Tough Customer

'Yeah.' That seemed to be the only word he was capable of uttering. How many Yeahs did that make now? Four? Five?

'I apologize for the hour,' she said. 'It's late here, and I realize it's an hour later in Atlanta. I mean, I assume you're still in Atlanta.'

'Yeah.' Six.

'How are you? Are you well?'

'Yeah.'

Shit! Had he forgotten the language? Find some other words for crissake! 'Uh, I'm okay. You know. Okay.'

He was okay except for a total brain shutdown, a heart rate that had shot off the charts, and a sudden inability to breathe. He groped for the ashtray among the clutter on his nightstand and laid the cigarette in it.

'That's good,' she said. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

Then neither of them said anything for so long that the silence began to hum.

Finally she said, 'Dodge, I never would have bothered you if not for ... I would never ask you for anything. I imagine you know that. But this is vitally important. Urgent.'

Jesus. She was sick. She was dying. She needed a liver, a kidney, his heart.

Plowing his fingers up through his hair, he cupped his forehead in his palm and, dreading the answer, asked, 'What's the matter? Are you sick?'

'Sick? No, no. Nothing like that.'

Relief made him weak. Then he got angry, because--just like that--he'd become emotionally invested. To counter his stupid susceptibility, he asked impatiently, 'Then why are you calling me?'

'I have a situation here that I don't know how to handle.'

'Situation?'

'Trouble.'

'What kind of trouble?'

'Can you come?'

'To Houston?' A place to which he swore he would never return. 'What for?'

'It's complicated.'

'What about your husband? Is it too complicated for him? Or is he the problem?'

A few seconds ticked by. Then, 'He passed away, Dodge. Several years ago.'

This news filled his ears, his head, with pressure. Her husband was dead. She was no longer married. He hadn't known, but then why would he? It wasn't like she would have sent him an announcement.

While his ears thrummed, he waited for her to say more about her husband's demise. When she didn't, he said, 'You still haven't told me the nature of this trouble.'

'The kind you specialize in.'

'That covers a lot of ground.'

'I don't want to go into it now, Dodge. Can I count on you to be here?'

'When do you need me?'

'As soon as you can get here. Will you come?'

Her stubborn refusal to be more specific pissed him off. 'Probably not.'

A hostile silence quivered between them. He picked up his cigarette again, inhaled deeply, blew it out. He wanted to hang up on her. Wished he would. Wished he could.

Quietly she said, 'I understand your reluctance to become involved. Truly I do.'

'Well, what did you expect, Caroline?'

'I don't know what I expected. I acted on impulse without thinking it through.'

'You call me in the middle of the freakin' night. You tell me shit, but I'm supposed to drop everything and come running to get you out of some kind of unspecified trouble?' He paused for effect, then said, 'Wait. Why is this sounding familiar to me? Is this sounding familiar to you?'

She responded exactly as he'd expected her to: with pique. 'I'm not asking you to help me, Dodge.'

'Well, good. Because--'

'It's Berry who's in trouble.'

'Looks like somebody actually cooks in here now.' Dodge sat down at Derek and Julie's breakfast table in their organized but well-used kitchen. 'Didn't used to.'

Derek laughed. 'I don't recall ever turning on the oven before Julie and I got married.' He lifted the coffeemaker carafe with an implied offer of some.

'Sure,' Dodge said. 'Two sugars. The real stuff.'

Derek carried over the mug of coffee along with the sugar bowl, a spoon, and a cloth napkin. Dodge fingered the fringe on the napkin's hem and looked at his employer with raised brows.

'Julie insists on cloth.'

Dodge snuffled as he scooped sugar into his mug. 'She actually use all those gizmos?'

Derek followed Dodge's gaze to the ceramic jug that held some of Julie's cooking utensils. 'Yep. They've got a gadget for everything. You wouldn't believe.'

'Where is she?'

'Upstairs throwing up.'

Dodge blew on his coffee and took a sip. 'That sucks.'

'No, she's actually glad about it.'

'She enjoys puking?'

'Morning sickness is a good sign. It means the embryo has latched on to the lining of her uterus, which creates all kinds of hormonal chaos, which causes the nausea, which--'

'Thank you,' Dodge grumbled into his coffee mug. 'I don't want to know anything about Julie's uterus. In fact, I'd just as soon keep the mysteries of human reproduction mysterious.'

'I thought I heard your voice.' Julie entered the kitchen and smiled at Dodge. She looked the picture of health despite her bout of nausea. 'It's awfully early for you to be up and about, isn't it? Especially on a Saturday.'

'Sounds like you've had a rough morning.'

'I don't mind so much. It'll pass soon, and the sickness is a good sign, the result of the embryo latching on.'

Derek laughed. 'We've been over that. Dodge doesn't want to hear any more.'

'Fair enough.' She asked if Derek had offered their guest something to eat to go with his coffee, and when he said no, she sliced him a piece of pound cake, which he accepted, knowing what a great cook she was.

Through his second bite, he mumbled, 'If I'd married you, I'd have gained twenty pounds by now.'

'Have you seen Derek naked lately?'

'Hey!' Her husband of six months smacked her on the fanny, then pulled her into