types. Need intense concentration.”
“Strongly focused, huh?”
“Definitely.”
She laughed. “We’ve definitely got a thing for each other, Dr.
Delaware. Probably chemical-pheromones or whatever.”
“That we do, that we do.”
She put her head on my chest. I stroked her hair and thought of her
going into the library, reading my books.
“Can we try again?” I said. “Will you come back?”
She tensed hard as bone.
“Yes,” she said. “God, yes.”
She sat up, took my face in her hands and kissed it. Scrambled on me,
straddling me, her arms down over my shoulders, gripping.
I ran my hands over her back, held her hips, raised myself to her. We
fused once more, rocked and rolled together, silent and intent.
Afterward she lay back, panting. I was breathing hard, too, and it
took a long time to wind down.
I rolled on my side and wrapped my arms around her. She pressed her
belly up against mine, glued herself to me.
We stayed together for a long while. When she started to get restless,
the way she always did, and began to pull away, I didn’t let her go.
She stayed the night and, as usual, was up early.
What wasn’t usual was her sticking around for another hour to drink
coffee and read the paper. She sat next to me at the table, one hand
on my knee, finishing the arts section as I skimmed the sports
scores.
Afterward, we went down to the pond and threw pellets to the fish. The
heat had come on early for spring, overpowering the ocean currents, and
the air smelled like summer vacation.
Saturday, but I felt like working.
She remained at my side. We touched a lot but the signs of her
restlessness were beginning: flexing muscles, random glances, minuscule
lags in the conversation that only a lover or a paranoiac would have
noticed.
I said, “Got a busy one planned?”
“Just a few things to catch up on. How about you?”
“The same. I’m planning to hit the hospital sometime today.”
She nodded, put both arms around my waist, and we walked back up to the
house, entwined. After she got her purse we descended to the
carport.
A new truck was parked next to the Seville. Royal-blue Chevy pickup
with a white racing stripe along the side. New car registration
sticker on the windshield.
“Nice,” I said. “When’d you get it?”
“Yesterday. The Toyota developed serious engine problems and the
estimates I got ranged from one to two thousand, so I thought I’d treat
myself.”
I walked her to the truck.
She said, “Dad would’ve liked it. He was always a Chevy mandidn’t have
much use for anything else. When I drove the other one I sometimes
felt he was looking over my shoulder, scowling and telling me Iwo Jima”
She got in, put her bag on the passenger seat, and stuck her face out
the window for a kiss.
“Yum,” she said. “Let’s do it again soon, cutie. What was your name
again? Felix? Ajax?”
“Mr. Clean.”
“How true,” she said, laughing as she sped away.
I paged Stephanie, and the operator came back on the line saying Dr.
Eves would call back. I hung up, pulled out my Thomas Guide, and
pinpointed Dawn Herbert’s address on Lindblade Street. I’d just
located it when the phone rang.
“Steph?”
“No, Mile. Am I interrupting something?”
“Just waiting for a callback from the hospital.”
And of course you don’t have call-waiting.”
“Of course.
Milo gave a long, equine snort that the phone amplified into something
thunderous. “Have you had your gas lamps converted to Dr. Edison’s
miracle wires yet?”
“If God had wanted man to be electric, he would have given him He
snort-laughed. “I’m at the Center. Phone me as soon as you’re
finished with Steph.”
He hung up. I waited another ten minutes before Stephanie’s call came
in.
“Morning, Alex,” she said. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”
“Nothing much. I saw her about an hour ago,” she said. “She’s feeling
better-awake, alert, and screaming at the sight of me.”
“What’s the latest on the hypoglycemia?”
“The metabolic people say there are no metabolic problems, her pancreas