Lawrence Block - In the Midst of Death

"It's impossible to say. Unless something turns up he'll go to trial. He might get off or he might not. A high-powered lawyer could drag things out for a long time."

"But it's possible he'll be convicted?"

I hesitated, then nodded.

"And go to prison?"

"It's possible."

"God."

She picked up her mug and stared down into it, then raised her eyes to meet mine."Should I get us more coffee, Matthew?"

"No more for me."

"Should I have some more? Should I have another drink?"

"If it's what you need."

She thought about it. "It's not what I need," she decided. "Do you know what I need?"

I didn't say anything.

"I need you to come over here and sit next to me. I need to be held."

I sat on the couch beside her and she came into my arms eagerly like a small animal seeking warmth. Her face was very soft against mine, her breath warm and sweet. When my mouth found hers she stiffened for a moment. Then, as if realizing that her decision had long since been reached, she relaxed in my arms and returned the kiss.

At one point she said, "Let's just make everything go away.

Everything." And then she did not have to say anything after that, and neither did I.

A little later we were sitting as before, she on the couch, I on my chair. She was sipping unspiked coffee, and I had a glass of straight bourbon that I'd finished a little more than half of. We were talking quietly and we stopped our conversation when footsteps sounded on the stairs. A girl about ten years old entered the room. She looked like her mother.

She said, "Mommy, me and Jennifer want to—"

"Jennifer and I."

The child sighed theatrically. "Mommy, Jennifer and I want to watch Fantastic Voyage and Eric is being a pig and wants to watch The Flintstones and me and Jennifer I mean Jennifer and I hate The Flintstones ."

"Don't call Eric a pig."

"I didn't call Eric a pig. I just said he was being a pig."

"I suppose there's a difference. You and Jennifer can watch your program in my room. Is that what you wanted?"

"Why doesn't Eric watch in your room? After all, Mommy, he's watching our set in our room."

"I don't want Eric alone in my room."

"Well, me and Jennifer don't want him alone in our room, Mommy, and—"

"Sara—"

"Okay. We'll watch in your room."

"Sara, this is Mr. Scudder."

"Hello, Mr. Scudder. Can I go now, Mommy?"

"Go ahead."

When the child had disappeared up the staircase, her mother let out a long, low-pitched whistle. "I don't know what on earth is the matter with me," she said. "I've never done anything like that before. I don't mean I've been a saint. I was … last year there was someone I was involved with. But in my own house, God, and with my children at home. Sara could have walked right in on us. I'd never have heard her." She smiled suddenly. "I wouldn't have heard World War Three. You're a sweet man, Matthew. I don't know how this happened, but I am not going to make excuses for it. I'm glad it happened."

"So am I."

"Do you know that you still haven't spoken my name? All you've called me is Mrs. Broadfield."

I'd said her name once aloud and many times silently. But I said it again now. "Diana."

"That's much better."

"Diana, goddess of the moon."

"And of the hunt."

"Of the hunt, too?I just knew about the moon."

"I wonder if it will be out tonight. The moon. It's getting dark already, isn't it? I can't believe it. Where did the summer go? It was just spring the other day and now it's October. In a couple of weeks my three wild Indians will put on costumes and extort candy from the neighbors." Her face clouded. "It's a family tradition, after all. Extortion."

"Diana—"

"And Thanksgiving is just a month away. Doesn't it seem as though we had Thanksgiving three months ago?Or four at the very most?"

"I know what you mean. The days take as long to pass as ever, but the years fly by."

She nodded. "I always thought my grandmother was crazy. She would tell me time passed much more quickly when you were older. Either she was crazy or she considered me a very gullible child because how could time possibly alter its pace according to one's age? But there is a difference. A year is three percent of my life and ten percent of Sara's, so of course it flies for me and crawls for her. And she's in a hurry for time to rush by, and I wish it would slow itself down a bit. Oh, Matthew, it's not all that much fun getting old."

"Silly."

"Me? Why?"

"Talking about being old when you're just a kid yourself."

"You can't be a kid anymore when you're somebody's mother."

"The hell you can't."

"And I'm getting older, Matthew. Look how much older I am today than yesterday."

"Older? But younger, too, aren't you?In one way?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Yes, you're right. And I hadn't even thought of that."

When my glass was empty I got to my feet and told her I'd better be going. She said it would be nice if I could stay and I said it was probably a good thing that I couldn't. She thought about that and agreed it was probably true but said it would have been nice all the same.

"You'll be cold," she said. "It cools off quickly once the sun is down. I'll drive you to Manhattan. Shall I do that? Sara's old enough to baby-sit for that length of time. I'll run you in, it's faster than the train."

"Let me take the train, Diana."

"Then I'll drive you to it."

"I'd just as soon walk off some of the booze."

She studied me, then nodded."All right."

"I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Or even if you don't?"

"Or even if I don't."

I reached out for her, but she backed away. "I want you to know I'm not going to cling, Matthew."

"I know that."

"You don't have to feel you owe me anything."

"Come here."

"Oh, my sweet man."

And at the door she said, "And you'll go on working for Jerry. Is this going to complicate things?"

"Everything generally does," I said.

It was cold outside. When I got to the corner and turned north, there was a wind with a lot of bite to it coming right up behind me. I was wearing my suit and it wasn't enough.

Halfway to the subway stop I realized I could have borrowed an overcoat of his. A man with Jerry Broadfield's enthusiasm for clothing was sure to have three or four of them, and Diana would have been happy enough to lend me one. I hadn't thought of it and she hadn't volunteered, and now I decided that it was just as well. So far today I'd sat in his chair and drunk his whiskey and taken his money and made love to his wife. I didn't have to walk around town in his clothes.

The subway platform was elevated and looked like a stop on the Long Island Rail Road. Evidently a train had just gone through, although I hadn't heard it. I was the only person waiting on the westbound platform. Gradually other people joined me and stood around smoking.

It's theoretically illegal to smoke in subway stations whether they're above or below ground. Almost everyone honors this rule below the surface of the earth, and virtually all smokers feel free to smoke on elevated platforms. I've no idea why this is so. Subway stations, above or below ground, are equally fireproof, and the air in both is so foul that smoke won't make it noticeably worse. But the law is obeyed in one type of station and routinely violated (and unenforced) in the other, and no one has ever explained why.

Curious.

The train came eventually. People threw away their cigarettes and boarded it. The car I rode in was festooned with graffiti, but the legends were limited to the now-conventional nicknames and numbers. Nothing as imaginative as WE ARE PEOPLE TWO.