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“You’re right,” I say. “That must be just a rumor. Well, I better go. Don’t want to be late!”
“No,” Reggie agrees gravely. “Not you.”
“See you later! Stay warm!” I wave cheerfully, then duck around the corner onto Washington Square West. Phew! That was close. I can’t believe word about what happened last night has already reached the drug dealers. I wonder if it will make Page Six. Thank God the Greeks don’t have a sign-in policy. I’d be in so much trouble at work if it got out I’d been there… .
When I walk through the front door of Fischer Hall at twenty of nine, Pete, who is at the security desk, nearly chokes on his bagel.
“What happened?” he asks, with mock worry. “Is it the end of times?”
“Very fu
“Yeah,” Pete says. “But never early.”
“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,” I say.
“And maybe I’ll get a raise this year,” Pete says. Then laughs heartily at his own joke.
I make a face at him, check in with the student front desk worker to collect the briefing forms from the night before, and head to my office. I see, to my relief, that the outer door is closed and locked. Yes! I’m the first one in! Won’t Tom be surprised when he sees me!
I strip off my coat and hat, then head to the caf for coffee and a bagel. Magda, I’m happy to see, is back at her regular post. She looks better than she has all week. Her eye shadow is fluorescent pink, her hair standing its normal six inches off her forehead, and her eyeliner is unsmudged and black as coal. She smiles at me when I come in.
“There she is,” she cries. “My little pop star. Did you miss your Magda?”
“Yes, I did,” I say. “Have a good day off?”
“I did,” Magda says, growing sober. “I needed it. You know what I mean? It was nice not to think about this place—and what happened here—for a change.” She heaves a shudder, then, as two students come up behind me, cries, in a completely different voice, “Oh, look. Here come two of my movie stars. Good morning, little movie stars!”
The students eye her uneasily as she runs their meal cards—which double as their IDs—through her sca
“Um, when I was there yesterday, not so good,” I say. “But when I left last night, I heard he’d been moved out of the ICU and was being listed as stable.”
“Good,” Magda says. “And the police still haven’t caught the people who did it to him?”
“No,” I say. I’m tempted to tell MagdaI have a pretty good idea who they were. But I need to see how Tom’s date went first. “But I’m sure they’re working on it.”
Magda scowls. “They aren’t working to find who killed little Lindsay,” she says. “Three days it’s been, and no arrest. It’s because she’s a girl,” she adds, glumly resting her chin in her hands. “If it were a man’s head they found in there, they’d have someone under arrest already. The police don’t care what happens to girls. Especially girls like Lindsay.”
“Magda, that’s not true,” I assure her. “They’re working as hard as they can. I’m sure they’ll be making an arrest soon. I mean, they got snowed in yesterday, just like you did.”
But Magda just looks skeptical. I realize it’s futile to try to change her mind when she’s so convinced she’s right. So I get my bagel—with cream cheese and bacon, of course—and cocoa-coffee and return to my desk.
I’m sitting there wondering who Tad Tocco is and why he wants me to call him—he has a New York College office extension—when Tom stumbles sleepily into the office, looking surprised to see me.
“Whoa,” he says. “Is this an illusion?”
“No,” I say. “It’s really me. I’m here on time.”
“You’re here early.” Tom shakes his head. “Will miracles never cease?”
“So.” I’m watching him carefully. “How’d it go? With Coach Andrews, I mean.”
He’s pulling out his keys to unlock his office door, but I see the swift, secret smile before he can hide it.
“Fine,” he says tonelessly.
“Oh, right,” I say. “Come on. Spill.”
“I don’t want to jinx it,” Tom says. “Seriously, Heather, I have a tendency to rush into things. And I’m not doing that this time. I’m just not.”
“So… ” I study him. “If you’re going to take things slow with him, that means things must have gone pretty well.”
“They went great,” Tom says. He can’t hide his smile anymore. “Steve’s just… well, he’s amazing. But like I said, we’re taking things slow.”
We. He’d already started saying we.
I’m happy for him, of course. But a little bummed out for myself. Not because I’d like to be part of awe someday—though I would, naturally.
But because now I have to wonder just why Kimberly so obviously lied to me… I mean, unless Steven Andrews is as good an actor as Heath Ledger, which I sort of doubt.
Still, I can’t help but feel happy for Tom.
“So if you’re taking things slow,” I say, “that means you must be pla
He shrugs, blushing. “We’ll see,” he says. And goes into his office.
Which reminds me of something else. “So where’s Dr. Death? She coming in today?”
“No, thank God,” Tom says. “Counseling Services has decided that if any more students need to work with grief counselors, they can go across the park.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “Cheryl Haebig stopped by to see Dr. Kilgore a few too many times.”
“I think Cheryl nearly drove Dr. Kilgore to distraction,” Tom says happily. “My office is mine again. All mine! I’m going to the café to get a tray—a tray — and have breakfast at my desk.”
“Enjoy,” I say happily, thinking how nice it is to have a boss who thinks eating breakfast at his desk is totally appropriate in the workplace. I have really scored in the boss department with Tom. I’m glad he’s not going anywhere. At least, for now.
I am going over the briefing forms when Gavin appears, looking strangely uncomfortable.
“Um, hi, Heather,” he says, standing stiffly in front of my desk. “Is Tom around? I’m supposed to reschedule my alcohol counseling appointment.”
“Yeah, he’s here,” I say. “He just went into the café to grab something to eat. Have a seat. He should be right back.”
Gavin sits down on the couch next to my desk. But instead of sinking into it, his legs splayed apart obscenely, as he’s tended to do in the past, Gavin sits very straight in his seat, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He doesn’t mess around with the paper clips or McDonald’s Toy Story 2 action figures on my desk, the way he usually does, either.
I stare at him. “Gavin? Are you okay?”
“What?” He blinks at the Monet print on the wall, resolutely not looking at me. “Me? Sure, I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “You just seem sort of… distant.”
“I’m not being distant,” Gavin says. “I’m just giving you space.”
It’s my turn to blink. “You’re what?”
Finally, he looks at me.
“You know,” he says. “I’m giving you space. Your friend Cooper told me last night that you really need your space. So I’m trying to give it to you.”
Something cold passes over me. I think it’s foreboding.
“Wait,” I say. “Cooper told you I need space?”
“Yeah,” Gavin says with a nod. “Last night. When he was walking me back here. Which I didn’t need, by the way. I mean, I’m twenty-one years old. I don’t need anyone to escort me back to my dorm.”
“Residence hall,” I say. “And what else did Cooper tell you about me?”
“Well, you know.” Gavin shrugs uncomfortably and turns back to the Monet on the opposite wall. “That you were really, really hurt when his brother Jordan cheated on you, and that you were confused, and you’re still getting over the loss, and aren’t ready for any new romantic relationships—”
“WHAT?” I’ve risen to my feet. “He said what?”