“My dad says you’ve been hanging around here a lot.”
Jesse pulled a chair alongside her bed and sat down. Most of the machines were gone. A lonely IV was still attached to the back of her hand.
“How are you feeling?”
“I have nothing to compare it to, but they tell me I could be feeling a whole lot worse.”
“You had us going.”
“That’s what Dad says.”
“You’ve got some color now.”
“And I didn’t before?”
“Does the expression ‘pale as a ghost’ mean anything to you?”
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
“I still can’t believe Marisol’s dead. I feel awful.”
“We all do. He had just a sliver of an opening, and he somehow managed to jump through it.”
“You caught him?”
“Crow did.”
“But not without your help.”
Jesse smiled.
“I hear they’re flying you home,” he said.
“In the morning. Sometimes it’s good to work for a big studio.”
She looked at him.
“I feel that we’re incomplete, Jesse,” she said. “You and me. We were interrupted and now can’t find our way back.”
“Get well, Frankie. L.A. isn’t the moon.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I wish I felt like I had been lucky,” she said.
“You were incredibly lucky. He came within inches of killing you, too.”
“Then why am I so sad?”
“Because Marisol’s gone and you’re not. Survivor’s guilt.”
They were silent for a while.
“Will I ever see you again, Jesse?”
“Of course you will,” he said.
“You’re not just saying that?”
“I’m not just saying that.”
She leaned back into her pillows and closed her eyes. Soon she was asleep.
Before he left, he tenderly kissed her good-bye.
62
Jesse pulled into his spot in front of the footbridge. He got out of the cruiser, opened the back door, and grabbed the take-out dinner from Daisy’s. Real football food. Buffalo wings, cheese fries, and a pair of chili dogs. A six-pack of Rolling Rock waited for him in the fridge.
He crossed the bridge and went into the house.
Within seconds, Mildred was at his feet.
He walked into the living room and turned on the TV. USC vs. Oregon. The game was just beginning. He had been looking forward to it all week.
He put the take-out bag in the oven to keep it warm.
He went upstairs and changed clothes, then came back down and fed a sumptuous meal to Mildred, which she ate as if she had never eaten before.
He cracked a bottle of Rolling Rock and sat down to watch the game.
Suddenly he was aware of how tired he was. The events of the last few days had worn him down. Life in a small town was tougher than he imagined it would be.
But he had to admit that he liked it. He liked living in Paradise. More than he ever did L.A. He found himself surprisingly content. Like it was home.
Finished with her after-dinner bath, Mildred jumped onto Jesse’s lap. She looked at him expectantly. He reached over and scratched her neck. Soon she was asleep.
Jesse’s eyes closed, too, and when he opened them, it was the second half and the score was tied.
He kept them open for the rest of the game.
—
For a complete list of this author’s books click here or visit www.penguin.com/parkerchecklist
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Melanie Mintz, Joanna Miles, David Chapman, and Miles Brandman for all of their efforts on behalf of the manuscript.
Thanks to Tom Distler for his wise and generous counsel.
A tip of the hat to David Parker.
Thanks to Tom Selleck and the entire Jesse Stone film family.
My most heartfelt gratitude to Christine Pepe, whose undying quest for excellence is inspirational.
And a most appreciative nod to Helen Brann for her kind and loving support.
