The Pardon

your life through me. You’ve got a great opportunity right in front of you. It’s not every twenty-five-year-old photographer who gets hired by the Italian Consulate to go traveling around Italy taking pictures for a trade brochure. Jump on it. If you don’t-if you stay behind because you think you’re gonna lose Jack-you’ll end up hating him for it someday.”

“Maybe,” Cindy said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to dump him. I could just tell him that the time apart will give us both a chance to decide whether our relationship should be permanent or not.”

“Just stop it, will you? You’ve been living with Jack for months. After that much time, you either know it’s right or it’s wrong. And if you’re still saying you’re trying to make up your mind-believe me, it ain’t right.”

“It felt right at times.”

“That was a long time ago. I know you, Cindy. And I know you’ve been unhappy with Jack for months. Here’s a guy who claims to be talking about ‘making things permanent,’ yet half the time he won’t even give you a hint of what’s really on his mind. And whatever the hell this big secret is that keeps him from talking to his big-shot father is too weird. I think he has a screw loose.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Jack,” Cindy said defensively. “I just think the way his mother died and how his family handled all these problems has him confused about a lot of things.”

“Fine. So while he sorts it all out, you go have yourself a ball in Italy.”

“I don’t know-”

“Well,” Gina huffed, “do what you want then. But it’s a moot point, anyway. Once Jack hears who your traveling companion will be, it’ll be over between you two anyway.”

Cindy didn’t answer. Gina had a point, but she didn’t want to think about that right now. She just listened to the radio for a few minutes, until the early-morning jazz gave way to the local news at 2:00 A.M. The lead story was still Eddy Goss.

“. . the confessed killer,” said the newscaster, “who was acquitted by a jury Tuesday afternoon on first- degree murder charges.” This report was about Detective Lonzo Stafford’s diligent efforts to link Goss to at beast two other murders, to get him off the streets so that, according to Stafford, “Goss will never kill again.”

Cindy and Gina both pretended not to listen, though neither had the other one fooled. Jack’s involvement in the Goss case had brought this killer a little too close to home. Cindy thought of Jack, probably by himself, back at the house. Gina thought of Eddy Goss. Out there. Somewhere.

Gina steered her champagne-colored BMW, a gift from her latest disappointed suitor, into her private town house community, a collection of twenty lushly landscaped units facing the bay. Gina could never have afforded waterfront property on her salary as an interior designer, so she “leased” this place from an extremely wealthy and married Venezuelan businessman who, as Gina once kidded, “comes about three times a year, all in one night, to collect the rent.”

Cindy’s car was parked in Gina’s garage, so Gina parked in a guest space across the lot. They stepped tentatively from the car with the disquieting newscast about Eddy Goss still fresh in their minds.

“Nothing like a killer on the loose to make a marathon out of a two-minute walk to the front door,” Cindy half-joked as they briskly crossed the empty parking lot.

“Yeah,” Gina replied, her nervous laughter ringing flat and hollow in the stillness of the dark night. She ran up the front steps two at a time. Cindy trailed behind, moving not quite as fast in heels as her long-legged friend. The porch light was on and the front door was locked, just the way they’d left it. Gina fumbled through her cosmetic- packed purse for her key and poked awkwardly at the lock. Finally, she found the slot and pushed the key home. With two quick turns she unlocked the dead bolt, then turned the knob and leaned into the door, opening it-but just a foot, as her body jerked to an unexpected halt. The door caught on the inside chain.

They froze as they realized they couldn’t possibly have gotten out of the townhouse had they put the chain on the door.

Gina glanced at the clay pot on the porch that hid her extra key-a spare only a few people knew about. The pot had been moved.

Before Gina could back away, the door slammed shut, pushing her back and spilling the contents of her purse onto the porch.

Panic gripped the two women as they grabbed for each other. When they heard the chain coming off the door, they screamed in unison as they raced down the stairs. Gina led the way, kicking off her shoes and negotiating the steps like a steeplechase racer. Cindy’s left heel caught on the bottom step, and she tumbled to the sidewalk.

“Gina, help!” she cried, sprawled out on her hands and knees. But her friend never looked back.

“Gina!”

Chapter 10

“Hey!” Jack shouted as the door flew open at the top of the steps. “Hey! It’s me!”

Gina kept running, but Cindy stopped and looked up from the foot of the stairs. “Jack?” she called out as she picked herself up from the sidewalk.

Jack waved from the top of the stairs. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“You son of a bitch!” Gina shouted on her way back from the parking lot. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Good question, thought Jack. Back at the bar, he’d yielded to Mike’s urging and switched from beers to Bahama Mamas. And in no time flat he was feeling the effects of the grain alcohol. He rarely drank hard liquor, so when he did, it went straight to his head. Rather than kill someone trying to drive all the way home, he’d stopped at Gina’s, hoping to find Cindy.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he said with a shrug, speaking to himself more than anyone else. Then he looked at Cindy. “Sorry, guess I had a little too much to drink. I just wanted to talk to you, find out what was going on with us.”

“Jack,” Cindy sighed, “this is not the place-”

“I just want to talk, Cindy. You owe me at least that.” As he spoke he wobbled slightly and used the railing to regain his balance.

Cindy struggled. Seeing Jack made her regret the way she’d handled their problem. “I’m not sure I can talk-at least tonight. I honestly haven’t made up my-”

“Her mind is made up,” Gina contradicted. “Forget it, Jack. She’s leaving you. Like it or not, she’s a better person without you. Just let her go.”

Cindy shot an exasperated book at her friend.

Jack was suddenly embarrassed by the spectacle he was making of himself.

“Just forget it,” he said as he shook his head and then started down the stairs.

Cindy hesitated a moment, then moved to stop him. “No, you’re right, we do need to talk. Let me get my car keys. We can talk at home.”

He looked back at Gina, then turned to Cindy. “You’re sure?”

She gave a quick nod, avoiding his eyes. “Go ahead, get in your car. I’ll follow.”

There is no line more palpable than the one that runs down the middle of the bed. The room may be dark. The eyes may be shut. But it is there, silent testament to the deep division that can separate a couple.

The line between Jack and Cindy began to emerge as they drove from Gina’s in separate cars, parked in their driveway, and headed into the house single file. It became more pronounced as they undressed in silence, and by the time they tucked themselves into their respective corners of the king-size mattress, it was the Berlin Wall born again. Jack knew they had to talk, but after a night of drinking, he was afraid of what he might say. He played it safe. He flipped off the light, mumbled a clipped “night,” and pretended to be asleep, though it was actually hours before his troubled mind finally let his body rest.

Cindy didn’t try to keep him up, but she couldn’t fall asleep either. She was thinking of how he’d asked her to move in with him, almost ten months ago. He’d covered her eyes with his hands and led her to his bedroom, and when he took his hands away she saw little yellow ribbons tied to the handles on half the dresser drawers, marking