We ate in silence. Beside us, two kids held hands, eyes locked, food cooling on their plates. Love? Lust? Either way, I envied them.
Finally, Ryan got to it.
Wiping his mouth, he carefully folded and laid his napkin on the table. Smoothed it with a palm.
“There’s something I have to tell you. It’s not easy, but you should know.”
A fist grabbed my gut.
“Lily’s problems are worse than I’ve let on.”
The fist eased ever so slightly.
“Three weeks ago she was nailed boosting DVD’s from a Blockbuster outlet. I got a courtesy call because I’m on the job. I managed to talk the owner down, made restitution. Lily didn’t go into the system. This time.”
Ryan’s gaze floated up to the window, went through the glass to the darkness outside on Bishop.
“Lily’s addicted to heroin. She steals to feed her habit.”
I didn’t blink, didn’t look over toward the couple beside us.
“I own a big hunk of blame. I was never there.”
Lutetia kept her existence from you. I didn’t say it.
Ryan’s eyes came back to mine. In them I saw pain and guilt. And something else. The sadness of ending.
The fist retightened.
“My daughter needs medical help. Counseling. She’ll get that. But she also needs stability. A home base. The conviction that someone believes in her.”
Ryan took both my hands in his.
“Lutetia has been in Montreal the past two weeks.”
My chest turned to ice.
“We’ve spent hours wrestling with this.” Ryan halted briefly. “We think we can give Lily the safety net she needs.”
I waited.
“We’ve decided to try to make the relationship work.”
“You’re going back to Lutetia?” Calm, and wildly out of sync with the turmoil inside.
“This is the most painful decision I’ve ever had to make. I’ve barely slept. I’ve thought of nothing else.” Ryan lowered his voice. “I kept remembering you with Pete in Charleston.”
“He’d been shot.” Barely audible.
“I mean earlier. He had his arms around you.”
“I was overtired, overwrought from so much work. Pete was merely calming me down.”
“I know. I admit when I first saw you two together I felt betrayed. Humiliated. ‘How could she?’ I kept asking myself. I wanted to see you burned alive. That first night, I bought a bottle of scotch, took it to my room and got drunk. I was so angry I threw my room phone through the TV screen.”
My eyebrows floated up.
“The hotel charged me six hundred bucks.” Strained smile. “Look, I’m not criticizing or casting blame. But I’ve come to understand you’re never going to cut Pete loose.” Ryan’s thumbs caressed the backs of my hands. “That realization made me reassess. Maybe the poets and songwriters have gotten it wrong. Maybe we do get a second chance to get things right.”
“Andrew and Lutetia. The way we were.” It was small and mean. I couldn’t help myself.
“This won’t affect us on the job, of course.” Another weak smile. “We’ll still be Mulder and Scully.”
“I want your help with these MP’s and DOA’s.”
I bit back a retort I would later have regretted.
“You’re sure about this?” I asked.
“I’ve never been less sure about anything in my life. But I’m sure of one thing. I owe it to my daughter to try. I can’t see her destroyed while I just stand by.”
I needed fresh air.
I didn’t offer reassurance. Or another Streisand line. Or a hug.
Molding my face into a smile, I rose and left the restaurant.
I felt leaden, oblivious to the Saturday night revelers with whom I shared the sidewalk. My feet rose, fell, moving me along without sensation. Then they stopped.
I looked up.
Hurley’s.
