“No excuses,” she said.
“None.”
She whispered, “Listen, John, either we stop right now, or … we don’t.” It sounded stupid, once she heard it replay in her head.
“Whatever happens, happens,” he said, still kissing her. “And we give it the best chance it has. No excuses, no fear.”
She said, “Who’da thought?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Matthews.”
“I imagine so.” She added, “What are the chances you might call me by my first name, Romeo?”
“None.” He opened his arms and embraced her. Peace and excitement washed through her.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered into his ear.
“Mind reader.”
She sputtered a nervous laugh.
He grabbed her hand.
Easing off the stool and into his arms, she said softly, “What are we doing?”
“Living. What’s so wrong with that?”
Old Friends
The Great Lady inhabited the same wicker throne, a twinkle to her dark eyes that nearly hid behind the mass of flesh as she smiled at Boldt. Dumpling soup. Crispy beef with pea pods.
Egg-fried rice with gulf shrimp.
“You like, Mr. Both?”
“Tasty. Better than ever,” he said.
“Why eyes so sad? You clear up Billy Chen. He make no mistake on job. Prove again what great friend you are to an old lady.”
“Friendships are complicated. You helped me out, too.”
“You got woman problem.” Mama Lu made it a statement with no room for argument.
“I’ve got a wonderful wife I love and terrific kids, Great Lady.”
“You still got woman problem,” she said.
He laughed aloud. He thought it might have been the first time he’d ever laughed in her company, and he wondered if it was bad form. He apologized, excusing himself, just in case.
“You apologizing for laughing? You got it bad. Who is she?”
“It’s a he and she,” he admitted.
Again she clucked her tongue. “Only a fool suffers another man’s pleasure.”
He considered this, nodded, and said, “And sometimes a fool has to hear things from a friend to get it right.”
She smacked her lips and picked at her teeth, and for a moment he feared she might take out her teeth. This monster of flesh trained her dark, beady eyes onto him and he withered beneath her gaze. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he had a relationship with this woman.
“People change, Mr. Both. Maybe laws don’t change, but people do. Not good confuse the two.”
He heard himself admit to her, “I love them both separately, it’s together I’m having a hard time.”
“There you go again, face like a dog,” she said, studying him from the far side of a loaded pair of chopsticks. She waited a long time before speaking. Not a grain of rice fell from her grip.
She said, “Hearts of gold never break. Bend, sure. Gold soft.
But never break.” She ate the rice and spoke through the food.
“You have good heart, Mr. Both. Heart of gold.”
When he left, a half hour later, Boldt kissed her hand. It was the first time he’d touched the woman, and she clearly appreciated the gesture.
Back in the Crown Vic, he put on a Chieftains tape and cranked the volume. A plaintive Irish ballad sung by Van Mor-rison. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” Van the Man crooned, and Boldt hummed along, swept up by his emotions.
He had memories of Liz in his head, not Daphne, and this felt absolutely right to him.
He burped and thought Mama Lu would have appreciated that more than a kiss on the hand.
He drove home, his thumb keeping the song’s slow rhythm on the steering wheel. The melody rose from his throat to his lips as he formed the lyrics and began singing loudly. He couldn’t wait to get home.
Life’s No Picnic
The houseboat stood empty, its hardwood floor gleaming clean because Daphne Matthews was not the kind of person to sell a house and leave it dirty. John had known this moment would hurt, and he’d offered to join her, but she’d made this pilgrimage alone.
She couldn’t leave without tears, and she’d wanted to be alone to suffer them in private. So much of her adult life had passed through these doors, even if limited in terms of years.
She’d both found herself here and lost herself here-several times, if she were being honest-and parting came hard. The lump in her throat practically stopped her from breathing. It had been more than a house, a home-this place had been a friend that had suffered her complaints, her joys, and two failed engagements. They knew each other. Yet she didn’t want to live the next chapter here.
Her cell phone rang-a new number-and she fished it from her purse, checking the caller-ID before she answered it. Seeing the number on the screen filled her with purpose and joy. She felt especially glad that it wasn’t John calling. He’d kept his word about giving her this time here. She hardly recognized the guy anymore. What on earth was she getting herself into?
She answered, the caller-ID having alerted her that it was her attorney. Quick hellos, a brief amount of small talk. Bursting with curiosity, Matthews asked, “Did you speak with the judge?”
“I did.”
“Has he made a determination?”
“There are waiting periods.”
“But the relatives declined custody.” They’d been through this so many times. It seemed so simple to Matthews. Why did the courts get involved and make it so complicated? She had butterflies. She wanted an answer. She knew she might lose John if this came to pass, and that worried her. A part of her questioned the wisdom in losing the one thing currently working in her life. She was happy for the first time in a long, long time.
“Yes, but a further search for blood relations must be made.
We’ll have to petition the court again on your behalf, and I’d be remiss if I encouraged you about the outcome.”
“And in the meantime?”
“State custody.”
“Which means exactly what, after the hospital stay, the in-cubators?”
“An institution for the waiting period. A foster home if she’s lucky after that while the paperwork makes her available.”
“Can I visit her?”
“In all likelihood.”
“And if I’m first in line for adoption?” She felt like reminding her attorney she’d handled an illegal adoption case a few years back. She knew a lot more about providing a good home than anybody would ever know.
“The watchword right now is patience, Daphne.”
“Patience,” Matthews repeated into the phone. She pulled the front door of the houseboat shut angrily, and it
