back up. She breathed out slow, like she was exhaling cigarette smoke.
“Do you know what I did?” she asked. “When I was working?”
“No, how would I know that?”
“I was a nurse. My husband was a cop, not a chief. A guy on the street. So I had to make money too. For a long time. I worked before we had our kids, and then when they turned twelve I went back to it. You’re from Queens?”
He looked at the palm tree above them, its leaves drooping.
“Yeah.”
“Well, then you know what I saw in Brooklyn. When I was working a long time ago, it wasn’t like it is now. It was different. I saw all the kids who were shot up, all the junkies, you know, all that.”
“OK.” He wasn’t writing, just listening.
“And you know, some black kid would get shot. And he dies. And then the mother would come in. Some of them were quiet. But a lot of them, they come in yelling about the doctor killing their babies. Or about malpractice, if they knew what malpractice was.”
“What did you do?”
“That doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “It got fixed. But I always noticed that those people were the ones who were the angriest. They were the ones looking for somebody to blame for their children getting shot or overdosing. The other patients’ families-a lot of them poor, too-they never yelled about that. It was always the parents of kids in gangs, or junkies.”
“Right.”
“They thought they could make up for what they had let their kids do. They thought they could make up for being a bad parent by yelling about malpractice or a bad doctor. But they couldn’t.”
“I guess not.”
“They couldn’t. The kid was gone. But these people couldn’t understand that the kid was just gone. That was it. You can’t earn extra points.”
She looked at him and waited. He had to be aggressive.
“Sheryl, this is different than your patients. I may not have known Charlotte.” He thought for a second. “But I can still believe in Charlotte. And I’m not stopping. Your story isn’t going to trick me into quitting. Maybe I’ll find nothing. But I’m going to look-even if you won’t help me.”
“Have it how you want it.”
She rose and began walking down the hill. She walked slowly, spreading her stride across the sidewalk, scanning in between the cracks. Then she bent down. The sidewalk had appeared perfectly maintained. But she found a weed and pulled it out.
CHAPTER 16
The next day, Kaylie knocked at his door. This time he was wearing pants that fit.
He’d been trying to learn more about Sunset Cove. At the same time, he had to schedule times to see different banquet spaces-he made an appointment for the next day with Jerry Rubenstein at the Palmstead. He’d write a little about good times and good friends. Maybe pad it with some stats about social gatherings and cardiac health. The daily grind.
He answered the door and Kaylie was smiling. It was neighborly. She had on the same outfit as before, but different colors. A blue t-shirt and shorts, still barefoot. She walked past him and inside.
“I’ve come for the proverbial cup of sugar.” She had a measuring cup and a smirk.
“How are you?”
“Do you have any?”
“I try not to use sugar.”
“Oh.” She cringed. “Your little diet.”
“I just don’t cook.”
“Right. I was also wondering if you knew when our rent is due.”
“Two days ago.”
“Oh. Well. I wanted sugar too.”
“Sorry. I’m sure the building manager will understand.”
She sat down on the bed and crossed her legs. She pointed her toes at the floor.
“Were you working?”
“I was. Would you like water?”
“I’m fine.”
He came in from the kitchen with a glass for himself.
“I’m sorry, I checked. I don’t have sugar.”
“What about flour?” she said and tilted her head.
“What are you making?”
“I’m just trying to squeeze you dry.”
“I see.”
“What were you working on?”
“Just this thing.”
“That’s descriptive. You really must be a writer.” She yawned and stretched. He looked at his water glass instead of her.
“My editor wants me to write something about banquet spaces.”
“Oh, how exciting.”
“It’s OK. It won’t be a hard job, necessarily.”
She got up and walked over to his window. She looked out. He couldn’t tell if they were the same shorts as before. But he wasn’t looking at his water glass.
“I used to work at banquets,” she said and turned around. “I was a caterer.”
“You were?”
“I was. The pay was terrible and so were the people. Will that go in your article?”
“I don’t know,” he said and laughed. When she walked, she kept her feet slightly-barely-arched. She moved to his desk and picked up his notebook. He walked forward and reached for it, but she turned around and held it.
“What’s all this? I was expecting descriptions of appetizers and sound systems. Not all these drawings of the beach. And what’s this? Rumors?”
He grabbed it from her. She held onto the end and looked at him.
“That’s nothing,” he said. “Just doodles.”
“I see.” She leaned against his desk and ran her finger across it. Slow.
“You’re clean.”
“I like a clean place.”
“You like control.”
“I think you dropped your measuring cup,” he told her.
“Will you find it for me?”
“I should get back to work.”
She stepped closer and looked him up and down.
“This fits better.”
“It does.”
“Did you get a suit?”
“I did.”
“Can I see it?”
He started laughing.
“Do you act like this with all your neighbors, Kaylie? How many times have I met you? Once?”
“No, Jake, I don’t act like this with all my neighbors.”
