CHAPTER

36

THE NURSE CALLED for someone to see me out, and another big man showed up, a lobster pink blond with a shaved head wearing a lime green suit over a black T-shirt. I gave Dugger a small salute and walked out of the yellow room.

“Nice day, sir,” said my escort, using the same elbow steer to guide me through the black walnut hallway. Gilded niches were filled with statuary, urns brimmed with flowers, monogrammed D's punctuated the blue-and-gold carpeting at twenty-foot intervals.

On the way to the elevator we passed a room whose double doors had been shut when I'd arrived. Now they were spread open, and I caught a glimpse of a ballroom-sized space with zebra-striped walls.

Another hospital bed, the stoic Dr. Maccaferri standing by the headboard, drawing blood through a syringe that he'd jabbed into an IV line.

Another too-small bed. A tiny, bald head barely visible above blue satin covers. Wizened, elfin. Sleeping or approximating slumber. Gaping mouth, toothless. Motionless.

The pressure on my elbow intensified. Mr. Nice Day said, “Please keep moving, sir.”

I drove home, knowing the house would be empty.

After that night on the pier, I'd spent hours at St. John's Hospital. Had phoned home twice, gotten the machine. Returned just after two A.M. to find Robin wide awake, in the bedroom, packing a suitcase.

When I tried to hold her, she said, “No.”

“Early vacation?” I said. Everything was wrong, and I was talking gibberish.

“By myself,” she said.

“Honey—”

She threw clothing into the valise. “I got home at ten, was worried sick until you just happened to call at midnight.”

“Honey, I—”

“Alex, I just can't take this anymore. Need time to settle myself down.”

“We both do,” I said, touching her hair. “Let's stick with the original plan and get away together. I promise—”

“Maybe in a few days,” she said, suddenly crying. “You don't know the pictures that filled my head. You . . . again. Then Milo told me what happened—what were you thinking? A date with a bimbo? Another undercover adventure that nearly got you killed!”

“Not an adventure. Anything but. I was trying to help . . . some kids. The last thing I thought would happen was—”

“You can help kids by doing what you were trained for. Sit and talk to them—”

“That's how this started, Robin.” Unable to keep my voice steady. “Lauren was a patient. It just got . . .”

“Out of control? That's the point. When you're involved, things tend to . . . expand. It's like you're a magnet for ugliness. You know me, I'm a structured person—I work with wood and metal and machines, things that can be measured. I'm not saying that's ideal, or the only way. Maybe it means there's something wrong with my psyche. But there's something in between. Alex, the uncertainty you keep putting me through—every time you step out the door, not knowing if you'll come back.”

“I always come back.” I reached for her again, but she shook her head and said, “Let me go.”

“I'm sorry, let's talk about it—”

She shook her head. “I need . . . perspective. Then maybe we'll talk.”

“Where are you going?”

“San Diego—my friend Debby.”

“The dentist.”

“The dentist,” she said. “She and I used to have fun together. I used to have friends. Now all I've got is you and Spike and my work. I need to expand.”

“Me too,” I said. “I'll take up a hobby—golf.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. “That'll be the day.”

“What—impossible?”

“If there was something less likely than impossible, you and golf would be it. Alex, I'm not trying to tame you. I want you healthy—that's the point. You standing around on the links in funny shoes, all that dead time, is not a prescription for well-being. Let's not prolong this. I'll call you.”

Latching the suitcase, she headed for the door. “Spike's in the truck. I'm sure you won't mind that.”

“Not only am I abandoned, it's for another man.”

She kissed me hard on the lips, turned the doorknob, said, “Take care.”

“When will you call?”

“Soon. A couple of days.” Short, hard laugh.

“What?” I said.

“I was just about to say, ‘Be careful, baby.' Like I always do when we're about to go our separate ways. Rotten habit. I shouldn't have to say that.”