108

 

MONTEREY, TUESDAY, LATER THAT MORNING

Gwen woke with a wicked hangover and the sense that something was very wrong. She lay still, listening to rain drumming against the window. The wind punched the house like percussion. Alarmed, she sat up and looked around blearily: Leo lay on a blanket in the corner, one eye open, regarding her carefully; Dwayne’s spare bedroom. His new crib. She pushed up, hair streaming down her back. She was wearing a huge black T-shirt and yesterday’s underwear. It all came flooding back through the tequila haze. Dan, his confession, her running, Dwayne’s house; the bottle, shared.

“Urggh,” she groaned. Knuckling her hair from her eyes, she swung her legs out of bed, walked unsteadily over to her dog. She bent down, ruffled his fur, then went to the window. She drew back the curtains to a vista of sheer gray. Rain sluiced down from a gunmetal sky. There was a big old oak filling most of Dwayne’s backyard. Its dark branches, stripped of all foliage, danced to the wind’s discordant tune. An array of small, broken branches littered the lawn. The weather mirrored her mood, and for that she was oddly grateful. She couldn’t have dealt with blue skies today.

She headed for the bathroom, turned on the shower. No hot water. After two minutes standing in a stream of freezing cold water, she felt half human again.

She pulled on her jeans and, reluctantly, Dan’s cashmere jersey. It smelled of him.

“Damn him” she muttered, “and the surfboard he rocked up on.”

She found Dwayne in the kitchen making coffee. He turned, smiled at her.

“You look surprisingly alive.”

“Miracle of plumbing,” she mumbled. “Cold water cure.”

“Yeah. New boiler comes next week.”

“Hey, softie, who needs hot water anyway?”

“This one,” replied Dwayne gruffly, handing Gwen a steaming mug.

Dwayne scraped out a can of tuna and sweet corn for Leo. The dog gave the man a grateful look and fell to eating with slobbery enthusiasm.

Gwen sipped her coffee. “Two of these and I should be fit to drive.”

Dwayne took the cup from her, held her arm. “About that…”

“Hey, don’t fuss me! I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will, Boudy. Always are. Car’s gone.”

“What?” Her voice had shot up an octave. “What the hell d’you mean?”

She pulled free, rushed outside into the slanting rain, let loose a tirade of swear words Dwayne hadn’t heard since he was in the SEALs.

Gwen turned, hand on hips, wild eyed, water streaming down her face and body. “Whichever fucker took my car is gonna have a short life. I swear to God!”

“Call it in,” said Dwayne, squinting through the rain.

“Yeah, call it in. My parent’s car,” she said, her voice breaking. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away furiously. Dwayne came, took her in his arms, and walked her indoors. He kicked the door closed behind them and stood with her, both of them dripping onto the bare linoleum. He said nothing. Just held her.

“I’ll put the word out. Get it back. You call it in. I’ll call in some favors. Street and cops. We’ll get it back.”