Closing her eyes, she propped her heavy head against the pointy top of the mop. As a ghost, she didn’t become exhausted the way she’d used to: no aches or pains, no dragging sense like someone had tied barbells to both her ankles. Now it was her psyche that grew weary, to the point where she had to shut her lids and see and do absolutely nothing—like her brain’s circuit board needed to be turned off and cooled down.
And she did sleep then. And dreamed.
Or . . . as probably would be the case today . . . not. Insomnia was still an issue from time to time—
“You’re going to need to broom it first.”
Snapping her head up, she tried to smile for Manny. “I think you’re right.”
“How about you let me take care of this.”
No. Way. She was not in a hurry to go lock herself in the other recovery room and stare at the ceiling. Besides, Manny had to feel as tired as she did.
“How long has it been since you ate last?” she asked him.
“What time is it?”
She glanced at her watch. “One o’clock.”
“In the afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“About twelve hours or so.” He seemed surprised at that.
She reached for the phone on the desk. “I’ll call Fritz.”
“Listen, you don’t have to—”
“You must be about to fall over.”
“Actually, I feel great.”
Wasn’t that just like a man. Unless . . . Well, hell, he did look energized instead of drained.
Whatever. She was still feeding him.
The ordering didn’t take longer than a minute, and Fritz was thrilled by the request. Usually after Last Meal, the butler and his staff retired for a brief rest before the daily cleaning started, but they would much rather have been working.
“Where’s the housekeeping closet?” Manny asked.
“Out in the hall. To your left.”
While she filled the bucket with Lysol and water, he found a broom, came back and took care of business.
While they worked side by side, all she could think about was Vishous. During the rush of treating the Brothers, there had been so much to concentrate on, but now, sweeping the mop’s sloppy dreads back and forth over the tiled floor, it was as if all the angst that had been behind the scenes in her brain broke free and rushed her mental guardrails.
She heard him say that over and over again, saw his ashen face and his icy eyes and the way he had closed her out.
Funny . . . the eternity she’d been granted had always seemed like the grandest blessing. Until she pictured going aeons without the man she loved.
Now it was a curse.
Where would she go? She couldn’t very well continue at the compound. Not if they were estranged like this. It was too hard on everyone—
“Here.”
Jane jumped as a tissue fluttered in front of her face. The little white square was hanging from Manny’s blunt fingertips, and he wagged it again as she just stared at the thing.
“You’re crying,” she heard him say.
Moving the mop handle into the crook of an elbow, she took what he offered and was surprised to find that he was right: When she blotted at her eyes and took a peek, the Kleenex was damp.
“You know,” Manny drawled, “seeing you like this makes me wish I’d amputated that damn leg of his.”
“This is only partially his fault.”
“So say you. I’m allowed to look at it any way I like.”
She glanced over. “You have another one of those?”
He held a box forward and she snapped out a couple more. Dab. Dab. Delicate nose blow. Dab. She rounded out the crying jag with a quick one . . . two . . . three . . . tosses into the trash bin.
“Thank you for helping me.” As she glanced up, his glower was front and center on his face and she had to smile. “I’ve missed that.”
“Missed what.”
“That pissed-off expression you wear so often. Reminds me of the good old days.” She regarded him steadily. “Is V going to be okay?”
“If I don’t kick his ass for fucking with you—yes.”
“So gallant.” And she meant that. “You were amazing tonight.”
She meant that, too.
He put the Kleenex aside on a counter. “So were you. That happen a lot?”
“Not really. But I have a feeling that may be changing.”
Getting back to work, she made some perfunctory passes with the mop, not really improving the condition of the floor, but just moving the blood around. At this point, she probably would have more luck hosing the place down.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Fritz put his head in. “Your repast is ready. Where would you wish to dine?”
“He’ll take it in the office,” Jane answered. “At the desk.” She glanced over at her former colleague. “Better go before it gets cold.”
The look in Manny’s eye was the ocular equivalent of a middle finger, but she just waved bon voyage. “Go. And then get some rest.”
Except no one told Manny Manello what to do. “I’ll be right there,” he said to the butler.
As Fritz ducked out, her old boss put his hands on his hips. And although she braced herself for an argument, all he said was, “Where’s my briefcase.”
When Jane blinked, he shrugged. “I’m not going to berate you into talking to me.”
“So you’ve turned over a new leaf.”
“Go, me.” He nodded over at the phone that was mounted on the wall. “I’m going to have to check my messages, and I want my damn cell phone back.”
“Ah . . . okay, your car has to be in the parking garage. Just go down the corridor. Maybe it’s in your Porsche?”
“Thanks—”
“Are you thinking of leaving?”
“All the time.” He turned and went for the door. “It’s all I can think about.”
Well . . . didn’t that make two of them. But then, Jane had never imagined that she’d not be here.
Proof positive that it wasn’t helpful to have a lot of bright ideas about your future.
THIRTY-THREE
Traditionally, in and among the
However, when one could not write or read . . . or more to the point, when one preferred methods of communication that were more visceral and less viceroy?
