‘His what?’
‘His house,’ she said again. ‘Where we were, up in Garrison.’
He stared at her blankly. ‘His house?’
She nodded. Still smiling.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘And I can’t accept it. What would I do with it?’
‘What would you do with it? You’d live in it, Reacher. That’s what houses are for, right?’
‘But I don’t live in houses,’ he said. ‘I’ve never lived in a house.’
‘Well, you can live in one now.’
He was silent. Then he shook his head. ‘Jodie, I just can’t accept it. It should be yours. He should have left it to you. It’s your inheritance.’
‘I don’t want it,’ she said simply. ‘He knew that. I like the city better.’
‘OK, so sell it. But it’s yours, right? Sell it and keep the money.’
‘I don’t need money. He knew that, too. It’s worth less than I make in a year.’
He looked at her. ‘I thought that was an expensive area, right by the river?’
She nodded. ‘It is.’
He paused, confused.
‘His house?’ he said again.
She nodded.
‘Did you know he was doing this?’
‘Not specifically,’ she said. ‘But I knew he wasn’t leaving it to me. I thought he might want me to sell it, give the money to charity. Old soldiers, or something.’
‘OK, so you should do that instead.’
She smiled again. ‘Reacher, I can’t. It’s not up to me. It’s a binding instruction in his will. I’ve got to obey it.’
‘His house,’ he said vaguely. ‘He left me his house?’
‘He was worried about you. For two years, he was worrying. Since they cut you loose. He knew how it could be, you spend the whole of your life in the service, and suddenly you find you’ve got nothing at the end of it. He was concerned about how you were living.’
‘But he didn’t know how I was living,’ he said.
She nodded again. ‘But he could guess, right? He was a smart old guy. He knew you’d be drifting around somewhere. He used to say, drifting around is great, maybe three or four years. But what about when he’s fifty? Sixty? Seventy? He was thinking about it.’
Reacher shrugged, flat on his back, naked, staring at the ceiling.
‘I was never thinking about it. One day at a time was my motto.’
She made no reply. Just ducked her head and kissed his chest.
‘I feel like I’m stealing from you,’ he said. ‘It’s your inheritance, Jodie. You should have it.’
She kissed him again. ‘It was his house. Even if I wanted it, we’d have to respect his wishes. But the fact is I don’t want it. I never did. He knew that. He was
totally free to do whatever he wanted with it. And he did. He left it to you because he wanted you to have it.’
He was staring at the ceiling, but he was wandering through the house in his mind. Down the driveway, through the trees, the garage on his right, the breezeway, the low bulk of the place on his left. The den, the living room, the wide slow Hudson rolling by. The furniture. It had looked pretty comfortable. Maybe he could get a stereo. Some books. A house. His house. He tried the words in his head: my house. My house. He barely knew how to say them. My house. He shivered.
‘He wanted you to have it,’ she said again. ‘It’s a bequest. You can’t argue against it. It’s happened. And it’s not any kind of a problem to me, I promise, OK?’
He nodded, slowly.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘OK, but weird. Really, truly weird.’
‘You want coffee?’ she asked.
He turned and focused on her face. He could get his own coffee machine. In his kitchen. In his house. Connected to the electricity. His electricity.
‘Coffee?’ she asked again.
‘I guess,’ he said.
She slid off the bed and found her shoes.
‘Black, no sugar, right?’
She was standing there, naked except for her shoes. Patent, with heels. She saw him looking at her.
‘Kitchen floor feels cold. I always wear shoes in there.’
‘Forget the coffee, OK?’
They slept in her bed, all night, way past dawn. Reacher woke first and eased his arm out from under