He sat in the chair across the desk. Were there really more lines on his face than last time I saw him?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“About Joel? Or about the long time?”
“Both.”
“Who the hell asked you?”
A pause. “If I shouldn’t have come—”
“Oh, shut up.”
He did.
I sipped my tea. Jasmine, what my mother used to give us when we didn’t feel well. “It’s just, I don’t think it’s okay that you get to make that decision unilaterally.”
“What decision?”
“About who isn’t good for who and who could do better without who and who should stay away from who and who gets back in touch with who. And don’t tell me some of those ‘whos’ should be ‘whoms.’ ”
“They should, though.”
“I know!”
He drank his coffee. “Listen: I fucked up big. I needed time to think about that. If I—”
“When did I ever not give you time? Did I ever crowd you? Why couldn’t you have called and said, ‘I need time. I’m going to the cabin, I’m locking myself in my apartment, I’m shooting myself into space?’ Just to call and acknowledge I still existed. Why couldn’t you do that? Before you went off to meditate on what a fuckup you are?”
“Because I’m a fuckup.” He raised his gaze; I met it silently. Without a word, long and steadily, we held each other’s eyes.
Then, because I know that face so well, I saw him fighting a smile. Dammit, I wanted to yell, this isn’t funny! And it wasn’t. But what was, was how hard he was working to stifle it. Bet you can’t, I thought, and felt my own mouth twitching.
And suddenly there we both were, cracking up. Howling, gasping for breath, astonishing a month’s worth of dust and gloom. I laughed so hard tea slopped out of the mug I held. Until in an instant I felt a change, a spin-around: Now I wasn’t laughing, I was sobbing.
Bill jumped from his chair, came around the desk, and held me, an awkward manuever since I was sitting down. The clumsiness of it struck me as hilarious, and I was laughing again, and then crying, and both, until I didn’t know anymore what kind of shudders were convulsing me.
Finally, the storm let up. I pushed Bill away, stood, and made for the bathroom. I went through the cold water routine again, this time spending longer for less result. When I came out, Bill was back in his chair, halfway through a cigarette.
“Who said you could smoke in here?”
“You changed the rules?” He held the cigarette over the ashtray, prepared to stub it out.
“No. But you’re lucky I still have that.”
“The ashtray? Yeah, but you hid it. It wasn’t easy to find.”
“You’re supposed to be a detective.” I dropped into my chair.
“As such I have a question.”
“Which is?”
“When did you start using four-letter words?”
“I haven’t, as a rule. But some situations demand extreme measures.”
“Like me.”
“Yes, I’d say you’re one of those situations.” I paused. “Bill?” I said, more gently. “How’s Gary?”
Bill looked into his coffee. “Coping.”
“Better than you?”
He shrugged.
As badly as things turned out in that case, they’d have turned out worse if Bill hadn’t been there, and people—including Gary—told him that, but it didn’t comfort him. I think the reason Bill disappeared after that was that he didn’t want to hear anymore how it wasn’t his fault.
So I didn’t say it now.
“If you talk to him,” I said instead, “give him my love.”
Bill nodded.
I got up and poured more tea, to give myself a chance to figure out some really smart, articulate words for what I wanted to say next, but I was lost, really. All I could come up with was exactly what I meant: “What do we do now?”
“About what?”
“Well, it was lots of fun cracking up with you, but we still haven’t gotten past the part where we haven’t spoken in months because you’re a four-letter-word. And Joel’s still dead.” I tried for matter-of-fact, but I felt my eyes mist.
“How about,” Bill said, “we put the first item on hold and work on the second?”
“Meaning what?”
“Mary said you think Joel’s murder may be related to the case you’re working, but the homicide cop who caught it doesn’t.”
“Speaking of Mary, wait until I get my hands on her.”
“That’s between you two. What I’m proposing is, if you want, I’ll work with you on this. We can follow up whatever you think needs following. If you’re right maybe we can light a fire under the cops, and if you’re wrong