Bill Pronzini: Breakdown

* * * *

The night before Kerry’s birthday in early February, she and I had dinner together at my flat-our own private celebration. Her birthday, like Christmas, would be spent with her mother.

While we were eating Kerry said, “Cybil finally read the literature from Children of Grieving Parents. I talked her into it last night.”

“Well,” I said, pleased. “How did she react to it?”

“Skeptically. She’s still afraid. But she’ll think about it, if I know Cybil, and then she’ll want to talk about it some more. If I can just get her to see one of the volunteer parents …” Kerry sighed. “Nothing’s going to change before late spring at the earliest, I’m afraid.”

“But it will change. That’s the important thing.”

“Everything changes,” she said. “Including my building.”

“Your building?”

“It’s going condo.”

“… Are you sure?”

“Yep. On June first, unless I decide to make the other tenants hate me by trying to block it. They think it’s a great idea. I love my apartment but I don’t know if I love it enough to buy it, or even if I can afford the probable asking price. What if I can’t, and Cybil won’t go to a care facility after all? I’d have to find a new place and then move her and me both-”

“Hey,” I said, “don’t start fretting prematurely. It’ll all work out. Even if there are problems, we’ll get through them.”

“We?”

“You and me together. Look at what we’ve been through in the past. One crisis after another, and we’ve weathered them all. Care facilities and condos are a piece of cake.”

“Since when did you become such an optimist?”

“I’ve been an optimist,” I said, “ever since I fell in love with you.”

She fixed me with a long silent look. Then her face scrunched up and she burst into tears. Then, bawling and snuffling, she hurried off to the bathroom.

I’m damned if I know what I said to upset her.