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"Spices were here, I believe," I said, opening the cabinet right by the stove. I was hoping Carrie wouldn't take this wrong, and she didn't, being above all a sensible woman.
Luckily, Becca Whitley (I assumed) had given the apartment a thorough cleaning after the O'Hagens moved out. All we had to do was put things in what we considered a logical place. After Carrie and I had worked a while, we took a break and had a Coke. Leaning against the counters in companionable weariness, we exchanged smiles.
"They carried everything down without a problem, but I guess the unpacking is woman's work," Carrie said wryly. She lowered her voice. "What's this Tom David was trying to start trouble with?" We could still hear men's voices in the living room, but we didn't know who'd gone and who'd come in.
"I'm ..." To my horror, I could feel myself turning red, and I had to look off into the distance.
"Are you all right?" Carrie asked. She got her doctor look on.
"Yes." I took a breath. "I'm seeing the new man at Winthrop's Sporting Goods." For an awful minute I could not remember Jack's cover name. "Jared Fletcher."
"The one who lives here in the apartments? The one with the lips and the hair?"
I nodded, gri
"How'd you meet him?"
"I went in to buy some weight-lifting gloves," I said, sifting through the weeks past to find something believable.
"That's romantic," Carrie said.
I looked at her sharply to see if she was teasing me, but she was dead serious.
"Didn't I see him at the hospital the night of the bombing?" She said doubtfully.
Now, that was before I'd officially met Jack. But Carrie didn't know that, didn't know when I'd bought my new gloves. This was so complicated. I hated telling lies, especially to one of my few friends.
"Yes," I said.
"He came to see about you?"
I nodded, figuring that was a little better than trying to sort partial truth from fiction.
"Oh, wow," Carrie said, all dewy-eyed.
As if on cue, I heard a familiar voice from the living room.
"Hey, I hear you deserted us upstairs. There must be a secret benefit to living down here!" Jack said heartily.
Claude's response was less audible, but I heard the word "beer" clearly.
"I just may do that," Jack answered. "I've been working all day and I could use some liquid refreshment. Speaking of which, I picked up this bottle for your housewarming."
"Thank you, neighbor," Claude said, more audibly. He must have turned his head toward a moving Jack. "You'll have to come share it with me when I open it."
Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing his red sweatshirt with the Winthrop logo and his leather jacket. He betrayed his surprise at finding me there only by a widening of his eyes.
"Lily," he said, and kissed me on the cheek. His hand groped for mine, squeezed it hard for a moment, released it. "The chief says you have some loose beer in here."
I pointed at the refrigerator. Carrie beamed at Jack and extended a hand.
"I'm so glad to meet you. I'm Carrie Thrush."
"The good doctor Thrush. I've heard great things about you," Jack said. "I'm Jared Fletcher. New man in town." He was smiling genuinely. He set a bottle of bourbon on the counter, Claude's homecoming gift, and opened the refrigerator to extract a beer.
"You'll have to bring Lily down for supper some night. Maybe she and I can collaborate on cooking and you and Claude can evaluate the result," Carrie said cheerfully.
"Tom David told on us, Jared," I said, trying to speak lightly. But I haven't done that in a long time, and it came out sounding very u
"That would be great, Carrie," Jack said smoothly. He looked at me to tell me he'd gotten my message: the little cabal was having conversations about us.
"Lily brought Claude some bread and some lasagna," Carrie said, pushing my praiseworthy aspects.
"Did you, baby?" Jack looked at me, and if there was a flash of heat in his eyes, there was none in his voice.
Baby? I was trying to imagine double-dating with Carrie and Claude. I was trying to imagine everything being straightforward, Jack really working at Winthrop's Sporting Goods, having no other agenda than making a living. I would just be a maid, and he would just sell workout equipment... We'd date, go out on real dates, during which no one would get shot. We'd never hit each other, or even want to.
"Claude took care of me when I got hurt last spring," I said, suddenly feeling very tired. I didn't owe Jack an explanation, but I needed to say something.
"You got hurt..." Jack began, his eyes narrowing.
"Old story. Go out there and have your beer, sugar," I said dismissively, and gave him what I hoped was a loverlike shove to the uninjured shoulder. He righted himself after a tense second and stalked into the living room.
"Did I catch some undercurrent there?" Carrie asked.
"Yeah, well, nothing's easy," I muttered.
"Not with you, anyway," she said, but her voice was gentle.
"Actually, in this case, it's him," I told her grimly.
"Hmmm. You think this is going to work out?"
"Who knows?" I said, exasperated. "Let's get this kitchen done."
"It hardly seems right for you to work so hard, Lily. You spend all week cleaning and arranging other people's things. Why don't you go sit out there and have some down time?"
With Claude and Jack and Tom David? "Not on your life," I told her, and finished placing pots and pans in the cabinet.
We worked on the bedroom next, sliding all the drawers back into their correct position, rearranging the clothes in the closet. I polished all the furniture after I found the cleaning supplies, and I quickly stowed away the bathroom things while Carrie set Claude's desk to rights in the second bedroom.
Then I was through, and I knew it was time for me to leave. Carrie would have to be helping Claude do personal things, I supposed; he would be tired.
He was, in fact, asleep on the couch. All the men had left except Jack, who had opened a box of books and was shelving them in the low bookcase. He'd gathered up all the beer bottles and put them in a plastic garbage bag. He half-turned as he heard my steps, smiled at me, and pushed a dictionary into place. It all seemed so pleasant and normal. I didn't know what attitude to take. He'd severed our co
I knelt by him, and he turned and kissed me, his hand going to the back of my neck. It was a kiss that started out to be short and ended up to be long.
"Damn," he breathed, moving back from me.
"Gotta go," I said very quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeper.
"Yeah, me, too," he whispered, standing and stretching. "I need to listen to today's tape." He patted his jacket pocket.
"Jack," I said in his ear, "if Howell won't call the law, you have to. You'll get in awful trouble." It was an idea that had consumed any extra minute I'd had during the day. I darted a glance at "the law," sound asleep on the couch. "Promise me," I whispered. I looked straight into his hazel eyes.
"Are you scared?" he breathed.
I nodded. "For you," I told him.
He stared at me. "I'll talk to Howell tomorrow," he said.
I smiled at him, rubbed my knuckles against his cheek in a caress. " ‘Bye," I whispered, and tiptoed out Claude's door.
I pulled on my coat in the hall, zipping the front and pulling my hood up. It was really cold, biting cold; the temperature would be well below freezing tonight. I wouldn't be able to walk even if I needed to. But after extracting Jack's promise I felt very relaxed. It might not take me too long to sleep.
Just to make sure, I walked the four streets around the arboretum twice, very briskly, and then took the trails through the trees. When I emerged onto Track Street, it was full dark. My feet were feeling numb and my hands were chilled despite my gloves.