Paradise Lost

“No,” Butch said. “I don’t think you see at all.”

“What I’m hearing is that your defense consists of your claim­ing that nothing happened, but even if it did happen, you’re not responsible because you were drunk at the time.”

“My defense is that nothing did happen,” he replied. “But it could have. It might have, and I shouldn’t have run that risk. She’s dying, you see.”

“Who’s dying?”

“Lila.”

“Of what?” Joanna scoffed derisively, remembering the willowy blonde who had accompanied Butch through the lobby. “She didn’t look sick to me.”

“But she is,” Butch replied. “She has ALS. Do you know what that is?”

Joanna thought for a minute. “Lou Gehrig’s disease?”

Butch nodded. “She just got the final diagnosis last week. She hasn’t told anyone yet, including Tammy and Roy. She didn’t want to spoil their wedding.”

“But, assuming it’s true, she went ahead and told you,” Joanna said. “How come?”

“I told you. Lila and I used to be an item, Joey. We broke up long before you and I ever met. She married somebody else and moved to San Diego, but the guy she married walked out on her two months ago,” Butch continued.

She got dumped and now she wants you back, Joanna thought. She felt as though she were listening to one of those interminable shaggy-dog stories with no hope of cutting straight to the punch line. “So this is a rebound thing for her?” Joanna asked. “Or is that what I was for you?” Her voice sounded brittle. There was a metal­lic taste in her mouth.

“Joey, please listen,” Butch pleaded. “What do you know about ALS?”

Joanna shrugged. “Not much. It’s incurable, I guess.”

“Right. Lila went to see her doctor because her back was both­ering her. She thought maybe she’d pulled a muscle or something. The doctor gave her the bad news on Thursday. Even though she’s not that sick yet, she will be. It’ll get worse and worse. The doctor told her that most ALS patients die within two to five years of diag­nosis. She’s putting her San Diego house on the market. She’s going to Texas to be close to her parents.

“Lila needed to talk about all this, Joey,” Butch continued. “She needed somebody to be there with her, to listen and sympathize. happened to be handy. We talked all night long. I held her, and she cried on my shoulder.”

“You held her,” Joanna said.

“And listened,” Butch said.

“And nothing else?”

“Nothing. I swear to God.”

“And why should I believe you?” Joanna asked.

Butch got off the bed. He came across the room to the table, where he sat down opposite Joanna. As he did so, his lips curved into a tentative smile. “Because I wouldn’t do something like that, Joey. I’m lucky enough to be married to the woman I love. She’s also somebody who carries two loaded weapons at all times and who, I have it on good authority, knows exactly how to use them. What do you think I am, stupid?”

Joanna thought about that for a minute. Then she asked another question. “You said you were pissed at me. Why?”

“That’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Tammy and Roy and the rest of the people at the wedding are all my friends,” he said slowly. “I had just finished spending the last three days up at Page being sheriff’s spouse-under-glass. Don’t get me wrong. Antiquing aside, I was glad to do it. But turnabout’s fair play, Joey. I really wanted you to be here with me last