P. Parrish - South Of Hell

And no toys anywhere.

He walked to the porch and drew a breath as he lifted his hand to rap on the screen door. Before he could, the door swung open.

Kyla.

She wore a cream-colored suit with eyelets around the collar. The eye shadow and red lipstick were there but tempered with age and sophistication, the red more burgundy, the silver more charcoal. She had stopped straightening her hair, and it formed a short black cap of soft curls around her round face.

Her eyes fired with contempt. “Go away,” she said.

“Please,” Louis said. “I just want five minutes.”

She started to close the door, but to his surprise, she paused. “That’s all I wanted from you ten years ago,” she said.

“I know.”

She dropped her hand from the door and waited, again surprising him with her decision to stand there and hear him out. He had no idea where to begin, so he started with the simplest of thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Kyla.”

She said nothing. Nothing from her but that stare.

“I was a selfish sonofabitch,” he said. “I said some terrible things. You deserved better from me.”

Still nothing but that steely stare.

“I was stupid,” he said. “All I could see was my future going down the drain, and I panicked.”

Her eyes dipped to his jeans and sneakers. “That law degree you wanted so much,” she said. “Did you ever get it?”

“No.”

“What did you become?”

The fact that she didn’t know told him Channing hadn’t shared his traffic stop with her or any of the background information he had gathered. Made sense. It had been Channing’s intent to bully Louis into keeping his distance.

“I became a cop when I got out of school,” he said. “Now I’m a private investigator.”

Her expression went from surprise when he said “cop” to scorn at “private investigator.” She ran a red-manicured finger through her hair, her anger waning to annoyance.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Are you in some kind of twelve-step program and on the part where you’re supposed to say you’re sorry?”

“No,” he said. “I’m in town on business, and… it’s hard being back here without remembering. I know there’s nothing I can do to change a thing, but I wanted to tell you that I know how much I hurt you.”

“You expect my forgiveness?” she asked.

“No, I don’t expect a thing,” he said. “I just needed to say it.”

Kyla looked away, blinking back a glimmer of tears. Her hatred for him was still radiating off her in waves, but there was something else going on inside her, too. Something that was softening everything else.

“You’ve said what you needed to,” she said. “And I’ve given you more time than you gave me. Now, please go away, and don’t come back.”

She started to close the door again. He put a hand to the screen.

“Kyla, wait, please,” he said. “I need to ask you something else.”

“What?” she asked.

“Did you have the abortion?”

Without so much as a blink, she answered him. “Yes.”

The door closed.

Joe let the curtain fall and turned to face the dingy room. The clock on the nightstand told her it was only nine-thirty, but it felt later.

Where the hell was he?

He had dropped her off at the motel and sped off in the Bronco. He had asked her first, asked her if she minded. She had said no, she didn’t. But she did. As much as she knew he needed to go see Kyla, as sure as she was of his love, she had felt something shift. Maybe it was his eyes when he had looked at her over the table in the bar earlier. Maybe it was his voice when he said he was going to see Kyla. Whatever it was, it told her that things were never going to be the same between them again.

She kicked off her shoes, went to the bed, and sat down, cross-legged, her back against the flimsy wood headboard. She picked up the remote, clicked the TV on, and then clicked it off again. Her eyes went to the small plastic coffee maker on the dresser and then to the empty spot below where a mini-bar should have been.

Damn, she wanted a drink. But she didn’t want to chance going out and missing his call.

Why the hell hadn’t he called? He had been gone four hours.

She switched on the TV again, punching the button and half watching the images flip by. A cop harassing a gang member on Knightwatch . Dan Rather looking dour on 48 Hours .

She stopped clicking. Clair Huxtable in a turquoise power suit and perfect hair, sitting in her pretty living room with her button-cute daughter Rudy in the crook of her arm.

Joe watched the show until a commercial jarred her back to the motel room. She sat there, the remote in her lap, staring blankly at the TV.

She was pretty. Had to be.

She was younger. Younger than he was, probably.

She was black. No matter what he said, it had to matter.

And a child…

Maybe they had a child together.

Joe shut her eyes.

Where the hell was he?

The phone rang. She pounced on it. “Louis?”

“Hello, Joe.”

It wasn’t him; the voice was too deep. It took a moment for it to register. She turned off the TV. “Mel?”

“I wasn’t going to give you a third guess. It would have been insulting.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry, I was just waiting for Louis to call. He’s been out all night.”

“On the case?”

“No. It’s a personal thing he had to take care of.”

“An old college friend?”

“You could say that.”

Mel was quiet for a long time. “He went and saw Kyla, didn’t he?”

“You know about her?”

“Yeah.”

Joe let out a big sigh.

“What was that for?” Mel asked.

“He told you about her, but somehow he just couldn’t quite bring himself to tell me until today.”

“He’s like that. You know that.”

She was quiet.

“Why are you worried about this, Joe?”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“I know you too well. Don’t lie to me.”

She shifted the receiver to her other ear and leaned her head back against the headboard. Mel did know her, maybe better than anyone — except her mother. Mel had been there for her right from the start. The day she walked into the Miami Police Department wearing the new uniform, he had been the only man to say welcome. They had started seeing each other two years later, on the quiet because he was a detective and she was just a patrolman. She had been only twenty-five. He was ten years older. She was in love with him. But three years in, he broke it off. She could still remember the night — sitting in the dark of his car in the lighthouse park on the tip of Key Biscayne. Him telling her he was slowly going blind.

I’m not going to let you be stuck taking care of an old asshole like me, Joe.

Neither of them had ever mentioned marriage, but he had somehow sensed she was expecting it. She was so angry at him. It took her years to see that it was for her own good. He knew that the only thing she really loved was her work.

Four years later, she made detective. They were put on a case together. He was at the end of his career. She was just getting to the best part. They became partners, and she helped him keep his blindness a secret as long as he could. Even after Mel moved to Fort Myers, they stayed in touch. They had a history together, after all.

Joe heard the click of a lighter as Mel fired up a cigarette.

“It was a long time ago, Joe. He doesn’t love her,” Mel said.

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” she said.

“The man loves you, Joe.”

She shut her eyes. “I’m worried about what will happen to us if there is a child. Because I know Louis well enough to know that this will change him. And I don’t know if I want him to change.”