Frozen Stiff (19 page)

Chapter 28

A
fter hanging up, I look up the number for Callie’s sister and hit redial. The phone rings a couple of times and then flips over to voice mail. Rather than leave a message, I hang up and make a mental note to try again later.

I stash the throwaway cell at the bottom of my purse after entering the number Hurley gave me into its memory. After a little debate, I assign the number to my nephew, Ethan.

When I arrive in the ICU to pick David up, he is sitting on the edge of his bed wearing scrubs and smiling. “I really appreciate you doing this,” he says, climbing into the wheelchair the nurse has insisted he ride in.

When we get to the patient loading area out front, the nurse hesitates. “Which car is yours?” she asks.

“The hearse,” I tell her.

David shakes his head. “I forgot you were driving that thing.”

“Hey, it’s in better shape than your car at the moment,” I tell him, knowing his was destroyed in the fire. “Take it or leave it.”

After we get into the car and I pull away from the hospital, David says, “What did you do to your foot?”

“I tripped over a tree root when I was running to the house last night and broke a couple of toes.”

“You ran to save me?”

“Don’t go reading things into it that aren’t there, David,” I say, scowling. “It was adrenaline that made me run, nothing more.”

He sighs heavily and an awkward silence fills the car for a couple of minutes. Then he says, “Look, I know you’re not happy about this. I get that. And I know I’m a schmuck for what I did to you . . . to us. But can we try to put the past behind us for the next couple of days and just be civil? No relationship talk, no future talk, just two people who once cared a lot for one another spending a little time together?”

I consider his request. “Okay,” I say finally. “But you have to stick to your promise. No relationship talk. Deal?”

“Deal. Have any plans for dinner?”

Now he’s talking my language: food. “Not yet. What did you have in mind?”

“How about we go out somewhere? My treat, except you’ll have to run me by the bank first since my wallet was lost in the fire. I need to go by there anyway so I can replace my credit cards. And I also need some clothes.” He plucks at the neckline of his scrub top. “At the moment, this is all I have.”

I realize then that this fire has been far more devastating a loss for him than for me and I feel a twinge of guilt for all the nasty thoughts I’ve been harboring against him. He has quite literally lost everything, including the shirt on his back.

“Okay, let’s do the bank first and then I’ll take you clothes shopping.”

“Thanks, Mattie. I really do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“No problem.”

After a lengthy stop at the bank, David emerges with a wad of cash and gets back in the car. “Next stop, Nigel’s,” he says.

Nigel’s is the name of the only men’s clothier in town, owned by a pretentious fop who sports a fake British accent and charges twice what his clothes are worth for the privilege of shopping where the snobbish elite go. “Why don’t we hit up the Super Wal-Mart?” I suggest. “It’s only a half hour drive away and it will have better variety for a much more reasonable price.”

“I’ve always shopped at Nigel’s,” David says, frowning. “Their suits are a better quality and I can get them tailored.”

“But you don’t need suits right now. What you need is day-to-day stuff: underwear, socks, jeans, shirts, shoes, and some toiletries. Plus you’re going to need a coat of some sort. You can hit Nigel’s up for your suits later.”

David thinks about it and though I expect him to stick to his snobbish ways, he doesn’t. “Okay, you’re right. I’m starting from scratch here so I guess we should begin with the basics.”

I change direction to head for the highway and Wal-Mart. “I should make a list,” David says. “Do you have anything I can write on?”

“Look in my purse,” I tell him.

He grabs my purse, rummages around, and comes up with a pen and the small spiral notepad from the Chicago trip. “What’s all this?” he says, flipping the pages of the pad and reading my notes.

Panicked, I reach over and grab the pad from him. “Those are notes on the investigation I’m working on.” I rip all the pages with writing on them out of the pad, including the one that has Hurley’s number on it, cursing myself for not destroying it earlier. Then I hand the pad back to him.

“Why do you have two cell phones?” he asks, peering into my purse.

I think fast. “Um, I temporarily misplaced my regular phone and had to get one of those prepaid ones. It still has minutes on it so I haven’t tossed it yet.”

“I need a phone,” he says, taking both of them out of my purse. “Can I use the prepaid one until I get mine replaced?”

“No!”

He gives me a shocked look. “Okay already. I was just asking.” He drops the phones and tosses my purse aside.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “It’s just that I don’t want to give up the other one in case someone who has that number tries to call me, not knowing I have my original back.” The story sounds plausible to me and I pray it will for David, too. “We’ll get you a new cell phone tonight. I’m pretty sure Wal-Mart has them now.”

A little over four hours later, David and I arrive back at the cottage, both of us exhausted but happy and full. After a sweeping run through Wal-Mart, where I found I actually enjoyed dressing David like some adult version of a Ken doll, we had dinner at a Mexican restaurant in a nearby town before heading home. David stuck to his word about keeping the conversation neutral and I found myself actually enjoying his company as we reminisced about things in our past and had a civil but rousing discussion about health care reform. Several times during the evening things felt so much like the old days, I forgot that we were no longer a couple. Now the resultant emotions are seriously screwing with my head.

We carry our packages inside, where Hoover greets me with a gentle
whuff
and a happily wagging tail. After giving David a cursory sniff, he dismisses him and comes back to me. I leave David to his unpacking and take Hoover outside to do his business.

While I’m standing outside watching Hoover sniff and circle to find the perfect spot, I hear a door open behind me. When I turn to look, I see Izzy approaching.

“Hey, Izzy.”

“Hay is for horses,” he says. “Dom told me the news about David.”

“Yeah, I should probably have my head examined for agreeing to it, but he and Molinaro basically cornered and guilted me into it.”

“Wow, he got Molinaro involved?” I nod. “Devious move on his part. He knows how much you fear that woman.”

“I’m only going to let him stay for a couple of days. Just until Thanksgiving. We’re already committed to the dinner with my mother and William so I might as well let him stay till then.”

“Dom wants me to invite you both over for breakfast in the morning. That is, unless the two of you need some time alone together.”

I shoot him a look that makes him back up a step and hold his fingers up in the sign of the cross. “It was a joke,” he says.

“Tell Dom thanks and we’ll be there, or at least I will. David may opt to do something else.”

“Let me ask you something, Mattie.”

Uh-oh, I know that tone. It means something serious is coming. Has Izzy figured out that I’m keeping secrets from him?

“Have you considered going for marriage counseling with David?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons. One, I hate shrinks, particularly after our experience with Luke Nelson,” I say, referring to a recent case. “And two, there’s no need for counseling. I’m not confused about what I want at this point, or rather what I don’t want. I don’t want David and I don’t want my marriage back.”

“Are you sure the situation with Hurley isn’t clouding your judgment?”

For a second I feel a frisson of panic, thinking he’s discovered I’m in cahoots with Hurley on this latest investigation. But what he says next makes me realize his true meaning.

“I mean, there’s an obvious attraction between you and Hurley. Anyone who’s spent any time around the two of you can see that. And I can’t help but wonder if that isn’t clouding your judgment some. If you take him out of the equation, which you’re going to have to do now, are you sure being on your own is what you really want?”

I watch Hoover squat and take a dump, his haunches quivering with his efforts. And I think about what Izzy is saying. Had anyone else asked me this, I would have dismissed it out of hand. But I’ve come to respect Izzy for his insight and wisdom about things, so I feel obligated to give what he’s saying some serious consideration.

“I don’t know, Izzy,” I say finally. “My head is kind of muddled right now, what with everything that’s happened. Let me think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“See you in the morning.”

And with that, I head inside toward a future that is more confusing than ever.

Chapter 29

D
avid has left most of his clothes in the bags from the store and he’s still dressed in his scrubs. “Mind if I use your shower?” he asks.

“Of course not. Help yourself.”

I watch him as he carries his brand-new pajamas and the bag of just-bought toiletries into the bathroom with him. As he closes the door, my mind envisions him undressing on the other side. I know the first thing he’ll do is shave, standing stark naked in front of the sink, running the razor over the right side of his face first, then the left, moving to his neck next, and then the mustache area, finishing with the sideburns. After that he’ll brush his teeth for a full two minutes, finishing off with a Listerine rinse. Then he’ll hop in the shower and wash his body before he shampoos his hair. I can see that body—tall, lithe, and fit—in my mind’s eye. David is a well-built, attractive man and as I imagine him lathering himself up, I feel myself getting turned on.

What the hell?
Maybe Izzy is right. Maybe I should consider marital counseling because clearly I’m still attracted to David on some level. Then again, I haven’t had sex in months so at this point even Helga looks good to me.

I settle on the couch with Hoover at my feet, turn on the TV, and start flipping channels, cursing my fickle loins and trying to focus on anything besides David naked in the shower. By the time he comes out of the bathroom wearing his new pajamas, with his hair damp and his face flushed, I’ve successfully shifted my attention to my back and shoulders, which are stiffening up with each passing minute. I’m not sure if it’s because of my workout at the gym, my efforts with David during the fire, or a combination of the two, but I have a feeling I won’t be moving well in the morning. Rubbish has curled himself up in my lap and even the minimal movement I’m making to pet him is growing more painful with each stroke.

David fetches himself a glass of ice water from the kitchen and then walks over and plops down next to me on the couch, making Rubbish leap from my lap and dash into the bedroom. Most likely Rubbish will hide under the bed for a while. He doesn’t take well to strangers in the house and the only person he’s not run from is Hurley, which is ironic when you consider that Hurley harbors a strong dislike of cats and often wants to run from Rubbish.

David smells fantastic and my mind starts thinking evil thoughts again. “How are you feeling?” I ask, hoping to keep the conversation as far away from delicate personal territory as I can.

“I’m okay. I still have a bit of a headache and I coughed up some nasty-looking stuff in the shower, but at least I don’t feel like I’m one step away from slipping into the grave.” He looks down at my foot, still encased in its Frankenstein shoe. “What about you? Are you doing okay?”

“My toes are throbbing quite a bit,” I admit. I shrug and roll my neck to try to loosen things up. “And I made the mistake of working out at a gym today and now my muscles are stiffening up in protest.”

“You worked out?” he says, looking as shocked as if I’d just told him I’m really a man.

“Yes, I did. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He laughs. “It’s just not like you. In the past you’ve taken to exercise the way cats take to water. Plus I noticed your freezer is well stocked with Ben & Jerry’s.”

I roll my neck again and wince. “Well, based on how I feel at the moment, I think my aversion to exercise is justified. Though I suppose my pain could also be from my having to drag you out of bed and down the stairs to save your sorry ass,” I add, unable to resist one small jab in my defense.

I get the satisfaction of seeing David look properly chastised. He gets up and goes back into the bathroom, returning a minute later with three ibuprofen tablets and a glass of water. “Here, take these,” he says.

“Thanks.” I chug the pills down with a couple of swallows of water.

“You’re welcome. Now turn around and face toward the end of the couch.”

I stare at him, confused by the request.

“Just do as I say,” he says with a smile. “Trust me.”

Those last two words are loaded ones, given our history. Trust is the one thing sorely lacking in our relationship, but I decide to take this baby step and see what happens. A second later his hands are on my shoulders, gently kneading the muscles there. “Wow, your muscles really are tight,” he says, moving toward my neck. “Is this helping?”

“Yes, it is.” It’s not only helping, it feels utterly glorious. His hands work magic on my tired muscles; I can feel them unwinding already. For the next fifteen minutes, his hands rove over my shoulders, my neck, and my back. I’m so lost in the sensations that I end up lying on my stomach on the couch at one point with no memory of how I got there. By the time he’s done I feel utterly relaxed . . . and completely confused.

He leans down and kisses me on the nape of my neck—a spot he knows is a sensitive one for me. It triggers a deep longing in my groin and it’s all I can do not to flip over and kiss him back. I half expect him to try to go further but instead he retreats, pats my fanny, and says, “Now you need a hot shower to keep those muscles loose.”

I get up from the couch and stumble into my bedroom to get a nightgown. When I come back out, David is making up the couch with the linens Dom gave me and Hoover is watching him curiously, his head cocked to one side. I hurry into the bathroom and as soon as I shut the door behind me, I lean against the wall and try to get a grip on my senses.

What the hell just happened?

But I know what happened. Somehow David managed to reawaken feelings in me that I thought were long dead and gone. Was Izzy right? Had my attraction to Hurley somehow enabled me to bury my true feelings for David?

I turn on the shower and get it as hot as I can stand, and then I strip myself naked and climb in. At first I just let the water beat on my neck and shoulders for a while, fighting the images in my head. But no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps playing mini scenarios where David enters the bathroom and climbs into the shower with me.

Frustrated, I wash up, get out, and dry off. Then I spend another twenty minutes lotioning up my skin and blow drying my hair. By the time I emerge from the bathroom I’m still mightily confused and afraid of what might happen next. But David is sound asleep on the couch with the TV still on and Hoover curled up on the floor beside him. I turn the TV off, half expecting David to awaken when the sound cuts out. But he doesn’t and I realize that a small part of me is disappointed.

I stand there watching him sleep for several minutes, admiring his patrician features, the lean lines of his body, and the almost childlike expression he has on his face. A part of me wants to crawl in next to him and spoon the way we used to. Another part of me remembers his horrible betrayal, and with that remembrance comes the realization that what we once had will never be the same. But just because it can’t be the same doesn’t mean it can’t work, does it? Maybe we can build a new relationship, one that’s even stronger than what we had before because of the many obstacles we’ll have to overcome to get there.

I’m irritated with myself for thinking about any of this. While I clearly have some heavy thinking to do about David and me, I don’t want my marital issues to cloud my focus on Hurley’s situation. Plus there is a part of me that feels like I’m selling out by even considering giving David another chance.

I turn off the one lamp in the room that’s on but it makes it too dark and I’m afraid David might trip or stumble into something in this foreign environment if he can’t see. So I turn on the bathroom fixture and pull the door partway closed, allowing a small trapezoid of light into the living room. Satisfied, I turn my back on David both physically and metaphorically and head for my bed. I briefly debate whether or not to shut my bedroom door, but in the end I decide to leave it open so I can hear David if he does awaken. As soon as I’m under the covers, Hoover, who has followed me, lays his chin on the edge of the mattress, looking at me with those wistful brown eyes. Happy to snuggle up to any warm body along about now, I give him the okay and let him hop up on the bed with me. A few minutes later Rubbish comes out from beneath the bed and curls up on my other side.

Just as I’m about to drift off to sleep, I remember that I didn’t lock the door. Given everything that’s happened around here lately, it would be foolish of me not to. Annoyed with myself for forgetting, I toss the covers back and climb out of bed. Both Hoover and Rubbish awaken and watch me, but neither of them leaves the warm comfort of the bed to follow, apparently sensing that I’ll be back.

I tiptoe past the couch and David’s sleeping form, making a concerted effort not to look at him again since I’m convinced my hormones are inclined to flame like a Molotov cocktail and I can’t trust myself any longer. It only takes a second to flip the dead-bolt, but the act doesn’t imbue me with a sense of security because I remember how easily Hurley—and presumably someone else—has already managed to get past such locks. Then I remember the broken and opened basement window in my burned-down house and decide I should check to make sure all my windows are secure, too. There are two in the living room, one in the kitchen, and one in the bathroom, and I make quick work of checking them all, relieved to find each one firmly closed and locked. That leaves just my bedroom window, which is located on the back wall of the cottage. Since I sometimes find myself having to sleep during daytime hours after a night spent up answering calls, my bedroom doesn’t often see the light of day. Unlike the other windows, this one is mostly concealed by drapes for both darkness and privacy, though I notice a small gap up the middle where the two sides don’t quite meet. I walk over and push the drapes aside to check the lock. Instead I end up screaming because there is a face on the other side of the glass looking in.