IT was too late to go back and look for Sly. And frankly, I just didn’t have it in me to talk to anyone else that night, especially the man who had beaten Violetta into turning over her money to him.
When I got home I was suddenly so grateful for Peter’s odd hours, for the comfort of finding him awake and working when I walked through the door at one A.M.
While I was in the shower standing under a burning hot stream, trying to cleanse myself of the imaginary grime of Baby Richard and his revolting laughter, Peter made me a cup of chamomile tea.
“I was worried about you,” he said as he tucked me into bed.
“You’re sweet, Peter,” I said, sipping my tea. “You’re sweet, and kind. I’m so grateful to you.” And then I burst into tears.
Peter got in bed next to me, pulling me close. He didn’t say anything, just held me in his arms while I cried. I pressed my face against his soft T-shirt. Finally, when I was too tired to cry anymore, I sat up.
“Thanks,” I said.
“My pleasure,” he replied, and kissed me softly on the lips.
He didn’t go back to work. I needed him, and it turned out he needed me. Or wanted me, or both.
Afterward we laid side-by-side, sweat cooling on our bodies.
“Are you going to be okay?” Peter said. “On this case, I mean?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think so. It’s no worse than any other, I guess. It’s just, you know. My life is so much better than those women’s. I feel . . . I don’t know.”
“The guilt of the privileged class?”
I smiled. “I guess you could put it like that.”
“Life sure as hell isn’t fair, is it?” Peter said.
“Nope. Life is definitely not fair.”
* * *
IN the morning, I made the kids French toast. I even cooked a special piece for Sadie, made with egg yolks and some defrosted breast milk, much to Ruby’s and Isaac’s horror.
“She’s not supposed to have egg whites or milk yet,” I explained.
“That is so gross, Mama,” Ruby said.
“Gross,” Isaac affirmed. “Can I taste it?”
I ruffled his hair. “No, you can’t taste it, you nut.” I minced Sadie’s French toast into little pieces, cut up some banana to go along with it, and placed her plate in front of her. I drowned the other kids’ pieces in maple syrup and watched them gorge themselves.
“I love you guys,” I said.
“I love you, too, Mama,” Isaac replied.
Ruby said something unintelligible, her mouth full. Then she swallowed and said, “Is today a holiday?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I looked at the calendar taped to the fridge. “Nope, no holiday. Just a regular Saturday. Why?”
“Because you’re being so nice to us.”
“Eat your food, Ruby,” I said.
Peter shuffled into the kitchen, his hair on end. He gave me a languid and satisfied smile and said, “Yummy, French toast.”
Before I could stop him, he picked up a piece from Sadie’s plate and popped it in his mouth. “Delicious,” he announced.
Ruby turned bright red, laughing so hard she nearly choked on her mouthful of food. Isaac yelped, but I silenced him with a wink.
I smiled at Peter. “Let me give you your own, sweetie,” I said and hurriedly dumped the remaining slices on a plate and placed it on the table in front of him. “Have some syrup.”
By now Ruby and Isaac were nearly hysterical, kicking each other under the table and laughing so hard that tears rolled down their faces.
“What’s with them?” Peter said.
“They’re just being silly,” I said as I poured him some coffee. “They’re just a couple of silly geese.”