J. Bertrand - Pattern of Wounds

“Only she wasn’t paying the rent.”

She concedes with a tilt of the head. “It didn’t take Simone long to figure out that the money wasn’t a big concern for me. What I really wanted was. . companionship.”

“And when she didn’t give you that?”

Silence.

“How did you feel when you realized she was taking advantage?”

“I pitied her. Simone could be selfish and manipulative, but after all, she was just a single-cell organism repeating her basic programming over and over again. Once you’ve realized that about someone, it’s very hard for them ever to hurt you.”

Cavallo returns from the bookshelves, shaking her head at my raised eyebrows. No sign of the book. She sits on the sofa next to Dr. Hill.

“Do you remember me, Professor?”

Hill leans back, like she can’t focus without some distance between them. “I do now.”

“Only it’s strange,” Cavallo says. “The way you’re describing Simone Walker sounds a lot like the way you described Shayna Zachariassen the last time we met. Maybe you do attract a certain type.”

The professor says nothing, letting the words hang in the air.

“You must be quite a reader,” I say. “So many books on the shelf. You haven’t read all of them, have you? People must ask that a lot.”

She blinks in slow motion, making her contempt for my banter unmistakable.

“There’s a particular title I’m wondering about, a true crime book about a case here in Houston from ten years back. It’s called The Kingwood Killing . Have you ever come across that particular book, Joy?”

“I don’t read that sort of book,” she says. “I find them sordid. And that goes for the people who read them, too.”

Charlotte and the Robbs hold down a table for us at Hungry’s Café, rising in unison to take turns giving Cavallo a hug. They say the usual things about not seeing her often enough. I smile and nod through it all like I’m paying attention, like my mind isn’t still on the job.

I’m as far away as ever from Simone’s killer. As far away as ever from her, too. Everyone in that girl’s life was using her. And she was using them, too.

Beside me Charlotte slips her hand into mine. Her face is radiant in the gold artificial light. To anyone but me, she would appear happy. But it’s a frantic sort of joy, a smile that never reaches the eyes.

“You okay?” I ask under my breath.

She ignores the question.

Carter and Gina wear the same awkward, excited expressions they always do when they’re taken out to dinner, anxious to please and be pleased. Carter must have raided the laundry basket. Instead of the usual ironic T-shirt, he’s found a tight-fitting plaid cowboy shirt with pearl snaps.

“So are you two working together again?” Gina asks Cavallo.

“Not really. March here hijacked me from the office, that’s all. He was having trouble getting any of his Homicide buddies to do the heavy lifting for him.”

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Charlotte says. “How is your husband doing? You get to talk to him, don’t you?”

“I worry a lot more about him than he worries about himself. But the good news is, when he finishes this tour, that’s it. He’s finally had enough. He’s not going to re-up again. I’m not going to let him.”

“He was crazy to go back in the first place after you two got hitched,” Carter says. “Not to be critical or anything.”

“You can be critical.” Cavallo smiles. “He was crazy, and now maybe he realizes it. I’m not getting any younger, so if we’re gonna start having babies, it’s time. Speaking of which. . congratulations.”

She raises her glass, getting nothing but Cheshire cat grins out of the Robbs.

“Congratulations about what?” Charlotte asks. She looks back and forth between Cavallo and Gina, pulling her hand out of mine, a quizzical smile on her lips. “Is there something I don’t know? What’s the big secret?”

Gina’s cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Are you-?”

As the truth dawns, Charlotte pushes her chair back. She reaches toward Gina but clips the side of a water glass by accident. A slurry of ice slides over the table. Carter scoots back to avoid getting wet. Gina stays frozen. I grab the glass, setting it upright.

“Oh,” Charlotte says, covering her mouth with both hands. “I’m such a-”

“It’s okay,” I’m saying, while Carter gives an awkward laugh.

Cavallo: “Did I spoil the surprise?”

It takes a moment, but Charlotte recovers. She gets up and goes to Gina, throwing her arms around the still-seated girl, hugging her from behind.

“That’s wonderful,” she says. “I’m so happy for you.”

A waiter comes by and helps me mop up the mess. Before I know it, the seating arrangements have changed. Carter takes Charlotte’s place beside me while the two older women close in around his wife, showering her with attention.

“Get used to it,” I say. “For now on, you’ve officially dropped off the radar screen.”

The specter of looming fatherhood doesn’t seem to faze Carter, though it should. He didn’t make much working at the church and makes even less from the outreach center, and I know for a fact they don’t have health insurance. The rent they pay for the garage apartment is next to nothing-but that’s no place to raise a kid.

No, they’ll have to move out.

Out of the apartment and out of our lives.

The thought leaves me empty inside, suddenly nostalgic for the present. Looking at the smiling faces around the table, hearing the lilting voices, I now realize this will all come to an end. It will end, it will end, and tonight we celebrate the high tide.

Charlotte catches my eye. “Hey, we’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“I was just thinking about Carter changing his first pair of diapers.”

He laughs. “I’m trying not to think about that.”

“I’m so jealous,” Cavallo says. “By the time she was my age, my mama already had three girls. So when you need a baby-sitter, you call Aunt Terry, you hear me?”

“Have you thought about names yet?” Charlotte asks.

Gina shares a smile with Carter, then shakes her head. “And we’re not going to find out if it’s a boy or girl. We want it to be a surprise.”

Once we’ve ordered and the food arrives, there’s an awkward moment when Charlotte asks Carter to pray. The rest of them link hands. I stare at Carter’s proffered palm until he rests it on the table.

As he thanks God in heaven for his goodness and blessings, I think of the man crying on Dr. Hill’s leather couch at the loss of a child who probably never existed. Maybe the man is pure invention, too. Part of me would like to believe so, but then I remember that 832 number on Simone’s call log. Perhaps it was my voicemail message that prompted his appearance on the professor’s doorstep.

The reverend was right. Curtis Blunt said he had “discerned” Simone’s infidelity, whatever that means. My guess is he merely assumed the worst, knowing that when you do that, your future predictions are bound to come true. A prophet predicting doom will never be starved for an audience.

When the prayer ends and the others dig in, Charlotte smiles wanly in my direction, the way she does when I’ve intentionally excluded myself and she wants me to know I’m always welcome to reconsider. That smile only heightens my desire to be apart, but since I organized this get-together, I have to stick it out. In this company I’ve grown accustomed to being the odd man out.

After dinner, Charlotte volunteers to run Cavallo back downtown, taking Gina along so the three of them can continue their conversation about parents and children. That leaves me and Carter on our own. He’s silent as we drive through town, so silent I remember that our talk early this morning was interrupted before he could tell me the second thing on his mind. I remember why it was interrupted, too.