“No, I can’t stay long. I’ve got a lunch at noon.”
Her eyes were dark and grave, and there was something in them and in her voice that made me look away from her. I said, “I guess you read about the big doings over in Ross.”
“Yes.” She stood up, started to touch my arm and then withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Have you heard anything more from the police? About whether they’re going to let you keep your license?”
“Not yet. Maybe later today.”
“Do you think they will?”
“I don’t know. Kayabalian is going to plead my case to the Chief again. The Hornback woman is dropping her lawsuit; that’s one point in my favor.”
“Will you call me as soon as you hear?”
“If you want me to.”
We were silent-one of those awkward, pregnant silences with unspoken things hanging in the air as heavy and gray as the fog outside. I faced her again; emotions churned inside me like a half-raw meat stewing in the bottom of a pot.
I said, “You didn’t just come here to offer me sympathy, did you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You’ve made up your mind, right? And the answer is no.”
“I haven’t made up my mind. But I do think…” She broke off.
“What?”
“I know this is a bad time for you, but … I think it would be better if we didn’t see each other for a while.”
There was a thickness in my throat; I had to push words up through it. “How long a while?”
“A week or two.”
Or three or four or forever, I thought. I looked away from her again.
“I need time,” she said. “We both do. We’re not any good for each other the way things are now.”
I said nothing; I had nothing to say.
“It’ll take the pressure off both of us,” she said. “That way, we can both make a decision-how we feel, what we want.”
“I know what I feel and what I want.”
“I’m not so sure you do. And I know I don’t. I need freedom to make a decision as important as this.”
“Maybe you just need freedom,” I said.
The skin along her left cheekbone rippled in what might have been a wince. “Maybe,” she said. “And maybe not. I just don’t know yet.”
“Okay, then. We’ll do it your way-any way you want. We won’t see each other. I won’t call you.”
“You can call me if you need to talk about things.”
“Things other than us, you mean.”
“It’s best that way, believe me. For now.”
“Sure. For now.”
“I’d better go,” she said. “And please call when you hear about your license. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
She stayed a moment longer, looking at me with her grave chameleon eyes. Then she smiled a small smile and said, “Take care of yourself, for heaven’s sake,” and I watched her turn and walk out through the anteroom, through the outer door-away, gone. I kept on standing there, staring at the empty spaces where she’d been, all the empty spaces where she’d been.
Good-bye, Kerry, I thought.
I called Kayabalian at four-thirty, from my flat; I’d gone home early because there was nothing to do at the office and nowhere else to go. And he said, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” in a voice as grave as Kerry’s had been.
I waited.
“The Chief of Police has decided to recommend suspension to the Sate Board of Licenses. I tried to get him to change his mind, but he’s in a snit over that Ross business and all the flap in the media; he won’t budge.”
“I see. An indefinite suspension?”
“Yes. There’s still a chance the Board will reject the recommendation. Not much of a one, I’ve got to be honest with you, but it could happen. They’ll probably schedule a hearing later in the week; I’ll go with you, and we’ll make one more try. If they do suspend your license, we can sue for reinstatement-but frankly, that’s a long and expensive process.”
“So there’s not much I can do, is there?” I said. “Just let them take away my livelihood and go out and get another job and chalk it all up to experience. Grin and bear it.”
“I’m sorry,” Kayabalian said. “I really am sorry.”
I thanked him for all he’d done and went out and stood in the bay window, watching the fog swirl and eddy and turn the whole world gray. Something had got into one of my eyes; I could feel wetness forming there. I brushed it away. So that’s that, I thought. Not with a bang but a whimper-that’s the way it ends. No business, no money, no Kerry, no prospects. Where do I go from here? Where the hell do I go from here?