nobody knew what was up with that. The jumpmasters certainly weren’t crazy about it. But, she always lined up like everybody else and hopped right out the door when she was supposed to. It was just…damned unsettling.
Tears weren’t a big deal with most women. But Rita and Santos—and Meehan, if she happened to break down—were an altogether different situation.
He kept checking Meehan out, just in case. She caught him at it, and she started to say something but didn’t. She looked away, down the driveway in the direction lover boy had gone.
He waited.
And waited.
The rain beat down on the umbrella. A car went down the street, its heavy bass speakers pounding. Somebody somewhere threw something heavy into a metal trash can.
“So did you get dumped or what?” he asked finally—and that got her attention.
She stared at him a long time before she answered. “Yes,” she said finally.
“Yeah, well, it’s been that kind of a day,” he said with the assurance of a man who’d been there.
He maneuvered the cane so that he could press one hand into his thigh. Both legs were beginning to hurt like hell. He tried to shift his weight a little. It didn’t help a bit. When he looked up again, Meehan wasn’t frowning anymore. It occurred to him that she was a lot nicer looking when she didn’t frown.
“Did you go to the wedding?” she asked.
“I went,” he admitted.
“Everybody was all dressed up, I guess.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me. I looked so good it’s a wonder the ceremony even took place.”
She gave a slight smile. It faded almost immediately.
“So how was it?” she asked a little too gently for him to maintain his bravado.
“It was—” he stopped and took a breath “—it was hell. Mostly.”
“Poor old Bugs,” she said.
He grinned. “At least I ain’t sitting out in the rain over it.”
To his surprise she laughed. She had a nice laugh. Definitely she should laugh a lot more than she did.
“I allow myself to do one really stupid thing at least once a year,” she said after a moment.
“And this is it, huh?”
“This is it. I wish I could think of some really cool way to get out of it.” She was still smiling a little, and she made an attempt to stand up. He tried to move out of her way. The pain in his legs intensified, and he couldn’t keep from bending forward.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, dodging the umbrella before he clunked her in the head with it.
“Hurts,” was all he could manage.
“Well, no wonder. Coming out in the rain like this.”
“Yeah, and who’s fault…would that be? If you don’t mind me…pointing that…out.”
“Okay, okay. Do you want me to help you?” she asked, he guessed because she’d been around enough banged-up soldiers to know that assistance wasn’t always welcome.
“No.”
“How long has it been since you took something for pain?”
“About three…weeks…” he said through gritted teeth.
“You’re not taking the prescription the doctor ordered for you?”
“Can’t stay awake. You know…me. Don’t want to…miss anything.”
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
“I’m hurting…not…hungry,” he said. Which wasn’t precisely the truth. Not a lie exactly, more a matter of priorities. He’d planned on eating. He’d been about to zero in on Mrs. Bee’s cake with the pineapple-and-coconut-cream icing—but he got sucked into coming over here. And that fact just added to his current aggravation.
“You’re exhausted, is what you are. You’ve done too much today, and you’ve probably been feeling too sorry for yourself to eat—”
“I ate, I ate!”
He tried to take a step or two and was pitiful at it. “Okay,” she said. “That’s enough. You’re getting the shakes. Just stand here a second and then we’ll hobble that way.” She pointed toward her back door.
“No…thanks,” he managed to say.
“You should have taken a pain pill—especially today.”
“I don’t take them, Meehan, unless I have to. Just special occasions. When it hurts…really bad.”
“Well, what do you call this?”
“A minor setback…brought on by people not…behaving.”
“Very funny. Now go that way.”
“I’ll be okay in a…minute.”
“I said go. It’s closer than trying to get back to Mrs. Bee’s. You’re going to fall on your face. You’ve let the muscles in your legs go into spasm—”
“Right,” he said. “I…let them. Just for the…hell of it.”
“Oh, quit whining and let’s go. You can get off your feet for a little while and then you can run along home and give Mrs. Bee your report.”
She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He hobbled in the direction she was pushing him—but he didn’t like it.
“Take the…umbrella,” he said at one point.
She took it, but his not carrying the umbrella didn’t help him walk much better. She had to hold it way up in the air to keep him covered.
“Try putting your hand on my shoulder,” she said.
“It won’t…help.”
“Do it.”
He did as she ordered, bearing down hard with his next step. “This is all your—”
“Fault,” she finished with him. “I got that part.”
“So how come he…dumped you?” Doyle asked bluntly. The question was entirely inappropriate, but pain apparently made him reckless. Besides that, he actually wanted to know, and this seemed like as good a time as any to ask.
“It’s none of your damned business,”
