Chapter 22

Our routine took another hit very abruptly.

I'd had Spook monitoring information about Lisa's mom in the nursing home. It wasn't as easy as it sounds; the home kept computerized records, sort of, but the updates were a little sporadic and generally anywhere from a day to as much as a week out of date; I guessed timeliness of record-keeping was a secondary thing in the anterooms to death that most nursing homes are.

So it was five days late when Spook gave me the news.

Jack, the female on whom you have asked me to maintain surveillance, the mother of Lisa, the records I have been watching now say that she died on— he gave the date.

Shit. Now I'd have to tell her. I hated having to do it, and I especially hated having to be the bearer of these particular bad tidings. She'd beat herself up for not having been there, even with her mom as out of it as she'd been, and I was the reason she hadn't been able to be there.

She took it about as hard as I'd expected. I told her as gently as I could, making sure I said "passed away" instead of the harsher "died"—I never have understood why it matters, they mean the same thing, but it does to most people—and her face seemed to freeze except for the tears that started trickling down her cheeks. I tried to take her in my arms for comfort, but she pushed me away.

"Not now, Jackie," she said in a tremulous voice. "Just leave me be for a little while, OK? I need to be alone right now," she added when I just stood there feeling stupid and useless. I left the room, and behind me I could hear the lock on the door click.

The rest of the afternoon went by, and all evening. I had no idea what to do. It was our bedroom she'd locked me out of, and as the hour grew later and later I finally dossed down uncomfortably on the living room couch and, with the aid of a couple of solid slugs of scotch, fell into an uneasy sleep.

It was still pitch black outside when she shook me awake. "Jackie, please wake up, I need to talk to you," she said. She'd apparently been up at least long enough to make coffee, and she gave me a cup while I struggled to regain alertness. She waited patiently.

"OK, honey," I said at last. "I'm functional."

"Jackie, you think I blame you, don't you?" she asked.

I had no idea what to say. I tried to keep a sympathetic look on my face, but all I could do was shrug.

"Well, I do, kind of," she said in the same soft tone. "I wasn't there, and that's because of you. And I hate that, and for a while I tried to hate you for it."

It was a hundred percent right that I was the reason she couldn't be there, I knew. I just shook my head and sort of shrugged again.

"I was mad at you, and miserable. I went to sleep for a while that way. And I was still mad and miserable when I woke up. And I still feel miserable. But I can't be mad any more, and I had to say that to you." And she leaned down to where I was still half-lying on the couch and kissed me.