“Not expect it? After Brandon had been showing it to us that afternoon?”
“We can sit here and bicker over that, or you can take a look at the folks in the background — in the part that got cropped out of the newspaper version.”
I scowled at him but did as he suggested. I immediately saw what he wanted me to see. “Bear….”
“Yes.”
I looked up at Cassidy. “He’s not wearing a uniform.”
“No, he’s not.”
“So he couldn’t have been in a patrol car when Frank’s call came in.”
“No.”
“Well, hell.” I handed the photo back to him.
“It doesn’t mean he’s the one,” Cassidy said.
“No, but he lied.”
“Listen, we have a long way to go yet, Irene. I haven’t even had a gander at Cook or Matthews. Let’s see what we can learn tonight.”
I sighed.
“You like him,” Cassidy said.
“Yes.”
“That’s going to make it a rough evening, I suppose. Maybe you should try to get a little sleep,” he said.
I shook my head. “I’m not leaving Bea with all the work. Besides, I haven’t really had a chance to talk to her. Don’t worry, I won’t—”
“I know you won’t. By the way — what you learned from Cecilia Parker this morning is a big help. Thanks. I know that couldn’t have been easy on you. You sure you want her over here tonight?”
“Oh, my God, I forgot to tell Bea that I’ve expanded the guest list. Are we done here, Cassidy?”
“For the moment, anyway.” He yawned. “I may try to catch a little sleep myself.”
I needn’t have worried about Bea as far as dinner arrangements went — Rachel and Pete were in the kitchen with her, having somehow managed to take over the preparations without excluding her. If Cassidy hadn’t said he was going to try to sleep, I would have awakened him for the lesson in negotiating.
Bea wasn’t the only one who was surprised to hear Cecilia was coming to dinner. Rachel sent Pete a quelling glance, or I’m sure we would have been treated to his analysis of the situation.
“You aren’t inviting her because of me, are you?” Bea said.
I wasn’t sure I understood all that was implied by that question, but I said, “No, I enjoyed the time I spent with her today.” I was very careful not to cross my arms or break eye contact.
“Oh, good,” she said.
I kept watching her as we set the table together. While she was brave faced when Pete and Rachel were near, when we were alone, there were moments when she failed to hide her fear — the moment when the dishes rattled because her hands were shaking as she took her good plates from the china cabinet; the moment when she simply stopped in the middle of setting a spoon next to a knife, stood frozen in distraction, her face despondent. She caught me watching her once, and her tears welled up before she could dash them away. I moved over to her and held her, and she made a sound that brought Pete and Rachel hurrying from the kitchen and then — seeing us — hurrying back again.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, but I shushed her and held on.
“You get your turn, too,” I said. “Cecilia and I have had ours today.”
She looked up at me. “Cecilia? Cecilia cried?”
“Not because I said anything mean to her,” I added quickly, wondering if that was strictly true.
“Oh, Irene,” she chided, “I didn’t think you were mean to her. It’s just that I’ve never seen her shed a tear over anything.”
She straightened then and went to wash her face. I finished setting the table, wondering if this dinner party scheme was going to demolish an opportunity to grow closer to her.
26
HE WAS WAKING UP AGAIN. A wonderful thing, waking up. He was starting to appreciate it more than he ever had before. Awareness. Blessed awareness.
Awareness meant that Bret was back. Bret would allow him to awaken.
He stretched, took the inventory that was now a part of every return to consciousness. He was facing the other direction, lying on his left side now. The scrubs were still on. His feet were not restrained. He could move his legs. The IV catheter was still in but capped off; the bottle and tubing were not within sight.
Facing this way, he could not see them. He waited for sounds, sounds that would tell him where they were, if both of them were here. Bret was here, though. Bret preferred him to be awake.
Samuel, on the other hand, preferred control, and the drugs gave him that.
These were the kinds of things he had learned about them over the last few hours — were they hours? he wondered. His watch was gone with everything else. They had left him his wedding ring, at least.
Samuel paid less attention to him than Bret did, was less interested in him. Samuel was worried about other things, things outside this tent.
