“Almost eleven.”
He had an hour before he went off duty. “Cover for me,” Will said, and without offering an explanation he started to jog down Sunset. He ran for miles until he came to St. Sebastian’s. The heavy doors were locked, but he stepped behind the church into the familiar cemetery.
This time he did not pray to the Christian God, who had been too slow to act, but to his grandmother’s spirits. In the distance he heard thunder. “Please,” he whispered. “Help her.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
“HOWcould you do this to me?”
The woman’s voice shrieked through the receiver, startling Cassie. She let the phone drop between her pillow and Alex’s, muffling the scream somewhat, but not enough to keep Cassie from wondering what exactly shehaddone.
Her eyes felt like sand had been ground into them. She rubbed her lids, but that only made it worse. Although Alex had apologized at Le Doˆme, when they came home to the apartment last night, he hadn’t been speaking to Cassie. He made it patently clear, removing his clothes in silence, locking himself in the bathroom to shower. By the time he’d slipped into bed, Cassie had shut the lights and curled on her side, wanting to cry. But sometime in the middle of the night, Alex had reached for her, his unconscious carrying through what his conscious mind refused to do. He held her tight against him, an embrace that ran the ragged edge of pain.
“Michaela.” Alex’s hand groped over Cassie’s shoulder in an effort to find the telephone. “Michaela, shut up.”
Cassie rolled over to face Alex, who was coming awake by degrees.
He held the receiver to his ear, and his mouth was drawn in a tight line, bisected by a thin red cut that ran to the cleft of his chin. Near his right eye was a bruise shaped like a tiny penguin, and covering his ribs was a string of black-and-blue welts. Amazingly, he smiled. “To tell you the truth,” he said into the phone, “that was thelastthing on my mind.”
He turned onto his side, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Of course,” he murmured. “Don’t I always do what you want?” With aPicture Perfect 81wicked grin, he let the receiver fall back against the pillow and reached his hand toward Cassie. His palm skimmed her breast. Cassie stared at the telephone. She could hear the woman chattering in high rippling notes that reminded her of a xylophone, or maybe parakeets.
Alex had put last night aside as easily as he might have closed the cover of a well-read book. The fight at Le Doˆme, the accusations afterward, the dismissal in the quiet of their own bedroom—all this he’d either forgotten or classified as trivial enough to pass over. This, Cassie marveled, was a talent. Imagine: A world without grudges. A world free of guilt. A world where you weren’t condemned for the consequences of your actions.
She had spent half the night trying to pinpoint what exactly had made Alex angry at her, so she was more than willing to start with a clean slate. She reached for Alex, trailing her hand down his side and over his hip.
Suddenly he rolled away from her, grabbing the phone and motioning for Cassie to find him a pen. She rummaged in her nightstand and found a grubby pencil and a receipt for something that cost $22.49.
Alex flipped the receipt over and began to scribble across it. “Mmm.
Yes. I’ll be there. Yeah, you too.”
He threw the pencil across the room and sighed, making the little piece of paper flutter to the edge of the bed. Cassie sat up and reached for it. “L.A. County Hospital?” she read. “Twelve-fifteen, seventh floor?”
Alex covered his eyes and ran his hand down his face. “Seems that Liz Smith’s column starts off with a mention of my . . . disagreement last night with Nick LaRue.” He sat up and walked naked to the window, cantilevering the shade so that the first pink sunlight sliced across his back in parallel lines. “Michaela’s having a fit, because youdon’tattract bad press a month before the Oscars. She’s trying to counterbalance the public’s impression by throwing some good PR my way. God only knows how she did it at six in the morning, but she’s arranged some photo opportunity that involves me and the leukemia patients in the pediatric ward of the hospital.”
Alex walked around the perimeter of the bed to sit beside Cassie.
She reached up, touching the bruise on his face. “Does it hurt?”
He shook his head. “Not as much as leaving you alone for lunch will.” He looked down, drawing a series of circles on the sheet that covered her thigh. “Cassie,” he said, “I want to apologize again. I don’t mean to—you know I’m not—” He balled his hand into a fist. “Hell, sometimes I just explode.”
Cassie held his face between her palms and kissed him gently on the mouth, so that she wouldn’t hurt him. “I know,” she said. She felt something thick swelling up inside of her that caught at the back of her throat, and it took several seconds to realize it was not love but simply relief.
When there was a knock at the door, Alex pulled on a pair of boxer shorts. He opened it to reveal a small, stout woman who looked very familiar to Cassie, although that might have just been her features, because she looked like everyone’s grandmother. She had thin brown hair pulled into a knot, eyes the color of old wood, a smile as sad as the rain.
“I heard the telephone ring, Mr. Rivers, so I figure maybe this is an early day for you,si´?” She deftly moved the lamp to the far side of Alex’s nightstand and set down the tray she had been carrying. TheL.A. Times, coffee, apple muffins, and something rolled in powdered sugar that smelled like heaven.
Mrs. Alvarez. The name echoed through Cassie’s head, until she whispered it aloud. “Mrs. Alvarez?” She sat up so quickly the sheet fell away to her waist. This was the Mrs. Alvarez who kept the apartment when they were living at the house. Who had more pictures of Jesus in her room than of her own three sons. Who had taught Cassie to make flan and who once, when Alex was away on location, had held Cassie in the dark in this very bed while a nightmare slipped out the window. “Mrs.
Alvarez,” she repeated breathlessly, immensely proud of herself.
Alex laughed and sat down beside Cassie, wrapping the sheet around her again. “Congratulations,” Alex said to Mrs. Alvarez. “With one funnel cake, you managed to do what two days of living with me couldn’t.”
Mrs. Alvarez blushed, the color spreading from her high collar like a stain.“No es verdad,”she said. “Mrs. Rivers, you want I help you pack today?”
Cassie turned toward Alex. She wondered how Mrs. Alvarez had known to come back this morning. She herself had forgotten about Scotland. “It’s up to you,” Alex said. “Although I think you’re going to want to take heavier clothes than what you’ve got here. I’ll have JohnPicture Perfect
83swing by to pick you up around three, and we’ll go over to the house.
