Chill Factor (14 page)

"Wasn't there." His voice was muffled behind his scarf.

"I saw it there only a few days ago."

"It wasn't there." He said it tersely and with enough emphasis
to
silence her.

Note to self
, she thought.
Tierney
doesn't like anyone
to challenge his word
.

Or his mandates, it seemed. He glanced at the fire burning in
the
grate and frowned.

"Too late now to argue about it," she said.

He stacked a pile of logs inside the door so they could begin
to dry
out, then spread the tarp over the replenished woodpile on the porch
and stamped into the room. Lilly pushed him toward the fireplace. "You
may as well enjoy it."

He pulled the blanket from his head, went to the hearth, and
dropped
to his knees in front of it like a penitent before an altar. He pulled
off his gloves and extended his hands toward the blaze. "I smelled
smoke from the chimney as I was coming back. How'd you manage?"

"I found a few drier logs near the porch wall."

"Well, thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I also smell coffee."

"I'd left an unopened can in the freezer of the fridge," she
explained, moving into the kitchen. "I splurged on our drinking water,
I know, but I only made two cups. There's no cream or sugar."

"Never use them anyway."

He had removed his coat, scarf, and boots and was standing
with his
back to the flames when she brought him the steaming mug. "Will it make
you nauseous?"

"I'll take my chances." He closed both hands around the mug
and
raised it to his lips, then halted. "Where's yours?"

"It's for you. You earned it."

He took several sips, savoring the taste and the warmth,
making
small sounds of pleasure. "I may marry you."

She gave a nervous laugh and sat down in the corner of the
sofa
nearest the fire, tucking her stocking feet under her hips. She hugged
the throw to her chest as though for protection. Against what, she
wasn't quite sure. Tierney's eyes maybe, which seemed always to follow
her, to see into her, to know more about her even than she knew about
herself.

He sat down on the hearth and extended his feet toward the
fire.

To fill the silence, she asked, "How's your head?"

"Reeling."

"Still hurt?"

"Some."

"I don't see any fresh blood in your hair, but after you've
rested
awhile, I'd better check the wound again."

He nodded but didn't say anything. Eventually she got up and
took
the empty coffee mug from him, then went into the kitchen to refill it.
When she brought it back, he shook his head. "That's yours."

"I made it for you."

"I insist you have some, too."

She took a few sips, murmured thanks, then passed the mug back
to
him. As she did, his fingertips brushed hers. "This feels good, Lilly.
Thanks again."

"Thank you for going after the firewood."

"You're welcome."

She took up her former post in the corner of the sofa. No
sooner was
she settled than he began a new conversation with a flat statement. "I
know about your daughter." Her astonishment must have shown, because he
gave a small shrug, adding, "I picked up tidbits of information here
and there."

"From whom?"

"The people in Cleary. There's been a lot of talk about you,
especially since Dutch moved back to become police chief. You two
remain a hot topic of gossip at Ritt's soda fountain."

"Do you spend a lot of time there?"

"When in Rome. It's the place to be."

"Oh, it's the hub of the city, all right," she said
sarcastically.
"I expected my split with Dutch to cause a flurry of rumor and
speculation. Gossips thrive on marriages, pregnancies, affairs,
divorces."

"Deaths," he said softly.

"Yes." Sighing, she looked over at him. "What do they say
about
Amy's death?"

"That it was tragic."

"Well, that much isn't rumor. She was only three when she died.

Did you know that?" He nodded. "Four years ago. It's hard for
me to
believe that I've been without her for longer than I had her."

"Brain tumor?"

"Right again. A real bastard of one. Sneaky and deadly. For
the
longest time, it didn't manifest itself. No paralysis, or partial
blindness, or slurred speech. No warning of any kind of what was in
store. Amy appeared to be a perfectly healthy little girl. That was the
good news. It was also the bad news. Because by the time we did begin
to realize that something was wrong, the tumor had invaded an entire
hemisphere of her brain."

She picked at the fringe on the throw. "We were told at the
outset
that it was inoperable and incurable. The doctors said even with
aggressive chemotherapy and radiation treatments her life could be
extended for a few weeks, perhaps a month or two, but not spared.

"Dutch and I elected not to put her through the grueling
treatments.
We took her home and had six relatively normal weeks with her. Then the
damn thing had a growth spurt. Symptoms appeared and progressed quickly
until one morning she couldn't swallow her orange juice. By lunch,
other systems had begun to shut down. She would have had supper in the
hospital, except that by then she had lapsed into coma. Early the
following morning, she stopped breathing, then her heart beat one last
time, and she was gone."

Her gaze slid over to him and then toward the flames. "We
donated
her body for medical research. We thought it might do some good, maybe
prevent other children from suffering the same rotten fate. Besides, I
couldn't bear the thought of sealing her inside a coffin. She was
afraid of the dark, you see. Wouldn't sleep without her night-light on.
It was a little translucent angel, wings spread like a Christmas
herald. I still have it and burn it every night myself. Anyway, I
couldn't fathom putting her into the ground."

"We don't have to talk about it, Lilly."

"No, I'm all right," she said, blotting tears off her cheeks.

"I shouldn't have brought it up."

"I'm glad you did. It's actually good for me to talk about
her,
about
Amy
. My grief counselor emphasized how
healthy it is
for me to talk about it and to refer to Amy by name." She met his
steady gaze. "Curiously, after she died, few people would talk to me
about her. Without quite looking me in the eye, they made euphemistic
references to my 'loss,' my 'sorrow,' my 'period of bereavement,' but
no one spoke Amy's name out loud. I guess they thought they were
sparing me sadness by avoiding the subject, when actually I needed to
talk about her."

"What about Dutch?"

"What about him?"

"How did he deal with it?"

"What do the gossips say?"

"That he developed a fondness for whiskey."

She snuffled a humorless laugh. "The gossips of Cleary are
nothing
if not accurate. Yes, he began drinking excessively. It began affecting
his work. He started making blunders, which were dangerous to himself
and his partners. He became unreliable. He had his hand slapped a few
times, then was formally reprimanded, then demoted, which caused him to
slip into a deeper funk, which caused him to drink more. It became
a
vicious downward spiral. Ultimately he was fired.

"Just today he said that if it hadn't been for Amy, our
marriage
would have lasted forever. Perhaps he's right. Death did part us.
Her
death. I'm afraid we became a cliche, the couple whose marriage
couldn't withstand the tragedy of losing a child. We were never the
same. Not as a couple and not as individuals."

She looked from the embers to Tierney. "Did I omit anything?
Do the
die-hard busybodies know the terms of our divorce settlement?"

"They're working on it. In any case, they're glad to have
Dutch back
among them."

"What do they say about me?"

He gave a dismissive shrug.

"Come on, Tierney. I've got a thick skin. I can take it."

"They say that you insisted on the divorce. Demanded it."

"Making me a coldhearted bitch if ever there was one."

"I haven't heard it put quite that way."

"But close, I'm sure. I would expect the Clearyans to side
with
their hometown boy." She stared into the fire again, speaking her
thoughts aloud as they came to her. "Divorcing Dutch wasn't a decision
I made out of anger or spite. It was for my own survival. His failure
to recover from Amy's death was preventing
my
recovery."

She willed Tierney to understand what no one else seemed able
to
grasp. "I had become his crutch. It was easier for him to lean on me
than to get professional help and heal himself. He became a liability I
could no longer carry and still move forward with my own life. It
wasn't a healthy relationship for either of us. We're better off
without one another. Although Dutch still refuses to accept that the
marriage is over."

"Understandable."

She reacted as though he'd jabbed her with the red-hot tip of
the
fireplace poker. "Excuse me?"

"Can you blame him for being confused?"

"Why would he be confused?"

"Any man would be. You divorced him. No, you demanded a
divorce. Yet
tonight, when you got in trouble, he was the first person you called."

"I explained why I called him."

"But it still amounts to sending an ex-husband mixed signals."

She had made clear her reason for calling Dutch for help. Why
should
she care whether Tierney believed her? She told herself she didn't, but
actually his criticism stung. She glanced down at her wristwatch
without really registering the time. "It's getting late."

"You're angry."

"No, I'm tired." She pulled her handbag off the coffee table
and
onto her lap, then began rifling through it.

"I spoke out of turn."

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "Yes,
Tierney. You
did."

Rather than being conciliatory and apologetic, which she
expected,
he spoke tightly. "Well, too damn bad, Lilly. Want to know why I've
stayed on this hearth instead of joining you on the sofa? Want to know
why I did nothing to comfort you, didn't come up there and hold you,
while you cried over Amy? Only because I'm as confused as Dutch seems
to be over how you feel about him."

She opened her mouth to speak but found no words. Lowering her
gaze,
she fiddled with the clasp of her handbag. "I don't want Dutch back in
my life," she said slowly. "Not in any capacity. But I suppose my
feelings are ambiguous. I wish him well. He was a football hero, you
know. Usually scored the touchdown that cinched the win. That's what I
wish for him now."

"A touchdown?"

"A big score. This job in Cleary has given him a fresh start.
He has
an opportunity to reestablish himself as a good cop. More than anything
I want him to succeed here."

"More than anything," Tierney repeated thoughtfully. "That's a
strong statement."

"And I mean it."

"Then I suppose you would help him any way you could to ensure
his
success."

"Absolutely. Unfortunately, there's really nothing I can do."

"You may be surprised."

With that cryptic statement, he got up, muttered something
about
needing to be excused, and walked through the bedroom, presumably
heading for the bathroom.

Lilly watched him go, feeling out of sorts and a bit let down,
as
though her therapist had cut her appointment short, leaving her with
more to say. She was glad that Tierney already knew about Amy, putting
them past the difficult part. It was a clumsy topic to introduce into
conversation with someone you were just getting to know. You didn't
just announce it, although she was often tempted to in order to avoid
the inevitable
Do you have children
? Which led to
the
necessary explanation, followed by the mandatory
Oh, I'm so
sorry,
I didn't know
. Which made the other party feel awkward and
embarrassed.

At least she and Tierney had skipped that uncomfortable
exchange.
She'd also appreciated his not blathering a lot of platitudes or asking
a lot of questions about how she'd felt about it when how she'd felt
about it should have been obvious. He was an exceptionally good
listener.

But his preoccupation with Dutch and her present relationship
with
him was beginning to grate. Dutch was no longer a factor in her life.
But apparently Tierney wasn't convinced of that.

And if he'd wanted to know how she would react if he took her
in his
arms and held her, why hadn't he done so and found out, instead of
using Dutch as an excuse not to?

"You've been plowing through that purse for five minutes." He
was
back. She hadn't realized he was standing at the end of the sofa,
watching her, until he spoke. "What are you looking for?"

"My medication."

"Medication?"

"For asthma. I picked it up at Ritt's yesterday. He, by the
way,"
she said sourly, "is the worst offender when it comes to gossip. While
I was there yesterday to pick up a prescription refill, William Ritt
asked a dozen leading questions about Dutch and me, our divorce, the
sale of this place. He even asked how much we got for it. Can you
believe that?

"Maybe he was just being friendly, but I can't help
thinking… that…
uh…" Distracted by the search through her handbag, she let
her voice
trail off. Impatiently, she upended the handbag and dumped everything
in it onto the coffee table.

There was the makeup bag where she'd found the manicure
scissors
earlier, her wallet and checkbook, a pack of tissues, a roll of breath
mints, cell phone charger, security pass for her office building in
Atlanta, key ring, sunglasses, hand soap.

Everything was there except what she needed.