“We were lucky,” Myron said. “We went to Duke.”
“And your point is?”
“I got Aimee in. I wrote a letter, I made a phone call. I doubt she would have been accepted if it wasn’t for me.”
“So?”
“So where do I get off? As Maxine Chang pointed out to me, when one kid makes it, another is denied.”
Win made a face. “Way of the world.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Someone makes the choice based on a fairly subjective set of criteria.” Win shrugged. “Why shouldn’t it be you?”
Myron shook his head. “I can’t help but think that it’s connected to Aimee’s disappearance.”
“Her college acceptance?”
Myron nodded.
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
They separated. Myron got into his car and checked his cell phone. One new message. He listened to it.
“Myron? Gail Berruti here. That call you asked about, the one that came to the residence of Erik Biel.” There was noise behind her. “What? Damn, hold on a second.”
Myron did. This was the call Claire had received from the robotic voice telling her that Aimee “is fine.” A few seconds later, Berruti was back.
“Sorry about that. Where was I? Right, okay, here it is. The call was placed from a pay phone in New York City. More specifically, from a bank of pay phones in the Twenty-third Street subways. Hope that helps.”
Click.
Myron thought about that. Right where Katie Rochester had been spotted. It made sense, he guessed. Or maybe, with what he’d just learned, it made no sense at all.
His cell phone buzzed again. It was Wheat Manson, calling back from Duke. He did not sound happy.
“What the hell is going on?” Wheat asked.
“What?”
“The ranking you gave me for that Chang kid. It matched.”
“Fourth in the class, and he didn’t get in?”
“Are we going there, Myron?”
“No, Wheat. We’re not. What about Aimee’s ranking?”
“There’s the problem.”
Myron asked a few follow-up questions before hanging up.
It was starting to fit.
Half an hour later Myron arrived at the home of Ali Wilder, the first woman in seven years he’d told that he loved. He parked and sat in the car for a moment. He looked out at the house. Too many thoughts ricocheted through his head. He wondered about her late husband, Kevin. This was the house they’d bought. Myron saw that day, Kevin and Ali coming here with a Realtor, both young, both choosing this vessel as the one where they would live their lives and raise their kids. Did they hold hands as they toured their future abode? What appealed to Kevin, or was it maybe his beloved’s enthusiasm that won him over? And why the hell was Myron thinking about such things?
He had told Ali that he loved her.
Would he have done so — said “I love you” like that — if Jessica hadn’t visited him last night?
Yes.
His cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“Do you plan on sitting out in the car all night?”
He felt his heart soar at the sound of Ali’s voice. “Sorry, just thinking.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“About what you’d like to do to me?”
“Well, not exactly,” he said. “But I can start now, if you want.”
“Don’t bother. I got it all planned out already. You’ll only interfere with what I’ve come up with.”
“Do tell.”
“I’d rather show. Come to the door. Don’t knock. Don’t talk. Jack is asleep and Erin is upstairs on her computer.”
Myron hung up. He caught his reflection — the goofy smile — in the car’s rearview mirror. He tried not to sprint to the door, but he couldn’t help but do one of those run-walks. The front door opened as he approached. Ali had her hair down. Her blouse was clingy and red and shiny. It stretched at the top, just asking to be unbuttoned.
Ali put a finger to her lips. “Shh.”
She kissed him. She kissed him hard and deep. He felt it in his fingertips. His body sang. She whispered in his ear, “The kids are upstairs.”
“So you said.”
“I’m usually not much of a risk-taker,” she said. Then Ali licked his ear. Myron’s entire body jerked in pleasure. “But I really, really want you.”
Myron held back the quip. They kissed again. She took his hand, quickly leading him down the hall. She closed the kitchen door. They went through the family room. She closed another door.
“How’s the couch work for you?” she said.
“I don’t care if we do it on a bed of nails at half court at Madison Square Garden.”
They dropped to the couch. “Two closed doors,” Ali said, her breathing heavy. They kissed again. Their hands began to wander. “No one can sneak up on us.”
“My, haven’t we been planning,” Myron said.
“Pretty much all day.”
“Worth it,” he said.
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, just you wait and see.”
They kept their clothes on. That was the most amazing thing. Sure, buttons were undone and zippers were lowered. But they’d kept their clothes on. And now, as they panted in each other’s arms, fully spent, Myron said the same thing that he said every time they finished.
“Wow.”
“You’ve got quite the vocabulary.”
“Never use a big word when a small one will suffice.”
“I could make a crack here, but I won’t.”
“Thank you,” he said. Then: “Can I ask you something?”
Ali snuggled closer. “Anything.”
“Are we exclusive?”
She looked at him. “For real?”
“I guess.”
“It sounds like you’re asking me to go steady.”
“What would you say if I did?”
“Asked me to go steady?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I’d exclaim, ‘Oh yes!’ Then I’d ask if I can doodle your name on my notebook and wear your varsity jacket.”
He smiled.
Ali said, “Does your asking have anything to do with our earlier exchange of I-love-yous?”
“I don’t think so.”
