“I’m fine. Really.”
“Well. Don’t panic if you see a police car pull up. John may stop by.”
“Oh, Kay. He doesn’t have to. I’m okay.”
“You know how he is. He may just have to see for himself. You’re his new personal cause, now that Marilee is gone. He’s a little lost, without her here to wait up for at night. He’s driving me nuts, hovering around.”
Emily caught a movement at the kitchen window. “There he is, just pulled into the driveway. In the cruiser. In broad daylight. How can he do this to me? Myra will be out in two seconds wondering what’s wrong. She sees everything.”
“That’s good.”
Yes and no, Emily thought. Mostly yes, when Doug was gone. Like John watching out for her by night, Myra did it by day. She would be terrified when she saw the police car.
“I’ll catch you later,” Emily told Kay and hung up the phone. She pushed open the screen door to find John mounting the steps. “I was just on the phone with your wife. I really am fine. You two worry for nothing.”
“Good. But that isn’t why I’m here. Tell me about the space over your garage. Is it really for rent?”
Emily frowned. “Not yet. Not for a while. Why?”
“I may have a tenant for you. He’s been looking all over and can’t find anything he likes.”
“He’s not about to like this. It’s still months away from being livable.”
“Can we see it?”
We? Emily glanced at the cruiser. A man was twisted in the back seat, behind the screen designed to restrain dangerous criminals. “John,” she cried, “what did you bring?”
“He’s a good guy, Emily. You know I’d only bring around the best. Come meet him.” He had her elbow and was drawing her outside.
“I can’t. I’m waiting for Jill to call.”
But he drew her on. “This’ll only take a minute.”
“If I don’t hear the phone—”
“I’ll be listening, too.”
“I’m not wearing shoes.”
“You never do.”
“But this is totally premature. There’s weeks of work to do up there. I’m not looking for tenants yet. I’m not looking for tenants at all. Doug’s the one who wants to rent.”
“Figured that,” John murmured just as the man from the back seat slipped out and straightened. “Ignore the stuff on his face. He says he doesn’t have time to shave so he’s growing a beard. That’ll change, once he gets organized. Emily Arkin, Brian Stasek. Brian’s joining the force. Detective.”
The new detective from New York. Emily tried to remember what else Kay had said, but all she could think was that he didn’t look like a detective. He looked tired and more than a little disheveled. He also looked vaguely disreputable, thanks to the stubble on his face, a wrinkled shirt, and torn jeans. But if John trusted him enough to have hired him, Emily supposed he had to be okay. He certainly had incredible eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” he said in a civilized enough voice.
“Same here, but I’m afraid John should have called before he brought you over. The space I have won’t be ready for a while.”
“Let’s take a look,” John said.
“But if he needs something now—”
“The other things he’s seen have been pits.”
“Trust me. This is worse.”
“Can I see it?” Brian asked quietly, and something about his tone brought her around. It was weary. She almost imagined he didn’t have the strength to raise his voice more. And then there were his eyes. They were the palest of blues, with silver flecks and shards of sheer desperation.
Relenting, she said, “I have to warn you, it needs work.”
He ran a hand through his hair, which was dark blond and thinning on top, though not unattractively. “At this stage,” he sighed, “I’m looking for potential. Nothing else has even come close.”
A sound came from inside the cruiser. Moaning, he ducked back inside. When he emerged this time, he held a child.
Early forties, Emily remembered now. Dead wife. Young child.
She caught in a breath at the sight of that child, who was young indeed, and looked nearly as disheveled as her father. Emily’s heart went out to them both, but it was the baby to whom she was drawn. She was a beautiful child, disheveled and all, with clear skin, delicate features, and tousled brown curls so like those Jill had had that Emily felt a pang of longing.
“What’s her name?” she asked, coming closer.
“Julia. Julia, say hello to Emily.”
Julia chewed on her fist and stared at Emily with the same pale eyes as her father—only hers weren’t so much desperate as somber.
Emily smiled and touched her cheek. “Such a sad little face.”
“She’s not very happy with me.”
“Uh-oh. What did you do?”
“I mean, overall. She wants her mother, but her mother’s dead.”
“I did hear that. I’m sorry. It must be hard for you, too.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could find a place to stay.” Pale pleading blues pinned her to the spot, releasing her only to focus on the garage.
Emily sought John’s help, but his expression was one of benign complacency. Clearly, he liked Brian. Clearly, he liked the idea of Brian living over her garage.
“It really is awful,” she warned. “I don’t know as you’d want a child there.”
“Jill and Marilee used to play there,” John stated.
Emily jiggled Julia’s hand. “Not at this age, and there’s difference between playing there and living there.”
“Does it have heat?” Brian asked.
“Yes.”
“Plumbing?”
“Of sorts. The outlets are all there, but there aren’t any fixtures other than in the bathroom. The people who owned the house before us were in the process of building an apartment for their son when they moved away. We haven’t added a thing.”
“How many rooms?”
“One big, one small.”
“Kitchen?”
“Along one wall of the big room. But it’s unfinished, no appliances, no cabinets. Take a look. You’ll see. It’s light years away from being habitable.”
“Emily?” came a cry from across the street, followed by Myra scurrying over. “Why is this police car here? Has something happened? Is something wrong? Why is Chief Davies here?”
“It’s all right,” Emily assured her. “They’re just here about the garage.”
Myra glanced uneasily at Brian. “What about the garage? Is there a problem with the garage?”
“I want to look at it,” Brian said.
“But there’s nothing there,” Myra cried. “How could there be? It’s just a shell of a place. You’d have to take up the floor to put anything there.”
Emily touched her shoulder. “He’s looking to rent it, Myra. He’s new to John’s department.”
“A policeman?” Myra asked, lighting up. “Oh, good. There’s never any crime on the streets where they live.” She frowned. “But Frank won’t like it.”
Emily said softly, “You don’t have to tell him.”
“No. I don’t. Do I?”
Julia began to whimper.
Brian shifted her on his hip. “She’s impatient. Her attention span is limited. Can I see the apartment?”
Emily swallowed. His eyes were startlingly direct. They spoke of exhaustion, of needing to be somewhere but not knowing where, wanting to do something but not knowing what.
Emily knew how that was.
“Myra,” she said, “do me a huge favor? Go into my kitchen, pour yourself a cup of tea, and listen for the phone? I don’t want to miss Jill if she calls.”
“But they won’t find anything in the garage,” Myra protested.
Emily smiled and steered her off. “I’ve been telling them that, but they’ll have to see for themselves. Will you wait inside so I can take them up?”
“If it will help you
out.”
“It will. Very much.” She waited until Myra had gone in before leading the others to the far side of the garage. The door there opened to a comfortably wide staircase. “For starters, we need new locks. These are nonfunctional.” She started up the stairs, placing her bare feet with care on the occasional rough tread. Brian followed with the whimpering Julia. John took up the rear.
At the top, a second door opened into a large room. Kindly speaking, it had wood floors, papered walls, and a vaulted ceiling. More accurately, the floors were scuffed and dusty, the striped wallpaper was faded into spectral cords, the high ceiling was webby, and the air was stale.
Acting on the last, Emily opened two of the windows. They were too narrow to offer much by way of relief, but they gave an illusion of openness. Not that she wanted Brian to like the place. But it was hers, and she did have pride. She also had fond memories of times she had played here with Jill, times Jill had played here with friends. Once, there had been a tiny table and chairs, a small chalkboard, a bookshelf, a bin filled with toys. Those things had long since been cleared out to allow for Jill and her friends to spend the night in sleeping bags on the floor. All that remained of those parties were panels of notes written in different colored markers for all of posterity to see, and punch stains on the floor.
“Pretty sorry sight, huh?” she asked, brushing dust from her hands.
Julia was whimpering more insistently, but Brian only smiled. “There’s nothing here that a little elbow grease won’t fix.”
“A little. That’s optimistic.”
“It’s a nice size.” He started walking around, rubbing Julia’s back as he went.
Emily watched. Large hand, small back. Long, blunt fingers that looked like they would be all thumbs with a diaper pin but that moved in a gentle, soothing motion.
She wondered whether he was a good cop or a bad cop, industrious or lazy, curious or bored. She wondered what kind of work he had done in New York and what kind he would be doing here.
When he set Julia on her feet, she took off.
He looked like a nice guy. But Emily really wasn’t ready to rent out the space. She slid another silent plea John’s way, only to find him reading the writing on the wall.
“There’s nothing shocking there,” she said. “It’s typical teenage stuff.”
“‘Sean Potts carries an assortment in his back pocket,’” John read aloud.
“Well, didn’t you, when you were in high school?”
“They didn’t have assortments then. I carried one. For show.”
“So now they carry an assortment. For show.”
“Doesn’t that worry you?”
“It panics me. I’m not ready to have a sexually active child. But I’m even less ready to have one with AIDS.” She turned to find Brian studying her. Julia was across the room, with her tiny fingers on the window sill, trying to make herself tall enough to see outside.
“You don’t look old enough to have a child in college,” he said.
She supposed not, what with her huge T-shirt covering all but the frayed cuffs of her shorts, her face and feet bare, and her hair in its sixteenish bob. “I am. Forty last month.”
“Same here. But look at me.” He hitched his chin toward Julia, who had settled onto the floor with an unhappy plump and was puckering up to cry. With a weary sigh, he scooped her up.
“It goes fast,” Emily said, half-wanting to take Julia from him and give her a hug. Arms were made for holding children. Hers felt bereft. “Anyway”—she cleared her throat—“you can see that this place has problems. Once the appliances are in, and the furniture, it’ll be pretty cramped. And stuffy. And dark. The windows are too small.”
“But the view is great,” he said. “It’s all woods. I wouldn’t even need drapes.”
“I have to strip the walls, scrub the windows, repaint the woodwork, sand and varnish the floors, repair the stairs,” the thought of it all left her breathless, “and then there’s the matter of appliances. They’ll take weeks to arrive.”
“Nah. We can find some quickly.” He had returned to where she stood and was passing her, heading into the second room.
Emily followed. “Small, huh? You couldn’t possibly fit a bed and a crib in here.”
“Just a crib. I’d use a pull-out sofa in the main room for myself. This is perfect for a child.” He shifted Julia in his arms. “What do you think, toots?”
Julia began to cry. He cradled her closer, to no avail.
“I’m sorry,” he told Emily over the baby’s head. “She’s not always like this.” He fixed a stare at the wall. “Wrong, Bri. She is always like this. You can sweet-talk a stoolie into ratting on his mother, but you can’t get a goddamned smile from this kid. Not a one.”
Emily stroked Julia’s head. “She’s been through a trauma.”
“You don’t know the half. She was there when it happened.”
“When your wife was killed?”
“Gayle was jogging, pushing Julia in one of those special carriages joggers use for their kids.” His words came hard and fast over Julia’s sobs. “She had run through the park and was back on the streets. She thought she could catch the end of a WALK. She didn’t want to break stride, never wanted to break stride, damn it. She was always like that, determined that she could beat every odd, and she did, until this time. She gave the carriage a shove a split second before she was hit.”
“Did Julia see?”
“No, but there were the sounds—brakes, screams, sirens—shhh, sweetie, it’s okay, Daddy’s here.”
Emily’s heart broke for the crying child. For the father, too. She sensed the panic in him.
Desperate to do something, she reached over, took Julia from Brian, and settled her in her own arms. The crying continued, but the fit was comfortable. Oh yes, arms were made for holding. They were adjustable in ways nothing made by man could be.
“When did it happen?” she asked softly.
Brian looked relieved to be spelled for a bit. “Nearly five weeks ago. My mother had Julia with her for the first month, then I insisted on taking her. I thought I was doing the right thing—I mean, everyone says fathers are supposed to be able to do it. Only no one tells them how.”
“No one tells mothers, either.”
“Mothers are born knowing how.”
She sent him a dubious look.
“No? So how do they manage?”
“Trial and error. Common sense. Okay, a little instinct. But lots more luck.” She peered down at what she could see of Julia’s face. The sobs were slowing. A thumb was inching toward the mouth. “She’s tired. When does she usually nap?”
“Whenever. Wherever. She goes nuts when I leave her with a sitter, so I’ve been taking her with me—I’m trying to line up things like day care and a pediatrician. Mostly she falls asleep in the car.”
“Jill always needed more of a schedule. She depended on regular naps. She dropped the morning one when she was about this size, but she stayed with the afternoon one for a good long time. She looked forward to it. After hours of constant vigilance, so did I.”
Julia’s cries had shrunk to hiccups. Her eyes were closed.
“Ahhh,” Brian whispered. “Peace.”
Emily thought the same thing, but for different reasons. Julia was a dream to hold. She cuddled. “She needs to be settled. That’s why this place is no good.”
“But I like it. It’s on a quiet street—”
“With a pond,” Emily cautioned. “That’s the constant vigilance part. But you need a place now. This one won’t be ready for months.”
“I could have it ready in two weeks,” he said, those striking eyes now strong and hopeful. And compelling, and confident, and contagious.
But she didn’t want a tenant. Yes, Brian Stasek would probably be a fine one, but she didn’t want a tenant. Doug did. He said they needed the money. He said the space was wasted. He said that turning it into an apartment would enhance the value of their h
ouse.
But she didn’t want a stranger so close.
Then again, Brian was an impressive stranger. He was alone and living with pain. He was polite, articulate, and gainfully employed, and he had Julia, whose sweaty little cheek felt like heaven against her.
But she wasn’t ready. “John, he can’t work on this place if he’s working for you.”
John was bent over, squinting at the wall. “‘French kisses taste best with Chunky Monkey.’ What in the hell’s Chunky Monkey?”
“Ice cream. Answer me. How can Brian work on this place if he’s working for you?”
“He’s not working for me for another two weeks.”
She stared at him. “You’re just saying that.” She shifted her stare to Brian. “This is a conspiracy.”
Brian was looking calmer. “I really like it here.”
“But it’s too small.”
“Not for my furniture. It’s in the back of my Jeep.”
She couldn’t quite believe that.
“Okay,” he conceded, “so I’ll have to buy a bed and a few basics, but I left everything else behind. The simpler the better. Less to dodge, less to clean. You’re looking at a guy who’s not used to living alone.”
Emily was looking at Julia, who had settled more deeply into her arms. “You’re not living alone.”
“Technically, no. Practically, yes. I have responsibilities now that I’ve never had before, so the less complex my life is, the better. Honestly. This place is perfect. I can’t handle anything more. What do you want for rent?”
She turned to John in a last ditch attempt to slow things down, but he was disappearing into the other room. Open-mouthed, she faced Brian again. She closed her mouth. She shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Emily,” John called, “Myra says Jill’s on the phone.”
She caught in an excited breath, let it out in a grateful sigh, and with nothing but a short, “Excuse me,” gently transferred Julia to her father’s arms and left the garage apartment.
Jill sounded wonderful. The girls on her floor were awesome; the freshman boys living upstairs were okay; the upperclass boys who were helping with orientation were hot. She had registered for her courses, told Emily what they were and when they met. Her tone grew less sure only when she asked how Emily was doing.
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