appointment, Hardy had not known what his schedule would be like sohe had given her his home phone number as well as the one in his office.
She called at a little after nine, her voice a whisper, hoarse, nearly inaudible. 'Mr. Hardy?' She told him where she was, would he please come and see her now? There might not be another chance. When he told Frannie he was going, she did not do cartwheels.
Ulloa Street was dark.
Hardy had had his one martini, switched to cranberry juice, and the earlier glow had dissipated with the warmth. The DiStephano's house was in the 4500 block, two blocks from the cold Pacific. He pulled up in front of the number.
She was wrapped in a jacket, wearing jeans but barefoot, sitting in the dim porch light on her stoop. When Hardy got out of his car, she walked unsteadily down the cement walk that bisected the lawn, meeting him halfway. She touched Hardy's sleeve, then immediately pulled her hand away as if it were burned. 'He won't hear us here. Not that he would anyway. Thank God he's passed out.'
She was shaking. Hardy wondered if she were drunk. 'Who's passed out?'
'Phil, of course.' She laughed, low, nervously. 'Who do you think? Listen, I'm sorry about tonight, our appointment.' She wasn't slurring. 'I thought we might… but Phil…'
Hardy waved it off. His eyes were adjusting – a sliver of moon gave a little light. There was a lot of Jennifer in her face – haunted but still attractive. It was unnerving.
She stepped in place, foot to foot, seemingly unaware of it. 'But I thought it might somehow help my girl.'
'It might. I don't know. Are you all right?'
She leaned again in an unnatural way, gripping her side. 'Maybe we should sit down?'
Without waiting for him, she went back to the entryway. It wasn't a full porch – more a jutting, covered portico enclosed by a low stucco wall. She leaned up against one of the posts.
'Mrs. DiStephano?'
She held out her hand for him to be still, breathing her way through whatever pain she was enduring. When she could handle it, she tried to straighten herself and half-turned back to him. Her eyes were wet but seemed way beyond tears.
Summoning something – the effort was palpable – she pulled herself straight, then turned all the way to face him head-on. Raising her head, she inhaled deeply, making her decision, and pulled open the jacket she'd been wrapped in. Under it, she was naked.
Her body – her breasts, her ribs, her stomach – was bruised and welted in half a dozen places. He stood transfixed, two feet away from her, feeling his body begin to pulse in anger. Fist-sized blotches, splashes of broken capillaries, the rake of handprints over torn skin. He stepped toward her, grabbed the sides of the jacket and gently pulled it closed around her. Lightner had been right about Jennifer's abusive father…
She leaned back against the portico's post and let herself slump to the tiles, hugging her arms to herself.
'I told Phil, I told him it was for Jennifer, it might help Jennifer. I wasn't sneaking out. He said how come you didn't try to talk to him.'
Hardy held his head in his hands. This was twisted beyond his imagining. 'Jennifer suggested I talk to you. If she would have said him, I would have agreed.'
'I know that. I told him that, or tried to.'
'I didn't mean to put you in this.'
She touched his arm again. 'No, no, it's not you. This is just what happens.'
Hardy raised his eyes. 'You should get out of this. You've got to report this.'
Nancy DiStephano shook her head. She was still hugging herself, still moving her body to ease the shifting pains. Her look said Hardy didn't know what he was talking about. 'Where would I go? What would I do?'
'Go anywhere,' he said. 'Do anything. But don't live with this.'
She kept shaking her head. 'But Phil would never let me. Never. He wouldn't even let me see you.'
'You could move away.'
'I've tried that, but you know, I always come back. It's a tough world out there, Mr. Hardy. Here at least I know somebody cares about me-'
'Someone who cares about you wouldn't do this to you.'
'It's not so very often. I understand, he's mostly afraid he'll lose me. I tell him no but he's so jealous… I wouldn't have called you, maybe shouldn't have, but if it could help Jennifer…'
'Did Phil ever do this to her?'
'Jennifer? No. He wouldn't ever lay a hand on her. I think if he did I would have left him and he knew it. He couldn't stand me to leave him. No, all this' – she gestured downward – 'this is all between me and him. It has nothing to do with Jennifer.'
Hardy stared at the ground, at the sliver of moon – this woman defending the man who had just beaten her. 'He's so jealous…'
He tried to clear his head. 'So what now, Nancy?'
She shrugged. 'I didn't even mean for you to know about this. It's nothing.'
'Okay, it's nothing.'
'You wanted to talk about Jennifer, if this hadn't happened… I suppose I shouldn't have told Phil and just snuck out to see you. It's really my fault.'
The reprise, the repetition, the denial. 'It’s really your fault. That's it, huh?' Was it the same for Jennifer?
Nancy nodded, apparently grateful that he seemed to understand. 'So we can forget this and just talk about what you wanted before. Can't we just do that?'
Hardy tried. He sucked a lungful of the now-chilled night and tried to organize himself enough to talk to her about Tom. He couldn't.
18
As he sometimes did, Abe Glitsky arrived unannounced at the front door. When Frannie opened it for him, he stepped back and whistled. 'My, my, my.' Frannie was wearing a blue skirt and a plain white blouse, low pumps, nylons. She had touched her cheekbones with subtle highlights they scarcely needed. Her eyes were malachite set into the alabaster of her skin. The red hair, softly styled, fell to just below her shoulders. 'Whatever it is,' he said, 'you'll do.'
Frannie curtsied, smiling. 'You don't think it's too much?'
'You panning for gold? Playing soccer? Mud-wrestling?'
Frannie looked serious. 'No, I'm meeting somebody.'
'I think for meeting somebody you're on safe ground.'
They were walking to the kitchen. It was a smallish railroad-style Victorian house – one long hallway with openings to the living and dining rooms off it to the right, a bathroom to the left. In the back the house opened up into a pod of rooms – airy skylit kitchen, Hardy and Frannie's bedroom with another bath, Rebecca's room (Hardy's old office) off that to one side, Vincent's nursery to the rear.
Hardy was coming out of the bedroom, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. He was wearing the slacks to one of his better suits, a white shirt, a silk Italian tie.
Glitsky stopped in the kitchen doorway. 'I must have the wrong house. Where are the kids?'
'We're taking a day off,' Frannie said. 'Their grandmother came and got them. I'll be back in a minute. You want some tea?' Frannie disappeared into the back room.
Glitsky was getting the hot water. 'Who are you meeting?'
Hardy was still shaken by Nancy DiStephano. He'd told Frannie about it when he'd gotten home, then sat up alone in the living room, not able to sleep for a long time.
And now here was Abe, dropping in, wanting to know who Frannie was meeting. Abe wouldn't approve of
