and there was a hint of curiosity in his expression. Couldn
’
t say as I blamed him. I wasn
’
t exactly an easy read.

He looked around and rocked back on his heels for a second, waiting on
me. I said nothing. Finally, he spoke.
“
You
did
call me, right?
”

I nodded.
“
Yes.
”
I was starting to feel a little dizzy. I put my hand on his shoulder for some balance. It was a nice, firm shoulder. Wasn
’
t expecting that. A guy in a suit and tie had no bu
siness being all taut underneath. My hand flew back to my side as though it had been burned, the tingling in my fingers cementing the impression.

Walter
’
s eyebrows furrowed.
“
Are you okay?
”

No.
I felt disoriented. And unbelievably turned on. If he smiled a
t me again, I
’
d melt right there into a puddle at his feet. Not a position of power, that. He put his hands on my shoulders and guided me to a seat in the recliner behind me.

“
I
’
ll be right back,
”
he said. I said nothing, but my internal critic was chantin
g
Idiot, idiot, idiot
at me.

Walter returned with a glass of water. He handed it to me, kneeling beside me as I drank it. I put it down on the coffee table. He put his hand on mine and smiled at me.
“
Feel better?
”
His eyes smiled on mine.
Lurch.
Between th
e Scotch wearing down the parts of my brain that knew better and the knowledge that Walter would soon be leaving me alone in that damn apartment again if I didn
’
t give him a reason to stay, I felt a certain desperation to kick it up a notch. I pushed myse
l
f forward until our faces collided into a kiss. At first, it was awkward, as though our heads were a couple of balls that knocked into each other in a high school gym, but after a moment, when realization of a mistake should have parted us, it was still g
o
ing. The groove was on.