Special of the Day

by Elaine Fox

  “You don’t have to let him know you’re coming? What if he’s up there with—” Skip cut himself off.

  But not before his words speared Roxanne’s heart again. Not that she hadn’t already thought of that. “In an emergency situation, which a leak qualifies as, I can go in without notice. But more important, I know he’s not here because his truck’s gone, as it has been every day since he quit.”

  “I’m sorry, Rox. I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “It’s nothing I didn’t think of myself.” She forced a smile. “You go on now and grade your papers. Thanks for offering to help, but I can handle it. I can handle it all.”

  Truer words were spoken every day, by everyone, Roxanne thought, as she let herself quietly into Steve’s apartment. She didn’t feel like she was handling anything, certainly not well. Mostly she felt as if she were bumping along in a rough current, just waiting to hit the next rock in the stream.

  Though she’d knocked, long and loud, to be sure he wasn’t there, she still felt strange opening the door to his private world. She knew she had a perfectly valid reason for being here today, but she felt like the snoop she’d almost been the day before anyway.

  She went straight to the kitchen and set her toolbox down on the floor, willing herself not to look at the computer in the corner.

  Glancing around the kitchen, she wondered if he had read the paper that morning and seen the review. Would he care that they’d been slammed? Would he say anything to her about the modeling thing? Maybe, now that they weren’t seeing each other, it didn’t matter to him what she may or may not have said about that in the past.

  A few plates were in the sink, in which a few inches of water was still sitting. Apparently Steve had intended to let the dishes soak, but the water had instead run down the drain and leaked out of the trap. The top dish was covered with crumbs and despite her resolve not to poke around, she ran her finger through them, thinking of Steve up here alone, making himself some toast or a sandwich, and working at his computer.

  Despite her resolve, she glanced toward the corner where all his papers lay. The question would plague her, she knew, until she found out for sure. Besides, what would it really hurt, just looking at a couple of pages? She wouldn’t dig, she promised herself. And if it was anything personal she’d stop immediately.

  Before she could change her mind, she strode over to the corner and picked up the top sheet of paper.

  Portner’s main concern at this juncture seemed to be in securing a home for his collections. Though no one was quite sure where he had acquired all that he sold, he was known in town as being a “purveyor of all things unique.”

  She picked up a stack of papers and read a page in the middle.

  In August of 1784, just after Jefferson arrived in Paris…

  She looked in a stack on the opposite end of the table.

  Note: Portner’s letter to Letitia, 1825.

  It was all history. Research. Notes about Portner Jefferson Curtis and those around him. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. There wasn’t a gossip column in sight. In fact everything she laid eyes on was so academic in nature she found herself wondering if he was writing a book.

  Could that be why it was so important that he find that draft?

  Would that matter to her if it was?

  She straightened the pages she had rifled through and stood back to look at the desk, making sure it looked the way she’d found it.

  Then she turned back to the kitchen to get to work, wondering how on earth her heart could continue to ache over someone who had done her so wrong.

  Steve stared at the first line of the restaurant review.

  “You didn’t tell me she was a model,” his sister said, scooping another helping of scrambled eggs from a cast-iron frying pan. “No wonder she’s a bitch.”

  The kids were upstairs and her husband had had to work today, so when Steve called that morning looking for someone to help him drop his truck off for service, he’d been invited for Sunday brunch.

  “I didn’t know,” he said, wincing at the expletive his sister chose to describe Roxanne. “Turns out I didn’t know anything about her.”

  He did, however, quite clearly remember Roxanne telling him countless times that she would never make a living off her looks, and that she didn’t want to use her appearance to bolster business. He’d even mentioned once that she could be a model and she hadn’t owned up to anything. In fact, as he recalled, she’d thrown it back at him as if he’d been a jerk for even bringing it up.

  “Hmm, well,” Dana said, refilling his orange-juice glass, “I guess that’s understandable, in a way.”

  He looked at her. “It is?”

  “Sure. Like the reviewer said, who would trust some rail-thin supermodel to have a decent restaurant?” She shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

  “I guess you wouldn’t publicize it, but that’s no reason to keep it from people you’re, you know, close to.”

  “Oh Steve,” she said, in a tone so pitying he felt annoyed. “She didn’t deserve you, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Thanks,” he grunted.

  He continued reading the review, feeling the pit of his stomach drop lower with every paragraph. “This is going to kill her,” he muttered.

  Dana looked up at him over her eggs, eyes alert. “So what?”

  He dropped the magazine and met his sister’s eyes. “I don’t hate her, Dana. It’d be easier if I could, but I don’t.”

  The two sat silently for a while before Dana said, “So tell me more about this editor who called. She’s interested in the book?”

  Steve nodded. “Yeah. She wants to see the whole thing when it’s done. Which I told her would be in the next couple of weeks.”

  “So you’re going to ask Roxanne about the basement before that? See if those steps are the ones?”

  He rubbed a hand on the side of his face and shook his head. “I didn’t tell the editor about that. I just told her about the mystery, the conflicting reports, that kind of thing, but that nothing had ever been found. The unsolved mystery aspect of it seemed to intrigue her.”

  “But if you found the thing,” Dana insisted, “the book would be even better, wouldn’t it? A shoo-in for publication, don’t you think? I mean, jeez, something that’s been hidden for two hundred years—something as famous as the Declaration of Independence. The whole country would be interested in that. That’s the kind of thing you hear about on the news. I bet the Post would even excerpt the book. So why don’t you just ask Miss Fancy-Pants, huh? What could it hurt?”

  “I guess we’d find out, wouldn’t we?”

  “So you’re going to do it?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I really don’t know.”

  He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to ask Roxanne for anything. He had the answer to his question of whether she came first or the book did, he guessed. If he didn’t want to ask her about excavating the basement now, apparently even avoiding her came first.

  They sat in silence a few minutes more.

  “Listen, why don’t I get my neighbor to watch the kids, and I’ll come over after we drop off the truck and help you pack some stuff up today.”

  Steve glanced at her, a half smile on his lips. “And why would you do that?”

  “Because I’m a nice sister, that’s why.”

  “Uh-huh. And?”

  “And,” Dana chewed a piece of toast, studying him. “We can get out that metal detector Mom gave you and see what’s in that basement.”

  Steve shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I gave Roxanne back the keys to the restaurant. Besides, a metal detector wouldn’t be much help looking for parchment.”

  Dana sighed. “Still. So there’s no getting down there without her permission.”

  “That’s right. But that would have been true anyway,” he said with a firm look.

  “All right, all right. I’ll come help you pack anyway.” At his expression she ad
ded, “Because I don’t want to see you become one of those guys pining over the one that got away.”

  He was silent a long moment, wondering if that was what he was doing. Pining. If this hole in his gut and the vacuum in his brain was sorrow. If his inability to hold on to his anger was—he debated admitting this even to himself—love.

  He took a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks. I could use an extra pair of hands.”

  They finished brunch and Dana unloaded the kids on her neighbor. Steve led the way to the mechanic and Dana followed in her car. After leaving the keys in the drop box, they got in her car and drove to his place.

  “Jeez, no wonder you’re in such good shape,” Dana said as they tackled the last flight of stairs to his apartment. “I’ll help you pack, but I’ll be damned if I’ll help you move. How’d you get everything up here, anyway?”

  Steve laughed. “A little at a time.”

  They reached the top landing and Steve put his key in the lock. Turning it left, however, he didn’t feel the resistance of the deadbolt. Had he forgotten to lock it this morning?

  He pushed the door open and was greeted by a clink of metal and a curse muttered in a female voice.

  Dana behind him, he walked swiftly into the kitchen.

  Shimmying out from under the sink, in a scene painfully reminiscent of the first time he met her, was Roxanne.

  He narrowed his eyes as she pulled herself out from the cabinet, rubbing her forehead with one hand.

  “Shouldn’t you be wearing a swim suit for that?” he asked, trying to make his tone light but not quite succeeding. “No wait, that was your last job.”

  “Hello, Steve,” she said, her eyes catching on Dana, behind him. She dropped her hand and there was a slight red mark where she’d obviously bumped her head. Her eyes moved back to his. “I guess you read the review.”

  He nodded, feeling a twinge of pity despite all efforts not to. “It wasn’t so bad.”

  She looked up at him then with such appreciation in her eyes for that small comment that he could feel his resolution to stay angry begin to crack.

  Her gaze dropped and her cheeks reddened. “I, uh, I know I misled you about—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” There was no point discussing it. No point in hearing about how he didn’t merit that bit of honesty in their relationship, if you could call what they’d had a relationship.

  She glanced quickly back up at him. “Yes. I suppose it doesn’t matter now.” She looked at the contents of Steve’s cabinet strewn around her on the floor. “I’m sorry about this. Water was leaking into my apartment. Turns out it was the trap. I’m just finishing up.”

  It had been barely more than a week since he’d seen her, but his eyes drank her in like a nectar he hadn’t tasted in years.

  “The trap?” he said. “I’ve barely been home today to run the water. How would it be leaking?”

  It sounded more like an accusation than he’d meant it to, and an injured look crossed Roxanne’s face. He reminded himself to harden his heart. She had dumped him like an unwanted bag at Goodwill with barely a thought to his feelings. Why should he worry about hers?

  “You left the sink filled with water.” She gestured above her head to the counter, which was covered with the dirty dishes he now remembered leaving in the sink. “I guess the drain stop was leaking, too.”

  He didn’t know what to say. They stared at each other a long moment before Roxanne’s eyes shifted once again to Dana.

  With a quick glance at Steve, Dana moved toward her. “Hi, I’m Dana.”

  She leaned down to shake Roxanne’s hand, which Roxanne extended, but they both noticed the grease on it first.

  “Oh, sorry.” Roxanne laughed nervously and rubbed the hand on her jeans, then looked at it again and shrugged at Dana. “Nice to meet you.”

  Dana nodded, studying her. “You, too.”

  He could read the thoughts on Roxanne’s face, the question about who this woman was, the assumption that she was somebody she wasn’t. It was funny, Steve never considered how his sister looked as a woman, exactly, but seeing her through Roxanne’s eyes he realized how pretty she was, with her wavy shoulder-length hair and big blue eyes. He decided not to enlighten Roxanne about her.

  “I can finish that,” he said, for lack of anything else to break the silence. He gestured toward the pipes.

  Roxanne shook her head. “That’s okay. I think I’m done. Just, if you wouldn’t mind, check it to make sure it’s not still leaking in a little while.”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  She started to put the bottles that had been under the sink back in the cabinet.

  “I’ll do that,” Steve said. You just go was the subtext, and they all heard it.

  Dana looked at him assessingly.

  Roxanne stopped immediately and stood up. “Okay. Sorry to have interrupted.” She put some tools back in her toolbox and turned back, her eyes seeking Steve’s. With a quick glance at Dana she said again, “Sorry. Bye.”

  “Nice to have met you,” Dana said as Roxanne passed on her way to the door.

  “You, too,” Roxanne said, not turning back.

  “By the way, I’m Steve’s sister,” Dana called.

  Steve gave her an exasperated look.

  Roxanne stopped dead in her tracks, then turned swiftly. “You’re his sister?”

  The relief on her face was so obvious to Steve, he couldn’t help wondering what the hell was going on. Why should she care if Dana was his sister, when she was the one who had pronounced their ‘fling’ over?

  “Oh, by the way, I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” Steve said, because you dumped me quicker than lightning, “but I figured out how Cheeto got into the kitchen that night. You might want to check the stove hole in the old chimney in your kitchen. He came through the one in the restaurant, behind the freezer. I found his fur on it.”

  Roxanne looked like she’d been struck. “Behind the freezer?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t let you know earlier. Hope he hasn’t disappeared again.”

  She shook her head, staring at him as if he’d just told her he’d discovered a ghost. “Behind the freezer,” she repeated.

  “Yeah, I did what I could to secure it down there, but you should block your end off.”

  “I will,” she said vaguely.

  They stood there another moment so awkwardly that Steve added, “That’s all.”

  She blinked as if awakening. “Okay. Thanks.” Her voice was dazed, then she shook herself out of it. “Oh, and Dana, it was nice to meet you. I didn’t even know Steve had a sister.” She gave them both a strained smile, then turned and let herself out the door.

  Steve and Dana stood in silence.

  “Wow,” Dana said finally.

  Steve sighed. “I know. She’s a looker, that’s for sure.”

  Dana turned amazed eyes to him. “No,” she said. “Well, yeah. But that’s not what I meant. Are you sure you understood her when she called things off?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest to still the flash of emotion he still felt, the desire he couldn’t quell. She’d looked so vulnerable. How could that be when she’d so coldly rejected him a week ago?

  He turned to his sister. “There was no misunderstanding it, Dana. She could not have been clearer.”

  Dana looked at the closed door, shaking her head.

  Steve frowned. “Why?”

  “Because that girl is in love with you, Steve. I’d bet my life on it.”

  18

  Bar Special

  Scarlett O’Hara—after all, tomorrow is another day

  Southern Comfort, cranberry juice, lime juice

  Roxanne walked down the stairs in a trance.

  What had just happened? Had he figured out what she must have seen and concocted a story for it?

  She let herself into her apartment and dropped the toolbox, heading straight for the kitchen. She knew just where the old stove hole was. Behind a little us
eless cabinet that had been installed to camouflage it. For a while, the door to that cabinet had been falling open on a regular basis. It wasn’t until this week, when she was desperate to keep herself busy during daylight hours so she wouldn’t think about Steve, that she’d finally gotten a new latch for it.

  Had that been Cheeto? Opening the cabinet and going for the hole? Could he possibly be that clever?

  She went straight to that door now and unlatched it. She flipped on the overhead light, then realized she had yet to replace the bulb. Standing back so the window light would illuminate the space, she saw that the stove hole cover had indeed slipped off and lay on the floor. Soot dusted the old chimney face.

  Something had been going in and out of the hole, that was for sure. She brushed her fingers against the brick, then rubbed their blackened tips together. Maybe the cat had been chasing a mouse.

  She remembered how filthy Cheeto was the night he’d gotten into the restaurant kitchen. He’d been covered in food and dirt and dust, but some of it had been black. Some of it was soot.

  She sat on the floor and put her head in one hand, looking at the sooty fingers of her other.

  Steve hadn’t been looking for that damn document that night, she thought. He’d been doing something for her. That’s why there hadn’t been any sign of a break-in.

  She felt like crying. She wanted to run to him, tell him, apologize, to go right upstairs and plead with him to forgive her. But he was up there with Dana—his sister, thank God.

  Besides, even though Roxanne might have been wrong about Steve, how could he forgive her for thinking the absolute worst of him? For accusing and convicting him, even if just to herself, of being a common criminal? What kind of person was she to have no faith in someone she cared about?

  She’d blown it. She’d taken something that had been wonderful and had thrown it away.

  She had ruined everything with her worries and her fears.

  Or had she?

  Several hours later, after the sun had gone down, Roxanne was standing on a chair in the front hall, reaching for the lightbulbs she kept on the top shelf of the closet to replace the one that went out in the kitchen, when she heard Steve and Dana talking as they came down the stairs.