Christie was reluctant to leave.
“I don’t need your help anymore.”
“Do you mean that?” she asked, trying to disguise the pain his comment had inflicted.
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You said I’m a stuffed shirt.”
“So? You are.”
“You don’t want anything to do with me,” he reminded her. “You said that … the last time I drove you home …”
“I did?” She couldn’t even remember, although they’d argued about what she’d called his “hovering” and “overprotectiveness.”
“You asked—yet again—that I not drive you anymore.”
She didn’t see that as any big deal. “I’m capable of driving myself, you know.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “And I’m capable of looking after myself.”
“Fine,” she said, hands on her hips. “We’re both capable people. Now climb into bed and I’ll tuck you in.”
“Then you’ll go?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Good.” He averted his head as he mumbled, “Please leave the room.”
Furious—and not sure why—she stomped out of the room and slammed the door. Then she stood on the other side of the door and waited. Twice, when she heard him stifle a groan, she nearly burst in, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. Fine, she’d see that he was safely in bed and then she’d take off. If he didn’t want her around, she wasn’t going to make a pest of herself.
After two or three minutes of silence, she asked, “Can I come in now?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” She turned the knob and cautiously opened the door, to find him dressed in pajamas. He’d apparently taken off the sling around his arm, then put it back on, all by himself. That must’ve hurt. So he was a stuffed shirt and a glutton for punishment.
She peeled back the sheets and plumped up the pillows and finally assisted him into bed. He lowered himself onto the mattress with his teeth clenched and eyes tightly closed. Christie bit her lip, resisting the urge to cry out.
“Is there anything else I can do?” she asked once he was settled.
“Leave me alone.”
“Okay.” But instead she leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. “Good night, James.” When he frowned, she whispered, “Don’t worry, I’m going now.” What she didn’t say aloud was I’ll be back. He’d discover that soon enough.
Then she left his apartment and bounced down the outside stairs. Thirty minutes later she returned from her trip to the all-night grocery. Teri came out to meet her.
“He’s sleeping.”
“Good.”
“Bobby and I got the medication and the soup. I gave him the first capsule with a glass of water but he didn’t want anything to eat.” She walked with Christie to the bottom of the stairs that led to his apartment. “Apparently he put up a real fight when those … those mobsters attacked him and Rachel.”
“And paid the price,” Christie said.
“I was wrong about him,” Teri admitted. “I assumed that if anything like this ever happened, I’d be the one defending him.”
Until this evening, Christie had shared her sister’s assessment. “He surprised me, too.”
“You’re bringing him that?” Teri asked, pointing at the object in her right hand.
“Yes—even though he doesn’t want me here.”
“You’re sure?”
“He asked me to go, so I did. I’ll just leave this upstairs.”
“Come over when you’re finished.”
Christie nodded. It was well after midnight now, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long, long time.
Teri left her and Christie climbed up the stairs and, as silently as possible, let herself into James’s apartment. Guided by the moonlight and walking on the tips of her toes, she made her way into his bedroom.
Then, very carefully, she placed the long-stemmed red rose across the empty pillow beside him.
Thirty-Six
Olivia’s illness affected Grace’s mood, leaving her depressed and enervated, although she tried hard to conceal that from her friend. But now that Olivia had met with the surgeon and the oncologist, she seemed more at ease with what was happening. She’d have surgery, followed by radiation and several months of chemotherapy. With her characteristic optimism and fighting spirit, Olivia had made her peace with the diagnosis and the coming treatment. Everyone knew about Olivia’s cancer now. Charlotte was badly shaken, as Grace had been. The one who remained strong and positive, the one who held the family together, was—as always—Olivia. She said she was ready for whatever the future might bring.
Like Jack, like Charlotte and Ben, like Justine and Seth, Grace was determined to stand by her side.
As for the problems with her renters, Grace had a fatalistic outlook. She’d agreed to rent the house to Darryl and Pamela Smith, and her decision had been a costly one.
The cost continued to escalate now that there were attorneys involved. That wasn’t the end of it, either. Even her former neighbors were upset with her. These were people Grace had known and been friends with for decades. Mrs. Vessey was convinced that the Smiths were selling drugs. Grace didn’t know if that was true, but she didn’t doubt it was possible.
“What am I going to do?” Grace moaned on Wednesday morning as she sat at the kitchen table prior to leaving for work. She glanced down at her coffee and toast and realized her appetite was gone. The problem had weighed on her ever since another call from Mrs. Vessey informed her that the police had been called, yet again, about an all-night party.
“You spoke to Olivia, didn’t you?” Cliff asked, joining her in the kitchen.
“Yes.” In spite of her own far more important concerns, Olivia had discussed the situation with Grace, offering advice on how to get the Smiths evicted. The legal process was emotionally, not to mention financially, draining. First, she had to obtain what was known as an Unlawful Retainer, and if the Smiths didn’t pay the outstanding rent within three days, the matter would be brought up for a court hearing. That could take two weeks, but depending on the court schedule, it might be longer.
The Smiths were pros at prolonging the process, according to what Judy had learned. They’d managed to live in their last place rent-free for eight months.
“Olivia said it could take months to evict this couple. Judy tried to warn me.” Grace sighed.
