Chapter 11

I hate groups. I'd rather be alone. So what the hell am I doing in group therapy, anyway?

The short answer is, it started as a joke. It's kind of a love-hate thing I've got with people. Can't stand them, but I like to poke and prod them when I'm in the mood. So I drift down to bars, slouch my way through the mall, drink coffee at the Second Cup, even throw the occasional ball at the dog park. Whatever. If people talk to me, I talk back. I figure it's good practice.

That summer, at the Second Cup, I noticed this girl watching me, but every time I looked at her, she'd look away. I know that game. I went along with it, keeping my gaze on her longer and longer until she caught my eye and smiled. She had a nice rack and good-enough legs. I figured, why not.

Only she didn't go out on Monday nights. I thought it was school or her mom or whatever. It turned out to be this group therapy. Turned out you can "self-refer," so I went along one night. She thought I was the greatest. I told her no, she was.

She'd just introduced me to the biggest group of suckers I'd ever met. I couldn't wait to play each and every one of them.

***

By the time I finished my shift, it was almost 11 p.m. My eyes and tongue were dry with fatigue.

I'd fully expected Ryan to grab a bite and head to his hotel room when I called and told him I'd be late. Instead, he'd said, "Call me when you're done. I'll walk you home."

I stared at the receiver. I'd never had someone look out for me when I was on call. "It's okay. Côte-des-Neiges is supposed to be pretty safe."

"Is that why there are so many cops around?"

I had to laugh, despite the ripple of unease across the back of my neck. I'd asked the same question when I moved here. Montrealers were like, "Oh, yeah, that's no big deal," although one nurse said, "Gang activity." I'd noticed a lot of cop cars on Côte-Ste-Catherine Street, the main drag, but very few right around my apartment. I said to Ryan, "I guess the cops are supposed to make it safer."

"Why don't you drive when you're on call?"

Good question. A parking pass cost twenty dollars a month, plus gas. I was on call every other day for psych. That'd be a lot of driving. Walking only took me twenty minutes, biking half that. And in Montreal, people seemed to walk or bike or take public transpo. I sighed. "Because I'm cheap and I don't live in Texas?"

He paused. I think he understood what I meant. I walked because I could. Because I thought it was uncivilized for a woman to be too afraid to walk home alone at night. But Ryan said, "Call me when you're done. Or about to be done. I don't mind waiting."

It felt good to be looked after. "Okay."

And now, spotting Ryan playing with his phone in the waiting room, my spirits lifted. No matter how tough I act, it's wonderful to have someone else look after me once in a while.

Ryan smiled and stood, shoving his phone in his back pocket. He kissed my cheek, lingering for a second longer than necessary while his breath tickled my ear.

I held my breath. There was no denying it, the man was good.

Just as I noticed the few other patients staring at us, he reached for my backpack and unstrapped it with a practiced gesture. I'd almost forgotten he used to do this, literally taking the weight off my shoulders. "Thanks," I said.

"No problem." He pointed at the sunflower, nested in a juice bottle, which I'd set on a chair while we maneuvered the backpack. "Can you manage that?"

"Yep. I've been working out." We both laughed and stepped out of the ER.

I took a deep breath of night air, cool and less humid than during the daytime. Chalk up another reason to walk home. Ryan slipped his hand in mine. "How was your day?"

His hand was warm and his fingers slightly callused. I couldn't make myself release it. I ran my finger along his thumb. "Better, now. How 'bout yours?"

"Interesting. Do you want to hear the nitty gritty?"

"Okay."

He talked. I was too tired to grasp the details, but he'd done some preliminary work on the computer models and contacted some people for help. "I went through some websites. There are a few books at the U of O that I'd like to check out. I doubt they'll be too useful beyond the principles."

I tried to stifle a yawn as we stopped at a light. No cars in sight, but Ryan is very law-abiding. "Thanks for doing this."

"You're welcome." He squeezed my hand and led me across before the walk sign came on. A good idea in Montreal, where the lights go out so often, they often have little stop signs attached to the posts, to make it easier for the cops to handle traffic. "Now, about the apartment, Hope..."

His tone was a warning. I sighed. "I didn't have time to clean up."

"It's not that." We passed Ste. Justine's, the French children's hospital just around the corner from my place. He said, "We've got to get you a better security system."

I had to laugh. "My landlord is so cheap that when I pointed out that the window in my screen door was cracked, he said he'd replace it. He came back two days later with a window that was probably older than both of us put together. He rammed and rammed it until it fit. Barely. I was surprised he didn't shatter it. There is no way he's paying for a security system."

"Yeah, but it's not safe. There's no lock on the outer building door, so anyone could just walk in and buzz your apartment."

"Right, so they can get in the lobby to buzz me or deliver the mail, but there's a lock on the inner door to the building—"

"Don't make me laugh. This afternoon, I just walked up and pushed it open. The last guy hadn't made sure it latched behind him."

"I locked my apartment door," I said.

"That's the only thing between you and the street? A kid with a credit card could jimmy those locks."

I stared at my toes as we walked. Even I'd noticed my wimpy security system.

"And you're only one story up. Someone could jump up on your balcony and come in through your balcony door or the windows right beside it."

I shivered. "Ryan. I don't want to think about this right now, honestly. It's been a tough night."

He adjusted my backpack's straps. "Look. I know you don't like hearing it. But you have to take care of yourself."

"I know," I said in a low voice.

"Tomorrow, we can go to the hardware store and get some new locks, and at least put some wood braces in your windows so people can't force them open from the outside. I saw a big hardware store on Côte-des-Neiges. I'm sure they have everything."

He glanced across the street at the giant steel-columned building for HEC, the business school of l'École Polytechnique. That's the same school where, Marc Lépine walked into a classroom with a loaded gun. He separated the guys from the girls and yelled, "You're all feminists!" before he shot and killed fourteen innocent women. That was over twenty years ago, but even so. There's a memorial garden a few blocks southeast of here.

I stepped up the pace and squeezed his hand so Ryan wouldn't notice the HEC signs and make the connection. "Okay."

My apartment security was lax, but it did have some Art Deco charm. I cleared my throat as we walked up the path. "You like the lanterns?"

He nodded. "Nice. I wish they were brighter, though."

True. I could hardly see my black shoes against the dirt path, let alone any potential intruders lurking behind the full-grown trees or hedges. Ryan grimaced at the street lamp, no doubt calculating its wattage.

Ryan opened the outer door for me. It was made of real, stained wood and there were nice frosted glass accents beside it, but after Ryan's worrying I felt acutely conscious of the single bolt holding the inner door closed. "At least it's locked this time," I said. I didn't tell him that it lay open half the time, what with people moving in and out of the building.

Ryan looked heavenward. "Probably because I was the last one out."

"Probably." I glanced at the mailboxes to my right. He turned around so I could dig the mail key out of my backpack. I didn't bother telling him that the lock on the mailbox was acting wonky. I just used the key and shoved the flyers and bills under my arm without checking them.

"I hate to keep beating this horse, but you've got H. Sze right on that mailbox and buzzer. It has your apartment number, too. The least they could do is scramble the apartment and buzzer numbers."

I pinched my nose. "Yeah. Okay." These thoughts had flitted through my subconscious, especially after I almost died last month, but I hadn't wanted to deal with them. We lived in Canada. We were safe. Apartment hunting was such a pain in the ass, and since nearly all the leases in Montreal ran until July 1, I wouldn't have much choice if I started looking again now. "I don't know what I can do about that, though. Would you be happy if I put just my initials on the mailbox or something?"

He scowled. "Would that really make you feel safe?"

I knew he was right. I also knew that I sincerely could not deal with it tonight. I gave him a look.

His lips softened. He ran his hand through his hair.

I unlocked the inner building door and he opened it for me, following me up the stairs closer than a friend-only would. I was very conscious of his warm body behind me and, I had no doubt, his eyes checking out my rear view. Despite my exhaustion, my pulse leaped.

Ryan closed and locked the apartment door behind us, not just twisting the main latch but dropping the tiny bolt into the floor as I set down my sunflower and my mail.

He hung my backpack neatly on a peg in the closet. "I'm staying with you tonight."

I tried to laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."

He looked at me with those intelligent, gorgeous, and oh-so-stubborn brown eyes. "Hope."

"You came to Montreal to be with your friends."

"Yeah. You."

That stopped me for a second, but I plowed on. "I'm no more unsafe here tonight than I was last night or any other night. The only difference is that you've sussed it out and—"

"And I wouldn't leave a cat alone in this apartment, let alone you."

I knew that voice. He was not going to change his mind. It was a complete pain when we were in-fighting, but the truth was, I could use some company tonight. I sighed. "I won't be a barrel of laughs."

"That's okay. I like monkeys better anyway."

It took me a second to get it. I laughed. "You're awful."

"I know you. You want to take a shower, right? And eat. Why don't you get cleaned up while I get you some dinner?"

I eyed him suspiciously. Ryan always enjoyed taking advantage of me after (or during) a long, hot soapy shower.

He exhaled. "Your virtue is safe."

"Too bad." It just slipped out of me. I hurried off to the shower before he could respond.