“Hey, you,” I said. “You smell good. You look even better.” Which Jamilla definitely did.
She twisted around to face me. “Hi, Alex. You made it.”
“Was there ever a doubt?”
“Well, um, yeah,” she said. “Remember the last time I was in L.A.?” We were both hungry, so we got a table and ordered appetizers immediately - a dozen clams on the shell and an heirloom-tomato salad to share. Jamilla eats like an athlete at a training table, and I kind of like that.
“What's new on the murder case?” she asked after we'd polished off the tomatoes and clams. “Is it true she's been sending e-mails since the fIrst murder?”
I blinked at her in surprise. The L.A. Times had been purposely vague about when the e- mails had begun. “Where'd you hear that? What did you hear?”
“Word gets around, Alex. One of those BJevel security things the public doesn't necessarily know about, but everyone else does. It got up to San Francisco.”
“What else have you heard? B-level stuff,” I said.
“1 hear this lead detective Jeanne Galletta's a hot ticket. Work-wise, I mean.”
“She's no Jamilla Hughes, but yeah, she's pretty good at her job.”
Jamilla shrugged off the compliment. She had my number all right. She looked pretty in the candlelight, to my eyes anyway Now this was a good idea: dinner with Jam at a fine restaurant, my cell phone turned off.
We chose a bottle of Pinot Noir from Oregon, a favorite of hers, and I lifted my glass once it was poured. “Things have been complicated lately, Jam. I appreciate your being there for me. And here for me, too.”
Jamilla took a sip of wine; then she put a hand on my wrist. “Alex, there's something I need to say. It's kind of important. Just listen. Okay?”
I stared across the table into her eyes and didn't know if I liked what I saw My stomach was starting to drop. “Sure,” I said.
“Let me ask you this,” she said, her eyes drifting away from mine. “In your mind, how exclusive are we?”
Ouch. There it was.
“Well, I haven't been with anyone since we've been seeing each other,” I said. “That's just me, though, Jamilla. You meet someone? I guess you have.”
She let out a breath, then nodded. That's the way she was, straight up and truthful. I appreciated it. Mostly “Are you seeing him?” I asked. My body was starting to tense all over. In the beginning of our relationship, I had expected something like this, but not now. Maybe I'd just gotten complacent. Or too trusting. That was a recurring problem I had.
Jamilla winced a little, thinking about her answer. “I guess that I am, Alex.”
“How'd you meet him?” I asked, then stopped myself. “Wait, Jam. You don't have to answer that.”
She seemed to want to though. “Johnny's a lawyer. Prosecution, of course. I met him on one of my cases. Alex, I've only seen him twice. Socially, that is.”
I stopped myself from asking more questions, even though I wanted to. I didn't have a right, did I? If anything, I'd brought this on myself. Why had I done it, though? Why Wasn't I able to commit? Because of what happened to Maria? Or Christine? Or maybe to my own parents, who had broken up in their twenties and never even seen each other again?
Jamilla leaned across the table and spoke softly, keeping this confidential, just between us. “I'm sorry. I can tell I've hurt you, and I didn't want that. We can finish dinner and talk about this if you want. Or you can go. Or I can go. Whatever you want, Alex.”
When I didn't answer right away, she asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” I answered a little too fast. “I'm surprised, I guess. Maybe disappointed, too. I'm not quite sure what I am. Just to get it straight - are you telling me you want to see other people, or was it your intention to break things off tonight?”
Jamilla took another sip of her wine. “I wanted to ask you how you felt about it.”
“Right now? Honestly, Jam? I don't think I can continue like we've been. I'm not even sure of my reasons. I've always been pretty much - one person at a time. You know me.”
“We never made any promises to each other,” she said. “I'm just trying to be honest.”
“I know you are. I appreciate it, I really do. Listen, Jamilla, I think I need to go.” I kissed her on the cheek, and then I left. I wanted to be honest, too. WithJamilla and with myself.
Mary, Mary
Chapter 54
I LEFT IT ALL BEHIND, everything, and flew up to Seattle for the weekend.
As I drove from the airport toward the Wallingford neighborhood where Christine and Alex lived, I grappled with the idea of seeing her now What other choice did I have?
I brought no presents, no bribes, just as she had done when Alex lived with me in Washington. Christine was letting me see Alex, and there was no way I could resist. I wanted to be with him for a while - I needed it.
The house was on Sunnyside Avenue North, and I knew the way by now. Christine and Ali were sitting on the porch steps when I got there. He ran down the walk to meet me like a little tornado, and I scooped him up. There was always a fear of finding a different boy than the one I last saw All that dissolved the second I had him in my arms.
“Man, you're getting heavy; you're getting so big. ALL” “I gotta new book,” he told me, grinning. “A hungry caterpillar that eats anything. It pops up. Then it eats you I”
“You can bring your book with you today. We'll read.” I gave him another squeeze and saw Christine watching from a distance, arms folded. Finally, she smiled and raised one hand in a wave.
“Want some coffee?” she called. “Need some before you two take off?”
I squinted at her, a silent question in the still, fragrant air.
“It's okay with me,” she said. “C'mon. I won't bite.” Her tone was bright, probably for my sake as well as Ali's.
“Come on, Daddy” He climbed out of my arms, took my hand. “I'll show you the way”
So I followed them inside. Was this a good idea? I'd never actually been inside before.
The house was tastefully cluttered. Several Arts and Crafts-style built-ins overflowed with books and some of Christine's art collection. It was more informal and comfortable- looking than her home outside D.C. had been.
I was struck by how naturally both of them moved through this space that was so foreign to me. I don't belong here.
The kitchen was open, very bright, and smelled of rosemary. A small herb garden thrived on the windowsill.
Christine set Alex up with a sippy cup of chocolate milk and then put two mugs of steaming coffee on the table between us.
“Seattle's drug of choice,” she said. “I drink way too much of it. I should switch to decaf in the afternoons or something. Maybe in the mornings,“ she added with a laugh. ”It's good. The coffee. Your house looks great, too.”
The chitchattiness was striking in its banality and almost as uncomfortable as a real conversation might have been right now. I vowed not to ask Christine about the weather, but this was weird for both of us.
Little Alex slipped off his chair and came back with his new book. He climbed onto my lap.
“Read. Okay? Careful, it pops up and eats you!”
It made for a good distraction and also put the focus on him, where it was supposed to be.
I opened the cover and began.
“'In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf.'”
Alex put his head against my chest, and as I felt my voice reverberate into him, my heart melted a little. Christine watched while I read. She smiled, clutching her mug with both hands. What might have been.
A couple of minutes later, Alex had to go to the bathroom, and he asked me to go with him. “Please, Daddy”
Christine came over and whispered near my ear. “He's having trouble hitting the toilet bowl with his pee. He's a little embarrassed about it.”