“Lucky fucking me.”
“Just go talk to him,” she said, leaning closer. “Just once. If he won’t talk to you or it gets ugly, fine. You’re out, and I won’t bother you again.” She leaned back and shrugged. “I’ll figure out another way to get his story, and I won’t involve you.”
“How about not involving me now?” I said. “Or for that matter, ever? I don’t recall any of this being on my Christmas wish list.”
She shook her head and looked away, not appreciating the remark.
The ocean was dying as the storm trudged in, going flat with thin lines of white foam trickling in to the shore. We stood there for a few moments, not saying anything. We both knew she was getting to me, yet I wasn’t willing to acknowledge it and she seemed content to wait me out.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“San Quentin,” she said. Her cheeks were bright pink, a combination of sunburn and emotion. “It’s the only place in California that houses male death row inmates.”
“Do I just show up?” I asked. “Knock on the door and ask when visiting hours are?”
“I’ve already set up a visitation time,” she said. “I’ve booked a flight that leaves for San Francisco the day after tomorrow. For both of us.”
I laughed and shook my head at her bravado. “At least you’re confident.”
She rose from the wall and stood in front of me, the muscles in her jaw tense. “I told you his execution date is a month away. Twenty-seven days. I can’t afford to waste time. Because it’s his time I’d be wasting.”
I wanted to tell her that all of this was going to be a waste of time—that, no matter what, I wasn’t about to overlook all of the years this man had already pissed away. I may have been able to overlook the void in my life growing up, but it didn’t mean that I appreciated it, forgave it, or would ever accept it. Those feelings were bound to come out in any conversation with him. His death would just add finality to the void that had been a partner in my life.
I stood. “I’ll think about it.”
Her face screwed up with irritation. “I just told you I had the visitation set up.”
“Yes, you did. Congratulations.”
“We can’t afford to waste time.”
“You explained that, too.” I ignored the “we” and stepped over the wall onto my patio. “You’ve been aggravatingly thorough.”
Darcy stood on the boardwalk, the small wall between us seeming more like a gigantic barrier now. She picked up the rental board, clearly agitated.
“The flight leaves at nine,” she said, her voice edged with frustration and anger. “How will I know if you’re coming?”
I glanced at her. “Are the seats on the plane together?”
She brushed her wet, blond hair off her forehead and glared at me. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Then check the seat next to yours,” I said to Darcy Gill. “That’ll give you your answer.”
FIVE
I showered, dressed, made a sandwich, and sat down in front of the TV with a beer to watch the second half of the San Diego State/UCLA basketball game. The Aztecs were starting to turn things around in the hoops program, and I was hoping the game would keep thoughts of Darcy Gill and Russell Simington out of my head.
The Aztecs were up by six when Carter bounded in the front door.
“Are you watching this?” he yelled as he hustled past me into the kitchen. “Gonna beat those Westwood weasels for the first time in forever.”
“Easy. Don’t jinx it.”
He jumped over the back of the couch and landed with a thud, two beers in one huge hand. “Done deal, baby.”
“Get a beer, why don’t you?”
He held one up to his mouth and emptied half of it, then let loose with a belch that rattled the windows. “Thanks. I think I’ll have two.” He was wearing a green tank top, red board shorts, and yellow flip-flops that matched the color of his hair. “I thought you were coming over to my place to watch this.”
“Forgot.”
“You forgot?”
I grunted in response.
The Aztecs threw the ball away four times in the last two minutes, which elicited a stream of profanity from Carter that would have cleared a locker room. But they managed to hit several free throws and hung on to win by four.
Carter stood, arms raised over his head, his fingers touching the ceiling. “I love beating those assholes.”
I walked into the kitchen and set my plate and empty beer bottle on the counter. “You on the team now? A uniform and everything?”
