her are too strong; she'll have to face the tragedy in order to find out what happened to her family. That's when the healing process can begin. But the decision to face it must be hers, must come from within.”
“You couldn't even tell her that Kevin is out of danger?” Cecca had found that out from Eileen's brother earlier. And thank God for that much, at least.
“No. Not until she's ready to accept the rest of it.”
Cecca drove from the hospital to Better Lands. Work, the universal panacea. The Hagopians, minus their two children, were waiting for her—willing and eager to make a $250,000 offer on the Messner property in Brookside Park, just as she'd anticipated.
She cared and she didn't care; mainly it gave her something involving to do. She took longer than usual preparing the offer sheet, going over the disclosure statement and other documents with them. Their credit appeared to be very good. And they intended to make a down payment of $135,000, thanks to the sale of a home they'd owned in Salina and to a cash loan from Mrs. Hagopian's father; financing for the balance shouldn't be a problem. If Elliot cooperated, it ought to be a done deal.
She reached Elliot at the university right after the Hagopians left. He seemed delighted; and he wasn't bothered by the size of the offer. “I was afraid I had an albatross on my neck,” he said. “Of course I'd like a little more than two-fifty. I don't suppose these people would go two-sixty-five?”
“I doubt it,” Cecca said. “Two fifty seemed to be about their maximum.”
“Well, let me think about it for a couple of hours. I have a one o'clock class, but I can cut it short. I could be at your office around two.”
“Fine.”
“You're a wizard, Francesca. Nobody else could have sold that pile of mine so quickly.”
Right. A backward ten-year-old could have sold that pile to the Hagopians. But she said, “It was a pleasure. I'll see you at two.”
Elliot arrived at five minutes past. The first thing he did was to grab her by the shoulders and hug her. She endured it stiffly; casual hugs, casual touching—especially by men—had always turned her off. When he let go of her and stepped back, grinning in his bearish way, she could see the heat in his eyes. It annoyed her—more than it would have under better circumstances. It wasn't exactly sexual harassment, but this was a business office and theirs was a business relationship, and it was plain that he was thinking of her as a woman, how her body had felt fitted against his. Did he leer at his students that way? Try to seduce girls almost as young as Amy? Probably. He was the type. Earthy as hell, in spite of his intelligence. To the Elliot Messners of the world, there was never a question of mind over hard-on.
She led him back to her office, leaving the door open after they entered. She was cool to him, but he didn't seem to notice. He kept grinning at her, flirting with his eyes, trying to touch her hand now and then as he spoke.
He'd decided on the way in, he said, to counter at $257,500 firm. “It's not as much as I'd like, but I can live with it. If the Hagopians can afford two-fifty, they can afford two-fifty-seven-five. Right?”
“I would think so. I'll write up the counteroffer and present it to them tonight.”
“Will they decide right away, do you think?”
“They might. I'll let you know either way. Will you be home all evening?”
“No plans,” he said. “If they accept the counter, why don't you come by instead of calling? We'll have a drink or two to celebrate.”
“I don't think so,” she said.
“I'm really not bad company, once you get to know me.”
“I'm sure you aren't. But I'm not interested, Elliot. I told you that at least twice.”
“Women don't always mean what they say. Or say what they mean.”
“I do. And I'd rather not have to say it again. Now, can we please get on with the business at hand?”
He shrugged and said, “Sure thing.”
She had been holding herself in check with an effort; it was a good thing he'd relented. If she blew up at him—and she might well have if he'd kept pushing—it would likely blow the deal, too, and the dubious satisfaction of telling him off wasn't worth that. He was carnal and irritating, but he wasn't the worst Mr. Macho around. Good God no, he wasn't. Besides, he seemed finally to have gotten the message. He left her alone as she wrote up the counteroffer. And when he signed it and stood to leave, his handshake was brief and formal, even if his smile wasn't totally impersonal. Good-bye, Francesca, thanks again. Good-bye, Elliot, I'll talk to you again tonight. And he was gone.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat sipping it at her desk. Tom came in and congratulated her on the evident sale. But what he really wanted to talk about was Eileen and what had happened at Blue Lake. She let him do most of the talking. Tom Birnam, friend, employer, confidant for more than fifteen years—and she no longer felt at ease with him, no longer quite trusted him. Was even a little afraid of him at moments like this, when they were alone together.
It was a relief when the phone rang and he left her alone to answer it. “Francesca Bellini,” she said into the receiver.
“Hello, Francesca. This is Louise Kanvitz.” The chilly voice had warmth in it today, the crackly warmth of anger. “I think it's time you and I had another talk.”
SEVENTEEN
When she heard Kimberley yell, “Hey, look out!” Amy instinctively brought her foot down on the brake pedal. She saw the red light then, the cars starting to scream across the intersection in front of her, and braked hard. There was the screech of tires; the Honda tried to stand on its nose as it slid halfway through the crosswalk.
“God, Amy, wake up.”
“Sorry.” She put the transmission in reverse, backed up a few feet. Her heart was pounding.
“What's the matter with you?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Where were you anyway? Mars?”
“Just thinking too hard.”
Kim sighed. “About Bobby Harrell, I'll bet.”
She hadn't been, but she said, “Yes.”
“I keep thinking about him, too. It's just such a
The light changed. Amy eased down on the accelerator, paying attention to her driving now. Going slow.
“You hear anything more about his brother?” Kim asked.
“Kevin's out of danger. But still critical.”
“Burned like that, sixty percent of his body … jeez. You think he'll have scars?”
“I don't know.”
“Can they fix burn scars with plastic surgery?”
“It depends on how bad they are.”
“What if they're really gross? What if he ends up looking like Freddy Krueger or something?”
“Kim, for God's sake.”
“Well, it could happen. He was so cute for his age. Better looking than Bobby, even. Jeez.”
Amy didn't say anything.
“How's Mrs. Harrell?” Kim asked.
“Still the same. My mom went to see her yesterday.”
“I'll bet it was a bitch for her.”
“It was.”
“Are you going?”
“Yeah. Up to see Kevin, too, when he can have visitors.”
“I couldn't stand it,” Kimberley said. “I hate hospitals. I mean, they just totally gross me out.”
“They're better than cemeteries.”
“
Amy turned into Kim's street, pulled up in front of her house. Kim said, “You want to hang out later, after you
