Water from Stone - a Novel (17 page)

Jack thinks back to the “anniversary” night. “And then, she gave me her picture, all wrapped up like a present. You know, one of those beauty shots. I mean, she didn’t say anything, but I got the impression she thinks I’m supposed to pack away all of Lindsey’s photos and put hers out. I’ve known her a month!”

“Was that before or after you fucked again?” Mortuary John asks, taking the bottle from the waiter’s hand and enjoying a long swallow.

“I didn’t say we fucked again,” Jack points out.

Mortuary John laughs and grabs a new rib. “Dude, you don’t have to say it. What you gonna do after she set up this nice evening for you? Send her home? Nah, you gotta love her a bit, get into the groove. Man, it’s like right there, waiting for you, all nice and clean and powdered fresh, just itching for you to get back inside. And I’m sure after a couple of bottles of wine, some good food, that kind of woman knows how to put a man to bed, a hot bedtime story, tuck him in, send him nighty-night with a smile on his face…”

Jack flashes on the memory of Caroline as she rode his tongue to climax. He is pretty sure he had been smiling. He groans and rubs his face. “What am I gonna do?” he asks.

“First, let me ask you something. You like this lady, right?”

“Yeah, I do. I just don’t want a relationship and, apparently, she does. Do you know, she’s been going to my trials for years, keeping up on me?”

“Now that’s scary.” Mortuary John takes a swig of his beer, wipes his mouth. “Uh-huh, that’s like stalking or something.”

“No, no, not like that. I mean, she was a kid, wanted to be a lawyer and started hanging around the courthouse. She caught one of my first trials. Anyway, it’s kind of flattering.”

“Uh-huh.” John doesn’t appear to be convinced.

“I mean it. Remember Sherri, in the beginning? Didn’t you tell me she’d be hanging out, watching you play ball, before you ever met her?”

“Still, courthouses and all, it doesn’t sound right.”

“OK, but Caroline’s not the kind to hang out on a basketball court. She gets off on trials. But, yeah, I really like her. I just don’t know how to keep things cool when I get the feeling she’s already planning the honeymoon.”

Mortuary John cocks an eye at him. “Listen, Jack, I’m not getting all psychological and crap on you, but here’s a little advice. Women aren’t that good at just saying what they want. They kind of come at things from the side. Like she did with that whole anniversary thing and all. They’re sneaky that way.”

“Lindsey wasn’t like that.”

“Jack, honey, there ain’t no one like Lindsey. She was a class act from day one without even trying. I’m sorry to tell you that, but if you want to go on, see what else is out there, you gotta accept that right from the start.”

Jack sighs, nods a little.

“So, you’ve got this lady. She’s all hot and bothered, she’s had her eye on you for awhile. You like her, but you don’t know if you want it to go anywhere. The thing is, you’ve got to understand where her head is. Man, you’re still wearing your wedding ring. You’re jumping her left, right and center and all the time, her head’s on the ring. Like you’re still married and she’s just a piece on the side.”

Jack looks down at his hand. It has never occurred to him to remove the band. Just the idea of it leaves him cold. “But…”

“No, man, no buts about it. On top of making her insecure, you’re disrespecting her.”

“That never occurred to me.”

“That’s OK, baby, that’s OK. You’ll learn. The thing is, she’s just reacting. She’s pushing for validation. You got to give her a little and maybe she’ll stop pushing so hard.”

“Shit. You’re right.”

“’Course I am. Ain’t a woman Mortuary John couldn’t handle.”

“Asshole. Sherri’s holding your balls so tight, I’m surprised you’re not singing soprano.”

“Yeah, but they’re happy balls, real happy balls.”

“OK, so what am I going to do?”

“There ain’t nothing to do. Hey there, grab a rib, no sense in wasting good food on this. Listen. She’s got you in her sights. You can take that for granted. But she thinks she’s good. She doesn’t know that you know, you know what I mean? So you just sit back and enjoy it. Take her out, fuck her brains out, enjoy it. You say you like her. She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s classy, and she can screw like hell. So? You enjoy it. Then, if she doesn’t get sick of you first and you find you want out, you break it off gently. Remember, she still the boss’s granddaughter, so you gotta do it gently, like it’s her choice, but you break it off right the very second before it looks like she’s gonna be expecting a ring.” He pauses a minute, licks his fingers. “A girl like that, I say you’ve got about five more months of truly outstanding sex.”

Thirty-Four

Mar.

“No, sweetheart, no more reading. It’s way past your bedtime.”

“Please, Mommy?” Which came out more like “pweeze, Mommy?” because, at three, she still has that slight lisp that drives Mar crazy with love every time she hears it.

Mar bites back a smile. Lizzie has learned quickly that opening her big blue eyes at Mar and calling her “Mommy” will, more often than not, get her just about anything. Spoiled? Probably. But Lizzie is also a sweet and kind child who has a strong sense of empathy for others. “No, baby. We’ve already read way past your bedtime. Now lie down and go to sleep.”

Lizzie cocks her head and seems to weigh the finality of her mother’s words. Apparently, she decides that Mar is serious because she drops down in her crib and curls into a ball. Within minutes, she is sound asleep and Mar shakes her head, wondering again at how Fate has given her so much. Reaching into the crib to pull the blanket up over the little girl’s shoulders, Mar suddenly notices that Lizzie has outgrown her bed. It takes her breath away. When had it happened? When had she grown so tall? Mar looks around the room and realizes that the entire room is too young for her daughter. Her interests extend beyond the little lambs and bunnies Mar had painted on the walls when Lizzie had first come to her. A smile plays at her lips as she begins to envision redecorating the room.

The next morning, Diane finds Mar up in Lizzie’s room, emptying her drawers, packing up her toys.

“Hey, there. What are you doing?”

“Hey, Dee. I didn’t hear you come in. I don’t think I put coffee on, either. Sorry. I’m going to paint the room, get some new furniture. Last night, when I was putting her to bed, the room suddenly looked too young for her. She’s getting so big, I didn’t even realize it.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to do in here?”

“Lizzie wants fish.”

“Fish? Like One Fish, Two Fish? Something like that?”

“No. Like dolphins. She’s got a thing lately about dolphins.”

“Dolphins?”

Mar looks up. “Well, that’s what she said she wanted.”

“And how are you going to do that? Paint the dolphins?”

“I was thinking I could do a kind of underwater scene, maybe a blue carpet?”

“Underwater? Isn’t that an issue with you?”

Mar falls into the glider, begins rubbing her eyes, moving back and forth. “Yeah, I spent the whole morning trying to talk her out of it. I told her we could do a princess theme, you know, castles, lots of pink, purple. But, noooooo, not Lizzie. Miss Lizzie wants dolphins.”

“And, what Miss Lizzie wants, Miss Lizzie gets.”

“OK. But, look, the nightmare thing has been going on too long and it’s stupid. Besides, I’m over it.”

“Over what? Over Joaquin? Max, Kevin? The nightmares?”

“All of it. All of them. I’ve moved on and I feel much better about it.”

Diane leans against the door frame. “I guess if it bothers you, you can always paint over it.”

Mar stands up and begins to shove toys into one of the garbage bags she’s brought up for the purpose, “No, I’m serious, Diane. I’ve got a great life. I do what I want when I want, I’ve got a great kid, I’m not out flipping burgers or, god forbid, plucking chickens for a living. One day, maybe, I’ll meet a great guy whose life fits with mine. Meanwhile, though, my daughter wants dolphins, she’ll get dolphins. Besides, it’s still spring. Every little girl should get a new room in the spring.”

“Is that more of Life-According-to-Mar?”

“Damn straight.”

“Okay. What can I do?”

Mar points to the night stand. “The lamp. I think we’ll keep it, dress it up a bit. Can you take it into the family room?”

Diane stops in the doorway. “You know,” she says, “we could drape this in pearls, maybe, something like that.”

“Hot damn, you’re good!” Mar’s grin reaches its full wattage and Diane finally smiles as if she just might believe that Mar truly has moved on.

Thirty-Five

Jack.

They are eating in again. The Venco case, Jack’s first big case in years, is a monster. It feels so good to be back in the game and, while he is pretty sure the reprieve had come directly from Jeremiah Carruthers as a favor to his granddaughter, Caroline won’t admit to it and Jack doesn’t push her. He is just so damn sick of wills and he knows that if he doesn’t fuck it up, he’ll be able to use this case as a stepping stone to rebuilding his career. Caroline, for her part, has been amazing through it all. After long hours working in family law, she’s been helping him keep up with the massive amounts of paperwork the case generates. Without her, he would have drowned in it months ago. And that has been in addition to all the help she’s been giving him in his quest to find Mia.

Jack hangs up the phone after placing their take-out order and decides that they deserve a glass of wine. He uncorks a bottle of Duck Horn and fills two glasses, his mind churning through the possibility of forcing Venco to the table without months of litigation. It is a long shot but, if he can pull it off, the families affected by the contamination will get the help they need while there remains a chance that medical intervention might do them any good.

Jack carries the glasses back to the living room. “Here you go. Oh,” he smiles. She is curled up at the end of the sofa, asleep. He sets the glasses down and pulls a throw over her. God, she looks so young and innocent. It is a side of her he rarely gets to see. The Caroline he knows is one very determined lady. She certainly has her soft spots, but she hoards them jealously, almost protectively. He kisses her forehead.

“Don’t go,” Caroline mumbles when he turns to leave. “I’m awake.”

Jack pushes her tousled hair back from her forehead and smiles down at her. “No, Caro, rest awhile. At least until the food gets here.”

She sighs and smiles and Jack notices the deep smudges under her eyes. He probably has them himself, but on her, against her delicate features, they look dramatic, raw. “You’re working too hard. You should take some time off.”

She chuckles and looks up at him, her eyes a smoky gray. “My boss won’t let me. He’s a total prig, you know.”

“Is he?”

“Oh, yes. Total. Works me like a dog and expects me to screw him on top of it.”

“Terrible.”

“It is. I’ll probably have to call the E.E.O.C. on him.”

“Will you?”

“Mm-hmm. Absolutely.”

“When?”

“When? When will I call the E.E.O.C.?”

“No, when does he expect you to screw him?”

“Oh. Well, all the time.”

“At work, even?”

“Oh, absolutely at work. He says it unblocks his creativity.”

“You poor girl.”

“Yes, well, I suffer quietly. And often.”

“Maybe I should speak to him.”

“No, he’s not the type to listen. He uses me, abuses me and then someday he’ll throw me out, find someone he wants to marry.”

Jack sobers immediately. There it is again. She’s been dropping hints, they’ve even argued about it. He isn’t ready but, apparently, she thinks it is past time he asks her to marry him. Hell, maybe it is. Maybe he should have listened to John and gotten out months ago. “Caroline,” he begins miserably.

“Jesus, Jack, I’m kidding. It was a joke.” She comes off the couch and heads for his bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower. Call me when the food gets here.”

Jack watches her go. Shit. She really deserves better.

Thirty-Six

Mar.

Mar is in the kitchen baking a cake for Diane’s birthday. She put Lizzie to bed hours ago. After almost three months, Lizzie’s room is finally finished. What had started out as a simple redecoration had turned into a major affair including the design and construction of custom furniture made to fit the sea castle theme, the research and detailing of the reefs and fish that adorn the walls, and painting a cartoon Lizzie gleefully riding atop a dolphin. Earlier in the day, Mar had let the little girl back into her room to see the finished product and the excitement of finally sleeping in her new bed had been too much for her. She had run in and out of the pearl cascade that drapes her doorway, laughed delightedly as the pearls had swished around her, caught in her hair, clacked together musically. Dancing around the room, she had pointed at different fish and sea creatures and asked Mar, “What’s that? What’s that?” The first couple of times Mar had laughed, happy that her daughter was so excited. By the third or fourth time around, though, Lizzie had begun to get cranky but had still been too wired to settle down and Mar had had enough. In the end, she had climbed into the new water bed  with Lizzie and told her a story about a mermaid princess who had stolen an evil witch’s rare black pearl. About the time Mar was running out of plot twists, Lizzie had finally drifted off to sleep.

“Hello?” Mar answers the phone. “Oh, hi, Dad. How are you?” Mar takes the cake out of the oven and closes the door. After setting it on the counter to cool, she takes her glass of wine to the table and curls up for a long chat with her father.

About fifteen minutes into the call, Mar pauses, “Hold on a minute, Dad, I think I hear Lizzie.” She cocks her head and focuses her attention on any noises coming from upstairs. “No, nothing, sorry. She was just so excited, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to get up again.”

“She can’t roll out of the bed, can she?” Don’s voice sounds worried. “You used to fall out of bed all the time and I’d find you curled up on the floor in the morning.”

“No, it’s got a rail so she can’t roll out. She can climb out, though, so I’m sure as soon as she figures that out, I won’t ever be able to sleep again. Hold on, Dad, there’s that noise again.”

Mar walks over to the bottom of the stairs where she finds Picasso looking up worriedly. “What’s up, girl?” she asks and, in answer, the dog whines. “Dad? Look, I’ve got to call you back. I think Lizzie’s up.”

“I’ll hold on. You run and check.”

“You sure? I’ll just be…”she begins when she hears a loud crash. “Oh, shit! Lizzie?” Mar drops the phone and runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Lizzie? Baby?” she calls out ahead of her.

“Mommy?” Lizzie cries. “Mooommmmmy!”

In her hurry, Mar forgets about the safety gate on the second floor landing and, in the darkened stairwell, she doesn’t see it. She hits it at full sprint and goes flying over it, crashing into the wall beyond. Stunned, she lies in a tangle, wondering where the hell she is. A small whimper brings her back to the present. “Lizzie? Mommy’s coming, honey. Where are you?”

Mar drags herself up. She feels lightheaded and out of breath and leans against the wall until her vision clears. Holding her spinning head, she hurries into Lizzie’s room and tries to find her by the light cast by the lava lamp. “Lizzie?” she cries when she finds the little girl’s bed empty. She flips on the wall switch and looks around. Empty.

Down the hall, she finds her room and the family room also empty. Frantic, she moves into the bathroom and tears back the shower curtain. Picasso, meanwhile, has shoved through the child gate that Mar’s crash had loosened and has headed up the stairs.