onto the highway. “Do you remember anything about what happened before the shot was fired?”
“I remember thinking that I love…” I started and then stopped. “The way you smell,” I said, not meaning to say anything but hearing the words come from my lips. “And did you say the name Christine?” My head lolled to the side of the headrest.
He changed lanes and didn’t respond. “Did you hear anything? See anything? Like a specific car? Someone suspicious looking?”
“I remember you telling me that I would owe you something if you helped me find Ray. And about your handcuffs. I stopped thinking after that. That’s what I remember.” I closed my eyes and ran my tongue over my lips. “What do I owe you?”
“How many painkillers did you take?” he asked.
“Two,” I mumbled. “But they were good ones.”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Aren’t talking and driving against the law?” I asked.
He dialed a number and waited a moment for someone to answer. “Yeah, it’s Crawford. Clock me out for the day. I won’t be back in.” He waited a few more seconds. “I don’t know…sick leave…lost time…a vacation day? Whatever you want.” He flipped the phone closed and looked over at me. “Do you want something to eat?” he asked, almost relieved when I said that I wasn’t hungry. I had thrown up on this man more than anyone in my life—even my own mother.
We pulled into the driveway at my house about a half hour later. Crawford had been here several times and knew which key opened which lock on the front door, so he got out, opened the door, and then came back to get me, a virtual vegetable in the front seat. I took his hand and got out, a strung-out-on-Vicodin, high-heel-wearing college professor. I stumbled up the path to the front door.
“First thing we’re going to do is take off those shoes,” Crawford said when we got into the house. He sat me on the bottom step of the staircase, knelt in front of me and took off my pumps. “How do you teach in these things?” he asked rhetorically, holding up and examining my beautiful, black suede pumps.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m used to wearing heels.”
“They’re a little sexy for school, don’t you think?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“You know me,” I said. “I’m all about the sex,” I said, trying to snap my fingers to convey a hipness that I did not possess.
“That’s what I’m hoping,” he muttered, putting my shoes to the side of the stairs.
I started up the stairs, holding on to the railing. I got into my bedroom and flopped onto the bed facedown, careful not to fall onto my stitched arm. Crawford followed me up and came into the room.
“Do you want to get undressed?” he asked.
I rolled over. “I don’t know. Do you?” I tried to sit up, but the room turned upside down in front of me, and I lay back down on the bed. I put my good arm over my forehead.
“Do you want a glass of water?” he asked, leaning over me and studying my face.
I nodded. “You didn’t answer my question!” I called after him as he went into the bathroom and ran the tap to fill a glass of water for me. He came back out and told me to sit up, handing me the cup of water. I took a long drink. “You should give Vicodin to your suspects. It’s like truth serum.”
He turned my face to his and kissed me lightly on the lips. “You need to get some sleep.” He put his hand on the back of my neck. “If I promise not to look, can I help you get undressed?”
I sighed again. “You can look all you want. There’s really nothing to see.”
He stood. “That’s what you think.”
I lay back on the bed again, unable to stay sitting if he wasn’t propping me up. “Crawford?”
He took off his jacket and threw it across the foot of the bed. “Yes?”
I decided to take a different tack. “What happens now? With us?” I asked.
He leaned against my dresser and crossed his arms. “What do you want to happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“You already know how I feel about you. I guess you need to figure out how you feel about me.” He looked at me. “For all I know, you’re still mad at me.”
I tried to sit up again. “How could you know how you feel about me? We had this