Chapter 8

When I took them home, Eva invited me in.

"Wait," she said, and then took Timothy to his room to put him to bed.

I decided not to make myself too comfortable. She was sending mixed signals. So I looked around instead. In most houses there are pictures scattered around, and knickknacks ... little personal items that describe where the members of the family have been on their life walk thus far. All I saw in the living room was one picture of Eva and Timothy. It looked like it was a year old or maybe a little more. I remembered Wally, who was willing to forcibly take and sell anything of value in the house on Christmas Eve. He wasn't the kind to amass personal mementos ... or let anybody else amass them either. I hoped Denny wasn't going to wimp out and cut a deal. Wally needed to go away for a long time. He'd been gone two years and this family still hadn't recovered from his effects.

"I'm glad you stayed," she said, coming back into the room.

"You told me to," I reminded her.

"Yes, but I wasn't sure you would."

"Why?"

"I know what men want, Bob," she said. "And I know how some of them react when you deny them what they want."

"And you think all I want is sex?" I was disappointed, both in her for thinking it, and in me for not making it clear to her that I was actually interested in her as a human being.

"I don't know what to think," she said. "I want to say I'm not used to dealing with decent men, but that's probably not true. A lot of my customers are great guys." She frowned. "And you didn't call me."

"I didn't call you because I was giving you the requested time and space to think," I said.

"Well next time, call me and tell me that," she said.

"Got it," I said. "I'm leaving now."

"Why?"

"Because I am a man, and you look good, but I'm still pretty sure that's not why you told me to stay." I gave her time to tell me I was wrong, but she didn't.

Instead, she came up to me, pulled my head down, and kissed me for a long, long time. When she was finished she pulled back and said "Thank you."

"Oh, my pleasure, believe me," I said.

"You're making this very difficult," she said.

"Life is hard," I said. The rest of it had been said so many times before that it just naturally tripped out of my mouth. "And then you die."

She blinked and her face went still.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. I didn't mean it like it sounded," I said, reflecting on how there is no better way to put a downer on an otherwise nice night than by reminding a woman of her dead husband.

"I know." She stepped back. "But you're right."

"I'll call you this time," I said.

"You better."

I called her the next day. She laughed when I told her who I was.

"No moss growing on your stones," she said.

I was mute for long seconds. This girl had the knack of surprising me. It was really kind of nice. Finally I realized I hadn't said anything for too long.

"Roll on, baby," I said weakly.

"Okay," she said. "Witty repartee isn't your strong suit. I can live with that."

"You want to go do something sometime?" I asked.

"When?"

"As soon as humanly possible," I said, honestly.

She laughed again. I felt my groin reacting to just her laugh.

"I can be free in ten minutes," she said.

"Well, maybe not that soon," I said, feeling foolish. "I'm at work."

"I kind of figured that," she said. "Is this what I pay taxes for? So you can call women and flirt with them on the phone?"

"I am merely keeping in contact with a victim of a crime," I said. "Speaking of which, Wally was arraigned. He was bound over for trial and they denied bail, since he had been out of jail less than 24 hours when he was arrested again."

"So there's going to be a trial?" she asked. "Will I have to testify?"

"Yes, to your first question," I said. "Unless he pleads guilty. Probably not to your second question. They only charged him with the attempted murder of me and assaults on the muggings. It's possible they could call you on his assault on me, but with me to testify, they really don't need you."

"I don't understand," she said. "Why didn't they charge him with coming into my house? I had a restraining order. They don't have to prove anything at all."

"Prosecution is complicated sometimes," I said. "They're going for the things they think will get him put away the longest. In theory, if all they did was the restraining order violation, he could get off with just probation."

"I don't want that," she said. "He needs to be in jail. He'll never leave me alone if he's out."

"He's not going to be out for a long, long time," I said. "But let's talk about something more pleasant. How about I pick you and Timothy up tonight and we go to this art gallery I know of. They're opening a new show tonight, and I can get us in."

"Art gallery?" I could hear puzzlement in her voice.

"I thought Timothy might like to see what the big boys and girls create and sell."

"Why not?" she asked. "What time?"

"You want to eat first, or dine on my dime?" I asked.

"You've done enough for us already," she said. "Pick us up at six-thirty."

"I'll be there," I said.

The day dragged by. It was a paperwork day, which meant I wasn't available to respond to new complaints. I got two reports finished, one of which was the one on Wally, and sent them on their way to whoever cared.

I got home, took a quick shower, microwaved a burrito that tasted just flat nasty, and then went to pick up Eva and her son.

He loved the gallery. And he behaved years older than his chronological age. I'll never forget him standing in front of one canvas, arms folded, just looking at it. Then he said "I could do that," and moved to the next one. Eva was standing beside me. We weren't touching, just standing together, though we were much closer than the usual personal space rule would allow.

I said "He's some kid."

She nodded. "I know."

"Does he remind you of his father?"

She looked at me then. Her eyes looked odd. There was conflict expressed in them, and something wary. She nodded.

"Sometimes."

"It's good he lives on in his son," I said. "Gives a man hope, somehow."

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