He climbed from the cab. Blinking in the rain, he quickly climbed the fence and dropped into the trampled mud of the stockyard. Mindless of the cow dung, he sprinted down the chute and disappeared into its dark depths.
With an oyster fork in one hand and a cut-crystal glass of bourbon in the other, Bobby Bo mounted his coffee table and drew himself up to his full height. In the process, he knocked over an hors d’oeuvre plate of marinated shrimp to the delight of his two professionally cut standard poodles.
Bobby Bo loudly clanged the fork against the glass. No one heard until the quartet stopped playing.
“All right, everyone,” Bobby Bo yelled over the heads of his guests. “Dinner is served in the dining room. Remember to bring the number you drew out of the bucket. That will be your table. If you haven’t drawn a number, the bucket will be in the foyer.”
The crowd began to move out of the living room en masse. Bobby Bo managed to step down from the coffee table without further mishap other than to scare one of the dogs, which yelped and fled into the kitchen.
Bobby Bo was on his way to the dining room, when he caught sight of Shanahan O’Brian. Excusing himself, he stepped over to stand beside his head of security.
“Well?” Bobby Bo whispered. “How did it go?”
“No problem,” Shanahan said.
“Is it going to happen tonight?” Bobby Bo asked.
“As we speak,” Shanahan said. “I think Daryl Webster should be told, so he can tell his security not to interfere.”
“Good idea,” Bobby Bo said. He smiled happily, patted Shanahan on the shoulder, then hurried after his guests.
The doorbell shocked Kim out of his melancholic stupor. For the moment, he was disoriented as to the origin of the noise. He even started to reach for the phone. He’d expected the phone to ring and certainly not for the door to chime. When he realized it was the door, he looked at his watch. It was quarter to nine. He couldn’t believe that someone would be ringing his doorbell at such a time on Saturday night.
The only person he could imagine it might be was Ginger, but she never came over without calling. Then Kim remembered he’d failed to listen to his answering machine, so she could have called and left a message. While Kim considered the possibilities of this, the doorbell sounded again.
He did not want to see Ginger, but when the doorbell sounded for the third time followed by some knocking, Kim pushed himself out of the chair. He was just thinking of what he could say, when to his utter surprise, he found himself looking at Tracy, not Ginger.
“Are you okay?” Tracy asked. She spoke quietly.
“I guess,” Kim said. He was nonplussed.
“Can I come in?” Tracy asked.
“Of course,” Kim said. He stepped back to give Tracy room. “Sorry! I should have invited you in immediately. I’m just surprised to see you.”
Tracy stepped into the dimly lit foyer. She could see that the only light in the house was in the living room, next to an easy chair. She slipped out of her coat and rain hat. Kim took them.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming over here like this,” Tracy said. “I know it was a little impulsive on my part.”
“It’s okay,” Kim said. He hung up Tracy’s things.
“I didn’t want to be with anyone,” Tracy explained. She sighed. “But then I started thinking about you and worrying, especially with how agitated you were when you ran out of the hospital. I thought that since we’ve both lost the same daughter, we’re the only ones that could have any idea of how we feel. I guess what I’m saying is I need some help and imagine you do too.”
Tracy’s words snatched away any remnants of denial Kim was entertaining. He felt a keen wave of grief he’d been doing his best to avoid. He breathed out heavily and swallowed as he choked back tears. For a moment he couldn’t speak.
“Have you been sitting here in the living room?” Tracy asked.