and driving down Pennsylvania. I parked near the Market.
We walked to a restaurant near the strip, one of those places that does a huge Sunday brunch business on the Hill. The television set over the bar was already fired up and set on “The NFL Today.” They were moving plenty of mimosas and Bloody Marys, though there was also a fair amount of draught beer being sold to those who were past kidding themselves.
We lucked into a window deuce and ordered burgers and coffee. When the coffee came, Kim lit a cigarette.
“Is this going to be your first winter in D.C.?” I asked.
“Yes.” The sun was coming through the window, finding the three or four strands of silver in her long brown hair. “When does it start getting cold around here?”
“Sometimes this month. Sometimes not till January.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Practically all my life.”
“Your folks alive?”
“My parents live in Greece.”
“Were you born there?”
“Yes. But I don’t remember it.” I sipped my coffee. “I met your father, you know?”
“When you were following us?” Her eyes narrowed, then softened. “He’s a good man.”
“He is. That home in Elizabeth City might be the right place for you to start again.”
“My childhood’s over, Nick.”
“It was only a thought.”
“How about you?” she asked. “Any plans for a new start?”
“No,” I said. “I think I’ll just hang around.”
“And what?” she asked.
“See what happens.”
After lunch I drove across town and picked up Rock Creek Park just above the Kennedy Center. The leaves on the trees had turned completely. With everything, I had not noticed the change of season.
A car that had been behind us since we entered the park stayed with us as I veered right on Arkansas Avenue. When I made a left onto Thirteenth Street, the car turned right.
The rest of the day I watched football and paced around the apartment while Kim napped. At one point I pulled a chair up to my bed and watched her sleep, then spent the next fifteen minutes wondering why I had done that.
I drove to a Vietnamese fish market on New Hampshire and Eastern Avenue, bought two pieces of flounder, and returned to the apartment. I brushed them with butter and lemon and wrapped them in foil. Kim put them on a small hibachi she had set up outside near the stoop. I sat on the steps with my cat and we watched her grill the fish.
After dinner she washed the dishes while I watched the news. Still no word on Eddie Shultz. Kim entered the living room. She looked healthy and almost beautiful.
“You’re nearly there,” I said.
“Goodnight, Nick.” She kissed me on the back of my cheek, where the neck meets the ear. Then she turned and walked into the bedroom. I watched her walk.
That night I slept on the couch. The cat slept on my bed, with Kim Lazarus.
The next morning I used my room to change clothes while Kim showered. She had reorganized my dresser into a makeup stand. Moisturizing creams, eye shadows, and lip glosses were mixed in with barrettes and odd pieces of jewelry. A wallet-sized, aged black and white photograph of a German shepherd was wedged in the frame of the mirror that hung over my dresser.
“I guess I kind of took over,” Kim said as she walked into the bedroom wearing my bathrobe. Water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders and over the top curves of her full breasts. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “I like a woman here. The difference of it, I mean. When I was married, my wife was always putting fresh flowers and plant pieces around our place. It’s something I would never think to do myself. Now it’s one of the few things I remember about our marriage.” I pointed to the picture of the dog on the mirror. “We ms someho’s this?”
“Rio,” she said. “A shepherd I had when I was a kid.”
“How do you feel?”
“Really good,” she said. “The mornings are great. I feel so proud waking up, knowing I made it through another day without doing drugs. But the nights are really rough, Nick. I just associate the nighttime with getting fucked up.”
“You feel like going for a ride today, look at the leaves?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “I’d like that.”
We drove out 270 and turned off at the Comus exit, parking in the lot on Sugarloaf Mountain. We hiked the mile to the top.
It was Monday but crowded due to the peak foliage. We found a rock on the edge that was unoccupied, and had a seat. The air was cool and there was a strong breeze. As the clouds moved across the sun, we watched their shadows spread over the trees below.
The temperature began to drop. We didn’t speak for quite a while. Kim found my hand with hers and held it. I was thinking of Jimmy Broda and I know she felt it. But she let the afternoon drift by and didn’t say a word.
That night I fell asleep on the couch shortly after Kim had gone to bed.
She woke me sometime after midnight with a long kiss on my lips. She was wearing only a T-shirt. She was kneeling beside me, and the T-shirt crept above her pale, round ass as she leaned in.
“Aren’t you tired of this arrangement?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
She pulled down my blanket and straddled me, easing me into the folds of her dampness. I pushed her breasts together and kissed them, then her neck. Her hips moved with an even liquidity. I let her take me to it, and when I was there, it was if she were tearing a piece from me to keep in her lambent belly.
Afterwards I remained inside her. She laid her chest on mine and I listened to her breath.
We slept in my bed that night, with the cat between our feet. I woke early, showered, and dressed. I shook her awake and told her I was leaving to run some errands, then kissed her. Her eyes had closed again by the time I reached the door.
When I returned two hours later, she was gone. Her suitcase had been taken, as had all of the makeup and jewelry on the dresser. The rest of the apartment was orderly. There were no signs of struggle.
The photograph of the German shepherd still hung crookedly on the mirror, the only item Kim Lazarus had left behind, like the last discarded fragment of a childhood long since past.
TWENTY-FIVE
The weather that morning suddenly turned, to the kind of gray, windy October day that is a harbinger of winter. I put on my charcoal wool sportjacket over a blue denim shirt, filled the cat’s dish, secured the apartment, and headed downtown.
I had the desk clerk ring up Kim’s apartment from the lobby of her building. There was no answer and she had not been in to pick up her mail.
Out in the street, I turned my collar up and walked into the wind down the two blocks that ended at the river. I entered a seafood restaurant on the waterfront that was just opening for lunch, and had a seat at the empty bar.
The bartender was a thin man with a thin mustache wearing black slacks and a stained white shirt. He stopped cutting limes, idled over, and dropped a bev-nap on the bar in front of me. Then he ran a waxy fingernail along the edge of his mustache.
