You and I, Me and You (11 page)

We rode in silence most of the way, but it didn't feel especially charged or awkward. He was thinking his thoughts, I figured, and I was thinking mine. Or not thinking mine. Mostly I was thinking that I wasn't thinking about what I should be thinking about. Oh, and wondering where he lived but too scared to ask.

Max's car was like his clothes: worn, but immaculately maintained. It was a black Volkswagen Passat, at least five years old. It had been recently vacuumed. There was a small garbage can on the passenger-side floor (empty), and several issues of
NEJM, The Lancet,
and
People
in the backseat. That was it, though I hadn't gotten a look at the glove compartment or the trunk. At my glance at the mags when we got in and buckled our seat belts, he grinned and said, “I enjoy sitting in judgment on celebrities I've never met and don't know and shouldn't judge but do anyway to feel better about my non-celebrity lifestyle.”

“No wonder you run a group for guys thinking about suicide.”

He laughed. “Oddly, reading
People
doesn't make me wish I had a gun.”

I kept mum about my addiction to
Us Weekly
. And about my collection of guns.

“Did I hear right, you were moving today?” he asked as we passed out of Mendota Heights and into Eagan, where Patrick and I now lived.

“Yes, my baker and I moved in this morning.”

“Your what?”

“Boyfriend,” I corrected myself. I could feel myself blushing like a loser ninny idiot. “My boyfriend and I moved in. To the house you're driving me to. Today.”

“Oh. I…” He didn't finish. Did I want him to?

No, I preferred to spend these last five minutes of alone-time imaging what he might have said.

I … was going to whisk you away, but since you've got a baker, I'll just forget about the whole thing.

I … hoped you were single, but since you aren't, I'm doing a Mafia drop. Ready … jump!

I … can't believe I'm wasting my time giving you a ride to your baker. D'you know what unleaded premium costs these days?

I … will think of you while I'm writing
GoT
fan fiction later tonight.

I sighed, which he interpreted as … I dunno, a shiver? Because what he said was, “I can turn the heater up if you want.”

Hopeless. Goddamned hopeless.

“Sorry?”

Damn it! Spoke out loud again. I didn't mind so much when I did it in front of Jesus. Doing it in front of Max was not cool. Ditto all the swearing. Stupid goddamned swearing.

“Sorry. Thinking out loud. The case, you know.” Not that we said things like
the case
or
the perp
, probably like he didn't ever say
Stat!
But Max wouldn't know that. Probably. He was different, and knew all kinds of things I wouldn't expect a doctor to know.
Turbulent childhood.
I could imagine, oh yes I could. “Yes, the case. Definitely thinking about the case. That would be the thing I am thinking about.”

“You seem a lot better.”

“Better at what?”

“Uh…” He laughed a little, eyes on the quiet suburban streets. It was nearly midnight; nobody was out. We were the only car on the little side streets. No snow meant no ice meant no problem driving, but he was concentrating like we were in a blizzard. Why?

Was he uncomfortable around me the way I was around him?

No chance.

“Feeling better, I meant. You're obviously feeling better.”

“Oh.”
Whatever, Gallo
. “I am. Yep.”

“You were shot? Just a few weeks ago?” He said it in a teasing voice, like I'd forgotten and this was our little joke because of course nobody forgets about a gunshot wound mere weeks after it happened. That sort of thing was traumatic and tended to stay in the mind for a bit. “Remember?”

“Oh,
that
.” Shiro had been shot. In
my
shoulder, thanks very much. Max had been there and had been, of course, cool and heroic and totally unflappable and commanding and awesome. Maybe that's where this adolescent crush was coming from.

You never had an adolescent crush. So how would you know?

Fine fucking time to start! I was twenty-five, for God's sake.

“I heal pretty fast,” I said, and for a change, it was the complete truth. I was still sore, but I'd been passing up the Vicodin for over two weeks. I hadn't had too much trouble getting around, either, despite having to bundle up for the cold weather. If you're gonna get shot, do it in a body rigorously maintained by someone who has multiple black belts and runs. Not jogs. Shiro was a runner. Adrienne didn't exactly spend all her time lolling on couches eating licorice, either. Also, get shot in front of a doctor who can give you on-the-spot care and then personally supervise your recovery. Things go so much easier, trust me. “I hardly even think about it anymore.”

“Huh.”

I knew at once it had been the wrong thing to say. Of course I didn't think about it … it hadn't happened to
me
. But that's not something a

(real)

normal person would say.

I cast about for something—anything—to say that would either explain the unexplainable or distract him from the not-normal thing I'd just said.

Nope. Nothin'.

Max took a breath, and I brightened. Oh, good,
he
was gonna talk! “I didn't know you … uh … had a … that your living situation … I've been thinking about you a lot.”

Oh, shit.
He
was gonna talk. “Oh?” I would not sound interested, or excited, or intrigued, or breathy, or gushy, or girlie. Cool detachment. That's what I was going for. “Uh … ohhhh?”

“Yeah, since you staggered into the blood bank and sort of collapsed into my arms and then told me about the family who killed my nephew and all those other boys and then passed out cold.”

That had
also
been Shiro. Slut!

“Yep.” I thought hard.
Say something. Anything.
I had to make a sound because “yep” was not gonna cut it! “It sure was a wild night.”

That made him take his gaze from the (clear, clean, un-icy, un-snowy) street. “A wild … yeah.” He laughed. “A gift for understatement, that's what you've got. You've done that before. Downplayed stuff. Downplayed
amazing
stuff. And … you're so different tonight.”

“I am?” Different? Who, me? Or the other two people who live in my body?
Nobody here but us multiples, Dr. Gallo.

“Yes. It's almost like you're…”

I held my breath, then gasped because I needed the oxygen. Shit! Shit! Shit-crap-poop-shit!

He must have been holding his breath, too, because all of a sudden he gasped a little and then said, very fast, “Listen, I jumped at the chance to give you a ride because we-haven't-really-had-any-more-time-alone-since-you-were-in-the-hospital.”

“Okay.” I put every shred of neutrality I could into that one word. I didn't want it to be a question: okay? Or bitchy: o-
kay
! Just … neutral.

“And I wasn't really your doctor, so it's not a question of ethics, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn't,” I lied. It was not his fault I was a quarter of a century old and had an adolescent crush.

He took another breath. “I respect that you're with a baker but I just— I thought what you did for Luanne, getting shot for her … I thought that was incredible. Unbelievably brave.
Unbelievably
brave. And then to come find me when you were still hurt and bleeding and tell me the whole background, all those murders of all those boys…” He shook his head, and went back to looking at the street. “It was incredible.” And then, in a softer tone, “I think you're incredible.”

I leaned toward him. He again (yay!) pulled his gaze from the street and looked at me, and his dark gaze filled the car, the world, my world. My lips parted and

 

chapter twenty-three

“Take a left
at the corner.”

Gallo jerked back. “What? Oh. Sure.” The car swerved and then he got it under control. Poor idiot. Poor Cadence.

Poor me.

(Cadence, I'm sorry. I will not let you ruin what you have with your baker because I have a silly infatuation.)

Cadence's “adolescent infatuation” … such a thing had never happened to us before, but I suspected she was feeling
my
infatuation with Dr. Gallo. Too much had happened to us too quickly, and the shadow of serial murder had fallen over the entire sordid affair. No one was thinking clearly. I could not expect Cadence to understand, or have the presence of mind to

(Kiss him.)

maintain her self-control.

“I hope this was not terribly out of your way.”

“What? Oh. No, it was no trouble.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why was it no trouble?”

“Oh. Uh.” Dr. Gallo seemed to be mentally flailing, as it were. For a fact he was confused, but that was all right. So was I, so was Cadence. Likely the only one who was not was Adrienne, and she was psychotic. “Because I live in Golden Valley.”

“Golden Valley is all the way across the Metro Area from Eagan,” I observed. “That is the polar opposite of ‘no trouble.' Right at the corner.”

Rattled, he obeyed. He kept glancing me with his periphery vision. “Sag—”

“Right at this corner as well.”

“Okay. Why did you?”

Let me out of this car. I have to get out of this car.
“Why did I what, Dr. Gallo?”

“Oh, it's Dr. Gallo now?” he muttered. Then: “Why did you find me not twelve hours after being admitted for a
gunshot wound
to tell me things I know damn well you could have gotten fired for telling me. I know why you passed out,” he added, back to muttering to himself. “That'd be the
gunshot wound
. The rest is a puzzle.”

“Third house on the right.”
Because you deserved to know. Because your nephew's death wasn't your fault. Because evil is never truly punished, but occasionally can be stopped. Because I think about you all the time. Because I am a fool and you are, too.

He smelled like clean laundry and an underlying scent, faint but definable, like wood smoke. Perhaps his apartment had a fireplace. Perhaps I would like to fuck him in front of his (alleged) fireplace.

I have to get out of this car.

“Here it is.”

“Sag?”

“Thank you for the ride.”

“It's all right if you don't know why you did it,” he said quietly. His eyes were—ah, God, they were big and sorrowful and like … like
wounds
in his face. “And it's okay if you wish you hadn't.”

I wish I hadn't.

“Good night, Dr. Gallo.”

I slammed the door so as not to see those eyes for a moment longer. I slammed the door and walked briskly away. I slammed the door and ran away. I slammed the door and ran. And ran. And

 

chapter twenty-four

oh no he
won't know he can't know

And we like him so much! But he doesn't know about

The wheels on the bus

And he doesn't know about

The wheels on the bus

                
Or the geese!

                                Or the wheels he knows death and he

                     
knows life

And all we know is death

All we mean for him is death

Shiro is crying

Shiro NEVER cries

oh don't! don't! Cadence is the crier and I am the screamer and Shiro is the fighter and not the crier

don't

don't cry

my face is wet but don't cry oh

here is my Dawg

good good Dawg

                  
we love you we love you we love our good Dawg

 

chapter twenty-five

My face was
wet and I was shivering. And … in the baker's house? I looked around, bewildered. I was in the kitchen, leaning against the island (we hadn't bought barstools yet … or a kitchen table). I was still in my coat and shoes. Boxes were everywhere—stacked in threes on the blond wood floor, scattered across the counter behind me, even stacked on the stovetop. The room smelled like baked goods and packing tape.

And a small dog … I looked down and Pearl was huddled around my ankles, black tail wagging, looking up at me with anxious eyes.

“Don't look at me,” I told her. “I've got no idea what's going on.”

I heard galloping footsteps and “Found 'em!” Then Patrick was running into the kitchen with a big navy-blue towel. “Here y'are, hon.” He whipped it around me like a cape, then blotted me—I wasn't quite sure why; it wasn't snowing, and my clothes weren't wet—and then started rubbing my arms. “It's okay. I'm here and you're in our house and it's warm now. You're gonna get warm now.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, hon, I was gonna ask you the same thing. I heard a car pull up—Emma Jan give you a ride?—and then you were running down the sidewalk. Adrienne was, I mean. And Dawg ran out after her. I got both of you back here and then went looking for some towels.”

His face was full of tender concern, and when I thought about how badly I'd wanted to kiss Max, I burst into fresh tears. And I was too much of a coward to tell him the truth, so I said the first thing that popped into my head: “BOFFO lost its funding.”