Zipper Fall (24 page)

“And him?”

“It’s not just him, it’s both of you together. He’s helping. And… he stopped as soon as he realized what was going on.”

Jack freed his fingers from my grasp. “What bothers me is that he noticed and I didn’t. Obviously you two have years of history, whereas I’m just your newest fling.”

I raised myself on my elbow to see him better. “No. Not newest. After him, I had no flings at all. You’re the first guy I brought home, the only one. Jack, you yourself said retraining would take time, didn’t you?”

He stood up. “I better go take my shower and go to work.”

“Okay.” He left me alone with a tissue pressed against my nose, reclining on my queen-size bed, cursing my body and the way it had betrayed me.

From that point on, the days just sort of dragged. I went through the motions of getting better while trying to get some work done on my new advertising business. Jack was polite but distant, coming home late and going to sleep early. Three days later, Susan came by and brought little Michelle, along with a wheeled shopping bag full of groceries.

“I figured your boyfriend doesn’t have much time to shop and cook, Wy,” she said, using my high-school nickname. “Don’t worry, I’ve been taking classes. My food isn’t as adventurous as it used to be. What would you like for lunch?”

I thought for a bit. “A peanut butter sandwich.”

She smiled, her gray eyes warming. “Do you ever change?”

The question hit my heart. “I hope I do,” I said, my voice quiet.

“What’s wrong, Wy?”

I only shook my head. What was I supposed to say?

Your husband still turns me on.

My boyfriend is jealous of Paul, even though he feels obliged to accept his help.

The man I’ve been pursuing isn’t interested in me anymore.

And that was, unfortunately, all true. Time had passed since Paul’s visit, and Jack had shown no indications of his former, passionate attraction. It had nothing to do with my injury—even right out of the hospital, we flirted and bantered around. Now there was nothing.

Susan left me with lasagna in the freezer and a pot roast in the oven, and fixings for a big salad in the refrigerator. I knew what to pull out and when. I thanked her and said good-bye.

Suddenly I felt useless. Hapless. Incompetent. I had that funny feeling of being a useless moron, even though I knew I wasn’t.

There had to be something I could do for Jack. Some way, any way, to make his life easier.

Time to call Reyna.

S
HE
came during her lunch break and brought two six-packs of Dogfish India Pale Ale. You can tell a true friend by what they know about you, and Reyna knew a lot about me. Especially when it came to relationships, climbing, and beer.

“So you still love Paul, then?” she asked over her take-out Vietnamese chicken sandwich before taking a swig from the long-necked bottle.

“No—not like that. He’ll always have a special place in my heart, but… no. Not romantically. But the idea of both of them together, you know?”

“I never knew you were such a kink, Wyatt.” My cell phone made its orgasmic roar just as Reyna finished that statement, and she said, “Never mind, I actually did know that.”

I picked up. “Hi, Jack. What’s up?”

“You have any plans for lunch, Wyatt?”

I felt my heart skip at the sound of his voice. “Reyna’s here, and she brought Vietnamese takeout and beer,” I said. “Will you join us?”

“No, go catch up with her. How about tomorrow? I could take you out to lunch, and the management team can talk to you about your marketing plan. Would you feel up to that?”

Oh. The bloody marketing plan. I’d forgotten all about work for BW&B. “Yeah. Let’s hash out the details tonight.”

“Okay then. Later.” He hung up. No
have a nice day
, no
Goldilocks
.

I looked at Reyna. “See? All business.”

“I wish I could help you, sweetie.” She shrugged, looking helpless and confused. “Although, not everyone is affectionate during the workday. Auguste can be a real bitch….”

A wide grin grew on my face. “Oh, pray tell, Reyna! How was the conference? Are you actually unable to sit on that hard chair, or is that just my imagination?” I was rewarded with a blush that matched her vermillion ponytail.

“Shaddap. He says to tell you to stop by when you’re able. He might have a small client for you.”

R
EYNA
’
S
visit invigorated me. She had that happy, in-love glow, and I thought back to my old, in-lust-with-Jack feeling and smiled. My current condition and our unresolved need to talk weren’t helping much. I just knew I wanted to be with him. The only question was, what could I do so he’d understand and want to be with me?

What was the biggest irritant in Jack’s life?

I was lying on my belly with my head propped up by my hands in what I like to call my thinking position. A memory of the safe in the other room flashed before my eyes, and I thought back to one of the three death certificates.

Celia Azurri.

If I could make headway on figuring out what really happened to his sister, Jack would be happier. But how? Scenarios from television dramas flooded my mind; the occasional detective novel I’ve read flashed me an image of an intrepid sleuth, asking questions about the deceased. None of that helped much. Maybe I shouldn’t spend time on Celia. I had work to do… clients to investigate and find out what they wanted for their companies.

Clients to investigate.

Well. Perhaps if I thought of Celia as one of my clients, I’d get to know who she was and what she cared about. Yes! That was it.

O
NLY
half an hour later, I peered at my laptop screen, using Jack’s Wi-Fi. His sister had apparently been well known in the climbing community. Rock climbing websites ran obituaries after she died; so did local papers. She was a young, promising climber who had based her training at the North Face Climbing Gym. She wrote articles for ’zines and blogs; a few were actually published by national climbing and outdoor recreation magazines. She did win the occasional climbing competition and earned two minor corporate sponsorships. It wasn’t enough to live on—thus she had felt compelled to take a part-time accounting job at Provoid Brothers.

T
HERE
was no way I could investigate the defunct brokerage, but I could go and have a peek at that climbing gym. My own training was based at Loose Rock, an ominously named gym populated by low-income climbing renegades. Our rag-tag bunch made do with second-hand gear, rebuilt old belay systems ourselves, and headed for outings to nearby West Virginia or upstate New York on the weekends.

My fingers began to itch. A sudden yearning for the texture and smell of rock and chalk washed over me. I could do it. My butt still hurt, but I could go—at least for a little bit. I wouldn’t climb high. I could just boulder, moving laterally without a harness. I could do upper-body exercises. I’d be careful.

There was no way I could walk all the way to the subway yet, and I wasn’t willing to bring crutches to a climbing gym. Twenty minutes later I was outside the building with my climbing bag over my shoulder, flagging a taxi. I didn’t mind spending the money. This project was worth it.

I
WORE
low-key clothing and a microfiber cap to keep my hair out of my face. My old, broken-in climbing shoes were supple on my feet, their grippy, rubber soles eager to dig into the artificial rockface before me.

“So this is how you switch hands,” I let the tall, bald-headed man explain. “Don’t go above the painted line—you don’t wanna fall farther than that. Once you feel comfortable with bouldering, let me know, and I’ll get you equipped with a harness.” I nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” He smiled wide, scrunching his eyes, his sun-wrinkles a testament to the amount of time he spent outdoors.

I put my good foot on a foothold, grabbed a handhold, and pushed up. As long as I wasn’t using my left leg, I was okay. I let my left instep rest behind my right heel and reached to my right to grasp another beginner-level handhold. And now the left. I let my body swing from left to right, reaching with my right toe, grabbing another rough protrusion.

It worked. I was breathing a bit harder, my core muscles straining to pick up the slack and my shoulders feeling the pleasant, incipient burn of healthy exertion. Whatever discomfort I felt was outbalanced by the glee that suffused me.

I was climbing again.

“What’s wrong with your left side?” the guy, Carlos, asked from down below.

I eased myself down, using my one leg and two arms, breathing hard.

Don’t jump.

Just… don’t.

“I’m nursing an injury in my upper leg,” I said. “Shouldn’t put too much weight on it yet.”

He gave me an assessing look. “You must be a real hot dog to climb with just three paws. Don’tcha fall, hear?” He flashed me a grin of encouragement, turned around, and left.

C
ARLOS
M
ADDEN
was his name, and he had been in town for only two months, just having moved from California. I watched him instruct some midlevel climbers down in the pit. He looked like he knew what he was talking about. I’d have to talk to him later, find out if he knew Celia.

Barely an hour had passed—and I was ready to pass out.

Seriously?

My body was giving up on me once again. I felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue and knew, with sudden urgency, that I had to catch a cab and get back to Jack’s place and sleep off my unexpected exertion.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a free pass for next time,” Carlos said. Climbing fees were high in the city, and I’d bought a pass for four hours. “Remind me next time. If you’re coming off an injury, you must be tired as hell.” He spoke like one who’d walked a mile in my shoes.

“Thanks.” I breathed. “Hey, did Celia climb in this gym?”

His eyes narrowed. “So I’ve heard. Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve read about her online. What happened?”

His brown eyes darkened and his shoulder muscles tensed. “We don’t talk to newbies about that sort of a thing. See that glass case?” He pointed to a display on the wall. “That’s all you need to know about her.”

I glanced over; a collection of news articles, photos, and trophies gleamed and beckoned. I’d have to check it out. “Thanks.”

I was sitting on the bench, trying to keep my weight off my throbbing posterior while changing shoes, when a hush fell over the gym. I looked up. An unusually tall man with lank, black hair and the physique of a praying mantis was signing himself in at the desk.

Risby Haus.

The doorman from Jack’s building headed for the locker rooms; only then did activity in the gym resume.

“Hey, Carlos. Who’s that?” I asked.

He grimaced. “That? This guy’s a regular climbing legend. Haven’t you heard of the Demon of Santa Teresa?”

“Him?” My eyes must have bugged out at the famous name. “But I thought the Demon retired a few years back.”

“Yeah. I know him from out West. He’s the only one to have done the Santa Teresa climb solo and free. His height is a real asset.”

“Is he good otherwise?” I asked.

Carlos shrugged. “I guess he is a good climber.” He hesitated for a bit as he straightened some paperwork. Keeping my mouth shut never did me any harm. I let him fuss until he opened up again. “I wouldn’t chase after him for climbing instruction, if I were you. He’s slick. Ever since Celia died, he’s been climbing better than ever. Even better than when I saw him out West.”

“What are you saying?” I asked in an effort to help him get more specific.

He just looked at me. “He’s bad luck. Nobody will touch him after that accident. Most people don’t even know who he used to be out West, but something like that…. It didn’t go over well. We all loved her.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t climb with him, because…?”

“Because he’s bad luck,” Carlo declared. “If you like to stay in one piece, stay away from him.” Carlos stopped the flow of words and shook his head. Then he pulled out a few sheets of paper out of a filing cabinet. “You did okay. Lemme give you some recovery exercises for while you’re on the mend.”

I left the gym with a handful of photocopied handouts. I didn’t bother looking at them, keeping an eye on the taxi meter instead. My adventure might have set me back sixty bucks so far, but it was worth every penny.

Risby Haus was no beginner. He was a pro. Somehow, Celia hadn’t known that.

I
DIDN
’
T
have keys to Jack’s apartment. The doorknob locked automatically on the way out, but now I had no way to get in. The reality of my situation struck me as ironic. I had to break into a place where I was now expected to live. Now, I didn’t have my burglar picks with me, but there were some tools in my climbing bag, including a thin spring from a self-belay system I had been repairing some time back and a general tool kit full of thin screwdrivers. Suddenly, the challenge of letting myself in felt rather pleasant. I had to work hard and it took bloody forever, but with Jack still at work, I had no intention of calling him and revealing that I’d been up and about.

He’s so sweet when he’s overprotective.

Huh. The thought flashed through my mind as the lock finally yielded. He was sweet. He was overprotective. That didn’t mean I wanted to face his rant and rampage in regards to my personal health and safety. Sometimes, a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

The door swung open. I let myself in and locked the deadbolts. My rear was sore and throbbing to a point where I could feel every heartbeat in the swollen, irritated flesh. Before I could lie down and rest, I had to wash off chalk dust, rinse off my hard-earned sweat, and put my climbing bag away. I limped out of the foyer and into the living room, only to encounter one highly agitated Jack Azurri.