DR. TILLIM WELCOMED HIM with a smile. “Take a seat.”
Only half awake after being up most of the night, Baker entered the office, shut the door, and fell into one of the old, beat-up chairs. But for the first time ever, he greeted Tillim with something less than a dirty glare, wondering if the man wasn’t smarter than he’d given him credit for.
Probably not.
He settled himself and lit a cigarette. The fifty-minute hour had begun.
♦ ♦ ♦
“HEY!” MALONE SAID, USHERING Baker into his home. “How did your appointment go?”
“Hello to you, too,” Baker said, taking off his coat.
“Yeah, all right: Hi—How are you—I’m fine—How did your appointment go?”
This elicited a chuckle, and Baker said, “It’s hard to tell, but I think it went okay.”
“So you’ll see him for a few sessions?”
“Actually … um … well … Tillim didn’t seem to mind my continuing to see Micki’s shrink. I cleared it for her to talk to him about me.”
“Continuing to see Micki’s shrink?”
“Well—yeah. I’ve been going for a while now.”
“C’mon, you guys,” Martini called from the living room. “We don’t wanna wait till Christmas comes around again to deal the next hand.”
“Keep your pants on,” Malone yelled back. Then to Baker, “Did Tillim ask for your guns?”
“No, but from what I’ve heard, he leaves that to the department: you’re supposed to take them from me.”
Malone grunted and rubbed his forehead. “Well, he obviously didn’t tell me you were seeing the kid’s shrink. And I’m going to pretend that you didn’t tell me, either. That being said, is it helping? You, I mean. Not the kid.”
“It’s helping both of us.”
“Well—that’s good. I have to say, you look more relaxed.”
“By the way, I hope you don’t mind that I gave Micki your number in case she needs me.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s coming along.”
Malone nodded and started to turn away, but Baker grabbed his arm. “I—I never really thanked you,” he said, “for everything you’ve done for me.”
Malone’s expression softened, and he patted Baker on the back.
“What’s goin’ on over there?” Tierney shouted. “Another private party, or are we invited? We’re startin’ to wonder about you two.”
The men headed into the living room.
Taking his seat, Baker asked, “Where’s Gould?”
“Home sick—said it’s a stomach bug this time. First his kids, then his wife, now him.”
“Another reason to stay single,” Tierney quipped.
“Bullshit,” Martini said. “It’s just that no decent woman would ever have you.”
“Shut up,” Tierney shot back.
The rest of them grinned.
“Deal!” Baker called, rubbing his hands together. “I feel lucky tonight.”
♦ ♦ ♦
SNOWFLAKES TWIRLED IN THE light of the streetlamp, the sidewalk below looking like it had been dusted with powdered sugar. Micki watched in the dark as the tiny crystals danced in the air, then fell to the ground, getting lost amongst the others. Supposedly, no two were ever exactly alike. Just like fingerprints.
She stepped back from the window and flopped down on the bed. She was so tired of her life. It was so empty—so pointless. And, pretty as it was, the newly decorated apartment was still nothing more than a place to live. Temporary. Like everything else. It didn’t belong to her, never did and never would. At least if her memory came back, she’d have something to hold onto, something to call her own. She’d even asked Dr. Lerner about hypnosis; it looked so easy when they did it on TV. But the doctor had said, “There are reasons why you can’t remember, Micki; your mind is protecting you. Forcing things to unfold too rapidly could prove dangerous.”
Micki got up and turned on the light. And though she didn’t really want to do homework, she opened her physics textbook anyway, eyes wandering now and then to the piece of paper tucked under the phone. “Captain Malone,” it said in Baker’s handwriting, with the number printed beneath. He’d offered to stay over again, too.
She closed the book, changed into her nightshirt, brushed her teeth, and got into bed. Outside, the street was quiet, the whoosh of an occasional passing car sounding lonely. She always wondered about the people who were traveling so late: Where were they going? Who were they hoping to see? Twenty minutes later, she was still awake and listening to a truck idling on the street below. After another quarter of an hour had dragged by, she went to the closet and took down Baker’s sleeping bag.
♦ ♦ ♦
“GOTTA GO,” BAKER ANNOUNCED, putting out his cigarette and standing up.
Practically whining, Tierney said, “It’s still early. Y’gotta give us a chance to win some of that back.”
“Sorry, boys”—Baker grinned, waving around the forty-six dollars he’d won—“but I’ve got to go check on the kid. You’ll have to wait till next time.”
With little traffic to contend with, he drove from Malone’s house, in New Jersey, to Manhattan via the George Washington Bridge. Then he took the Harlem River Drive, the FDR, and, ultimately, the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge into Queens. When he arrived at Micki’s building, her windows were dark, so he let himself in as quietly as possible and stood by the door. Once his eyes had adjusted, he could see her sleeping. Soundly. About to leave, he paused to take a closer look: she was nestled inside his sleeping bag.
He left the apartment. Smiling.
♦ ♦ ♦
SATURDAY, BAKER ROSE EARLY. He went to the grocery store, did some laundry, worked out heavily at the gym, then stopped by Micki’s to leave her Cynthia’s phone number.
Lying in a heap on the bed, Micki barely managed to say hello. When Baker suggested they go to a movie the following afternoon, she shrugged.
He told her to be ready by two.
♦ ♦ ♦
“IS MICKI MAKING ANY progress?” Cynthia asked as they settled themselves on the plush white couch.
“She was, but now I’m not so sure.” Baker looked down and swirled his glass of Coke. The ice cubes rattled around against each other. He looked up again. “So when do you find out about your audition?”
“Oh, I …” Cynthia’s hand went to the string of crystal beads around her neck. “Um, okay. Well—I already know I didn’t get it. They said I read well, but look too old.”
“Ouch.”
She laughed and made a funny face.
He smiled.
“Believe me,” she said, “it’s a relief. That play was awful. There’s a reason they say ‘be grateful for the roles you don’t get.’ Besides, I’ve made up my mind to start graduate classes next fall.”
Soda held high, he said, “Then I propose a toast to one of the best mathematics teachers New York City schools will ever see.” With a ceremonious flourish, they clinked their glasses together and drank.
Chin and eyes motioning toward his Coke, Cynthia asked, “How long has it been?”
“About a month.”
“A month! Let’s celebrate: Anthony’s Grill—my treat. And no negotiating.”
“How could I reject an offer made by such a beautiful woman?”
“You can’t,” she said, and went to get her coat.
♦ ♦ ♦
FLAMES LICKED THE LOGS and crackled in the fireplace. A spray of sparks glittered for an instant and was gone. Stomachs full, they sat on the floor with their backs against the couch and watched.
“So what’s really going on, Cyn?” Baker asked, eyes fixed on the flickering light. “I know you much too well. Whenever you’re as bright and cheery as you were at dinner, you’re covering up for something.”
She sighed. “Too much change too fast. And every time I look back on my relationship with Mark, I feel so foolish—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “You got swept away in a fantasy because you were so hurt.” He absently stroked his chin, then added, “By me.”
“Well, then,” she said, “there’s my career. I feel my decision to quit acting is right, but it still hurts. I had such high hopes, and I worked so hard.” A small, bitter-sounding noise escaped her throat. “I think it’s called ‘getting nowhere fast.’ ” He turned to look at her, but she’d already turned away. “I’m certainly feeling sorry for myself, aren’t I.” And she quickly wiped at some tears.
“You’re mourning the loss of a dream,” he said gently. “There’s a difference.”
She looked back. “It was a foolish dream!”
“No,” he said. “No, it wasn’t. I’ve come to realize that just pursuing a dream—whether you succeed or not—is pretty courageous. There’s no shame in not reaching a goal, only in not trying.”
“But I’m giving up.”
“I don’t think so; I really don’t. I think you’ve come to the end of this part of your journey, and it’s brought you to something else. You said it yourself: it’s simply time to move on.”
Sniffling, her eyes lit up, and she laughed. “Listen to you; you sound like me.”
He smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” But then the smile faded, and he looked back at the fire.
The flames continued to snap and pop.
“What’re you thinking about?” she finally asked.
Still gazing at the fire, he took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it go. “I was thinking,” he said, “that I owe Micki my life.”
With a slight tilt of her head, Cynthia asked, “What do you mean? You saved her life—twice.”
He turned to Cynthia with such pain in his eyes that her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. He looked down, eventually turning his face away. She reached over and tenderly caressed his cheek, the back of her fingers lingering at the edge of his jaw. When he turned toward her again, their eyes locked. And then the only sound was from the logs shifting in the fireplace, the flames burning brighter after throwing off another shower of glowing embers.
Baker breathed in. “I’m sorry, Cyn, but I’ve gotta go. I don’t have this ‘just friends’ thing down a hundred percent yet.” But as he started to gather his feet beneath him, she lightly touched his arm.
“You don’t have to leave,” she whispered.