do it except around you.»
«Which makes me lucky.» He glanced at his watch. Shit, time was draining out like water from a
bath, leaving a whole lot of cold in its absence. «So can I have a tour?»
«Absolutely.»
He got out first and scanned the area before stepping aside and letting her stand up. He told Fritz
to take off, as he'd just dematerialize back home, and while the doggen pulled out of the
driveway, V let her lead up the walkway.
Jane opened the door with nothing but a single key and a twist of the knob. No security system.
Only one lock. And on the inside no dead bolt or chain. Even though she didn't have enemies
like he did, this was not safe enough. He was going to-
No, he wasn't going to remedy it. Because in another few minutes he was going to be a stranger.
To keep from losing it, he looked around. Her furniture didn't make sense. Against the ivory
walls of the condo, all the mahogany and the oil paintings made the place feel like a museum.
From the Eisenhower era.
«Your furniture…»
«Was my parents',» she said as she put down her coat and duffel. «After they died, I moved what
could fit here from the house in Greenwich. It was a mistake-I feel like I'm living in a
museum.»
«Um… I can see your point.»
He walked around her living room, checking out the kind of stuff that belonged in a doctor's
Colonial house in a Bruce Wayne part of town. The shit dwarfed the condo's lines, choking
rooms that might otherwise have been airy.
«Don't know why I'm keeping it all, really. I didn't like living with it when I was growing up.»
She took a little spin, then stalled out.
Shit, he didn't know what to say, either.
He knew what to do, though. «So… your kitchen is that way, true?»
She walked over to the right. «It's not much.»
But it was nice, V thought as he walked in. Like the rest of the condo, the kitchen was white and
cream, but at least here you didn't feel like you needed a docent: The table and chairs in the
breakfast nook were pale pine and the right size for the space. The granite countertops were
sleek. The appliances were stainless steel.
«I did it over last year.»
There was more cocktail blah-blahing as they both ignored the fact that game over was flashing
on their screen.
V went over to the stove and taking a chance, he opened the upper cupboard to the left. Bingo.
The hot chocolate mix was right there.
He snagged it, put it on the counter, then went to the refrigerator.
«What are you doing?» she asked.
«You got a mug? Pan?» He grabbed a container of milk from the icebox, cracked the top, and
gave it a sniff.
As he walked back to the stove, she told him the where's-what in a low voice, like she was
suddenly having trouble holding it together. He was ashamed to admit it, but he was glad she
was upset. Made him feel less pathetic and alone in the midst of this hellacious goodbye.
Man, he was an asshole.
He took out an enameled saucepan and a thick diner-style mug, then popped up a low flame on
the stove. As the milk heated, he stared at the assembled crap on the counter and felt his brain go
on a little vacation: The setup looked like a commercial for Nestle, the kind of thing where
Suburban Mom was holding down the fort while the Kids played in the snow until they got red
noses and cold hands. He could just picture it: the chilly crew would come screaming in just as
the self-satisfied mominator put out the kind of warm-up spread capable of cranking Norman
Rockwell into a saccharine submission hold.
He could just hear the voice-over: Nestle serves the very best.
Yeah, well, no kids or mom here. No happy hearth either, though the condo was nice enough.
This was real-life cocoa. The kind you gave someone you loved because you couldn't think of
anything else to do and both of you were a mess. It was the kind you stirred while your gut was
knotted and your mouth was dry and you were thinking seriously of crying, but you were too
much of a male for that kind of display.
It was the kind you made with all the love you hadn't expressed and might well not have the
voice or the chance to speak of.
«I won't remember anything?» she asked roughly.
He added a little more powder and circled the spoon, watching the swirl of chocolate get
absorbed in the milk. He couldn't reply, just couldn't say it.
«Nothing?» she prompted.
«From what I understand,