I let Rachel pick the movie, and she chose some chick flick with a name that sounded like every other chick flick: Hearts in Love, or Forever Together, or All Guys Are Gaseous Goofs. It starred the latest sensations, whom I didn’t recall seeing before. She liked it. I didn’t, but I liked the fact she liked it.

We stopped at Wisconsin’s Best Frozen Custard on the way home despite the arctic temperatures. According to Rachel, it was never too cold for frozen confections.

“Thanks for the movie,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you’d like it.” She licked her chocolate cone around the side, creating a spiral trail in the custard.

“Had a great time.” I nodded, adding a sincere, “Really.” We were the only two people in the store, except for the girl behind the counter. I took a big bite of my cone, also chocolate.

“Well, even if you didn’t really like it, thanks for going with me. I needed a relaxing evening.”

“Kids get you down today?”

“No. I love my kids. It was the parents. They’re the ones you have to watch out for.” She took another lick, and some custard smeared on her chin. I reached over and wiped it off with a napkin.

“Thanks,” she said, and her face brightened. “I really love kids. I’d like to have a whole brood of them.” Her eyes caught mine.

“Yeah, kids,” I said. Dani and I had talked about having them, but neither of us was one hundred percent behind the idea. Luckily, we didn’t pursue it. I took a couple bites of frozen custard. Tasted like ice cream to me.

“What? You don’t like kids?”

“I didn’t say that. I like kids just fine.”

Rachel worked on her cone. After a minute of diligent effort, she came up for air. “So, tell me about your childhood. What warped you so much you don’t like kids?” She smiled when she said it, but it had a different quality than her other unadulterated smiles.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like kids.” My decibel level rose.

Rachel stared at me. “So, about your childhood?”

“Just the usual, I guess. My father was pretty hard on me. Wanted me to make something of myself. Wanted me to live up to my potential.”

“Don’t all parents want that?”

“I think my father went over the top. He was always so forgiving, so considerate to others. My friends, other relatives, complete strangers even. With me, though …” I’d finished the custard off the top, so I bit into the cone. Like cardboard, stale cardboard. “Even in his death, he managed to …” The words just stopped. I cleared my throat. “Bottom line: In my father’s eyes, I was never good enough.”

Rachel took my hand, squeezed it. “I think you’re good enough.” She smiled, and it was back to the old version. The thousand-watt smile. “Just barely good enough. So there’s plenty of room for improvement.”

“Thanks.” I squeezed her hand back.

“I’m a good talker, Josh,” she said. “But I’m a very good listener. I’d like to hear more about your father.”

She knew my father had died, of course, but I hadn’t told her any details of the past two weeks. I’d wanted to keep all that unpleasantness—Lev’s insistence the death wasn’t an accident, the missing gems, my berating of Kassian, the shafting my father gave me in his will—out of my relationship with Rachel. I wanted what we had to be untainted. But I guess I realized that was impossible and ultimately lethal to any hope of something good evolving between us. Trust was paramount.

So as we sat in the deserted shop eating the last bites of our frozen custard, I filled her in on the crazy, mixed-up world of Josh Handleman.

As I talked, she mostly nodded and touched my shoulder, letting me get it all off my chest without interrupting. Like I was another of her nine-year-old students telling a painful story about some playground transgression. I’m sure she was a great teacher.

Wanting to change the subject and not sound like such a whiner, I told her about the game of telephone I was playing with Matt, Goose, and Erik. It didn’t help; I still felt like a little kid with a skinned knee. Emotions were such pesky things.

My cell phone rang in my pocket. I ignored it, but it rang again. And again.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Rachel said. “Maybe it’s Erik getting back to you.” She smiled, getting into the little joke almost as much as I was.

I hesitated and the phone rang again.

“It’s okay. Go ahead.” Rachel held her hand out.

“Okay. Just a sec,” I said, pulling out the phone and flipping it open. I didn’t recognize the number, although it had a Northern California area code. I shook my head at Rachel and mouthed, “not Erik.” Into the phone I said, “Hello.”

“Josh. I need to talk with you.”

Dani. She’d switched phones on me. “Look, now’s not—”

“Heath and I broke up. I’m …” Sniffling in the background. “I need to talk.”

Heath was quite the life-wrecker. Mine, now Dani’s. I turned away from Rachel and lowered my voice. “Can I call you later? I’m in the middle of something.” I glanced over my shoulder. She was concentrating on her cone.

“Oh, Josh. I really fucked up. We made a mistake. I need to talk with you. Please.” Dani sounded like she’d had a couple gin and tonics, her reliable stand-by. I shielded the phone even more, as best I could without giving Rachel my entire back to gaze at. “Look, I’ll call you later. Okay? Call one of your girlfriends in the meantime. Yvette’s good to talk to.”

“Josh, don’t—”

“I’ll call you later. Bye.” I disconnected and turned my phone off. Twisted back to face Rachel. “Sorry about that.” One more pain in my side.

“Everything all right?”

“Just … nothing. Not important,” I said. “You still eating?”

Rachel’s features tightened. “Josh. Whoever you were talking to sounded upset.”

My mouth had gotten dry. “Yeah, listen, that was my ex. She’s—”

“Oh. You don’t need to explain,” she said, holding up her hand. “It’s none of my business. I mean, you had a life before you met me, right?” She glanced at the big clock on the wall, with ice cream scoops as the hands. “It’s getting late and I have to get up early. Let’s call it a night, shall we?”

I drove her to her townhouse, which she shared with a couple of fellow teachers, and walked her to the door. She didn’t invite me in. I kissed her goodnight and she kissed back, but it was more chaste than exciting. “I’m sorry, Josh. I’m kinda tired and I have to wake up early. A girl can have an off night, can’t she?”

I wasn’t sure if she meant a “night off” or a sub-par night, but I didn’t ask her to explain. “Sure. Sleep well. Pleasant dreams and all that.” I turned to go, but she called out.

“Josh. I’ll phone you. Okay?” Something flashed across her face.

“Sure,” I said, not sure if I was getting blown off for good. “Sure.”

I guess nobody likes a whiner.

___

I drove home, wondering what the hell had just happened. Rachel and I were really hitting it off. Common interests, same values, physical attraction. Most importantly, she laughed at all my jokes. And then, splat.

Was it the capricious nature of budding relationships? Or was it something more personal? Something about me she didn’t like? Maybe it really was my whining that turned her off. I reviewed the topics of our last discussion. Kids, my father, suspicions of murder. The phone call from Dani. Could Rachel be jealous? If so, it was an easy fix. I’d just explain that I had absolutely no more feelings for Dani. Piece of cake.

I came up with a romantic plan involving flowers, candy, and a passionate Handleman original poem to chase away her green monster. I was home before I knew it, hope rekindled.

When I pulled into my driveway, the kitchen light shone through the front window. I knew I didn’t leave it on, so that meant Kassian must have returned. A wave of relief washed over me. I’d been worried that he’d followed through on his threat to leave, driven out by my obnoxious—and intimidating—behavior. Now I had a chance to apologize.

When I opened the front door, the foyer was dark—no light spilled in from the kitchen. Strange. Was the old Russian playing some kind of hide-and-seek game? “Kassian?” I called out. Something tickled at my nose. Not a smell really, but a sense. A sense that somebody had been there, in my house. A sense that something was different.

I flipped on the foyer light. “Kassian? You here?” I went to the top of the stairs and peered down. No light on there. The hair on my forearms tingled. Was I letting my nerves get the better of me? Or had someone broken in? With everything that had happened, I didn’t want to take any chances.

I slid open the door to the hall closet and my eyes fell on my father’s cane, hanging on the rod. I remembered the day I’d first heard Kassian rustling in the basement, but this time I eschewed the cane for a more formidable weapon. I reached around the frame of the closet to where my father used to keep an old wooden baseball bat—left over from my Little League days—tucked away for just such an emergency. I let out a breath as my fingers closed around the handle. I pulled it out, thankful my father hadn’t been a complete pacifist.

I hefted the Louisville Slugger in my hands and called out again, emboldened. “Anyone here?” After a silent moment, I added, “I’ve called the cops. They’re on their way. And I’ve got a weapon, too. Don’t make me use it.”

Slowly, I inched toward the stairs, convinced I heard the floorboards creaking from above. Holding the bat tightly, I took the stairs one at a time.

A sound behind me sent my heart racing. The lights went out as I spun around, and something hard and heavy smashed into the side of my head, knocking me off balance. I collided with the wall, then lost my footing and tumbled down a few stairs onto the floor of the foyer. The front door banged closed as the intruder fled into the night.

I scrambled to my feet and ran to the door, but didn’t see or hear anything. After a couple fruitless moments staring into the black night, I turned the hall light back on. On the floor, in the same spot where I’d found my father’s cane, were the baseball bat and a slightly dented can of pineapple juice. The object I’d been whacked with. My head smarted where I’d been struck, but it had been a glancing blow. The attack had startled me more than anything else. I’d also banged my right elbow on something as I fell, but I’d live. Nothing a little ice wouldn’t relieve.

I picked up the can of juice and went to the kitchen. The pantry door hung wide open. Evidently, the intruder heard me come home and hid in there, then busted out and assaulted me after he heard me mention the cops. I placed the juice back on the shelf and closed the door. I guess I needed to report the break-in to the police, but the thought of talking to another skeptical officer wasn’t very comforting.

Maybe a beer first would help. I started to the fridge, but did a double take when I saw a surprise waiting for me. There, in the middle of the old oak kitchen table where I’d done my homework as a kid, was a present.

A black velvet jewelry bag.