Freezing

Scott frowned. ‘How did I look at her?’

‘It was a little . . . wolfish.’

Scott grimaced. ‘That can’t be good.’

‘Yeah, you might want to work on that.’

A CHP officer had walked in their direction just then and Scott had levered himself into the driver’s seat of the Suburban. Eric leaned on the door so Scott couldn’t close it and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. ‘So why haven’t you been seeing her this whole time? And why didn’t you tell me about her?’

‘Precisely so we wouldn’t have this conversation.’

‘Man, you need this conversation if you haven’t made a move on her yet. Five years? Really? You’re lucky she’s still around – and available.’

Scott’s face must have betrayed him because Eric asked, with incredulity, ‘You don’t even know if she’s single?’

Scott covered looking away by putting the keys in the ignition. The car sounded a warning.

Eric shook his head. ‘You really need this conversation.’

‘I’m handling it.’ Scott made to close the door.

Eric stepped away and said, ‘Just try not to screw up lunch. We’ve got a case riding on this.’

Scott pulled a bottle of water from the under-counter fridge in his kitchen, grabbed a fork from a box, then used a dishtowel to take the now hot lasagna in its foil pan over to the leather armchair, turned to get a view of the Los Angeles Times building through the wall of west-facing windows. He put his feet up on the footrest and ate from the pan.

He took in a mouthful of cold water and let it rest against the roof of his mouth where he’d scalded it earlier. He really was glad that the reunion with Jayne had been over this freeway case. If he’d seen her any sooner after transferring to LA or met her over dinner, he would have been over-eager, pushing for an answer to the question on his mind ever since his transfer notice: what kind of relationship would they have after several years of long- distance companionship, flirtation, and restrained intimacy? He swallowed and then looked at the Times building. It was a confirmation: he was finally in LA. And if the case slowed things down with Jayne and kept him from acting ‘wolfish’, then maybe that was a good thing.

Jayne pulled her truck close to the top of the driveway fronting the redwood two-story building that housed her apartment. She climbed the concrete staircase on the left side of the building, rising above a neat lawn that held its own under an ancient fir tree. The only neighbor was downstairs and his front door was on the other side so Jayne enjoyed the sense of privacy and ownership she felt every time she ascended to her door, which was why she’d finally bought some terracotta pots for the landing and filled them with plants.

She had lived there for five years after moving out of her graduate student apartment in Westwood and refusing the tempting offer of a cottage at the end of her mother’s sprawling garden. Across the street, the Silver Lake Reservoir began immediately after tall redwoods and the sidewalk. The reservoir was a clear space in LA that no one could build on and so drew a faithful crowd of joggers and dog-walkers to its edge every day. Some of the faces were familiar to Jayne but she didn’t know anyone’s name.

She was expecting her mother to drop by, so she left the front door open to the screen as she put together a light supper in the kitchen, which overlooked the open-plan main room. When Marie arrived fifteen minutes later, she just called out, ‘Yoo-hoo!’ and swept in through the doorway. Her gold silk shirt was mirrored in golden powder glinting at the base of her throat while bronze highlights emphasized a hairstyle usually achieved only on photo shoots by using large fans. Her every move produced a melody as bangles met and dangling earrings swayed.

After hugging Jayne, Marie went back to look at the porch. ‘Darling, has it ever occurred to you that you’d get more dates if you kept something other than cacti by your front door?’

‘Is that advice about gardening or relationships, Mom?’

‘You should have something like gaura pinks. Or maybe gaura lindheimeri – you know, the white ones. Just a few pots, uneven in number.’

‘What, so I can find the man who has just one similar pot and say, “You . . . complete me”?’ She faked a swoon as she crossed to the kitchen to finish preparing their roast chicken and avocado sandwiches.

‘You’re so irreverent, darling. That also keeps people away.’

Jayne cut the sandwiches into triangles. ‘This gaura. Is it the wispy one you planted all over your garden?’

‘You’ve noticed!’

‘Then, no thanks. Too feminine.’

‘What’s wrong with a little femininity these days?’ Marie asked as she cast an apparently critical eye around the main room.

‘Nothing, for you. It’s just not my style.’ Jayne walked over with the plate of sandwiches and a wooden salad bowl. She handed Marie the salad and ushered her on to the deck facing the reservoir. The table was covered in a white tablecloth, which was decorated with numerous tea lights and drying rose petals.

As they sat down, Marie fluttered her fingers over the petals. ‘I thought you said feminine wasn’t your style?’

Jayne smiled, pushing bits of avocado back into her sandwich. ‘I just like winding you up. Have some iced tea.’

Marie folded some butter lettuce and speared it neatly with her fork. ‘Steelie said you’re seeing Scott.’ In went the lettuce.

‘Not “seeing”, Mom – I’ve seen him. We’ve all seen him.’

‘Now, just a minute. The last time I set you up with someone – that perfectly nice teacher and a Venezuelan – you stated that you’d rather spend an hour on the phone with Scott Houston than five more minutes with el profesor. I remember that quite distinctly.’

Jayne regarded her mother. ‘Let me get the strawberries.’

Marie called after her. ‘And now this Houston is here in LA.’

‘So?’ Jayne brought out the tray holding bowls of berries and a jug of cream.

‘So! I didn’t raise you to be a five o’clock fish.’ Marie fixed Jayne with her ‘severe’ look, which consisted of one arched eyebrow while she tilted her chin up. ‘You remember the five o’clock—’

‘Yes, yes. The fish that’s been sitting out all day at market and no one wants to buy old fish or whatever. I told you I don’t like the commodification of women inherent in that metaphor. It’s ridiculous. I’m not a piece of seafood. Nor am I on a shelf.’

‘You’re up on this deck, Jayne! Most evenings, all weekend. You’re hiding up here with I don’t know what memories from some mass grave or other haunting you, and you’ve given yourself nothing for comfort other than . . .’ She gestured wildly. ‘Than spiky cactus plants!’

Jayne looked out at the reservoir. Its surface was rippled in its best imitation of a lake. Night was falling and she could see through the fir trees to the hills on the other side where the lights of invisible houses sparkled orange-yellow and white.

Marie touched her hand, then began to fold and re-fold her napkin. ‘I worry about you,’ she said softly.

‘I know.’

‘You don’t talk to me about everything you saw when you were out with the UN and I know why: you’ve got Steelie. But even she thinks you need someone here at home, as it all falls into perspective. You both spent a decade helping to uncover war crimes, for heaven’s sake, and now you’ve gone on to do something that drains you. Maybe in a different way, but it drains.’

Jayne shrugged, looking up at her mother. ‘It is draining sometimes. But it feeds me, too. I like what I do.’ The candles on the table flickered in the breeze, threatening to go out but then flaring back up triumphantly.

‘Even if it breaks your heart almost every day?’

‘Other people’s hearts are broken already, before they come to us. It’s not my heart breaking. It’s just an empathetic sort of . . . heart-stretching.’

Marie poured cream over the berries. ‘And from what you’ve said, Scott is almost the perfect person for you to spend time with. You seem to have interests and sensibilities in common. He might not have been on the same forensic missions as you but he understands what went on over there.’

‘You think I should be with someone who’s got the same fodder for nightmares as I have, is that it?’ Jayne was stacking slices of strawberry on her fork.