Peter walked briskly into the room. “Sorry to drag you back to the real world,” he said. “But it’s eight-ten, and you’re going to have to move your butt to get those liner notes redone in time before we head up to meet with Shepard.”
The familiar pressure settled on Nancy’s chest—and suddenly, she thought about the dream. Something clicked in her mind.
The painful pressure lightened, like magic. This was not life or death. The liner notes, the meeting—they were insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. Close encounters with sex and death did wonders to reorder a girl’s priorities. “Not,” she said, sipping her coffee.
Peter and Enid glanced at each other. “What do you mean, ‘not’?” Peter asked, his voice cautious.
“‘Not’ meaning that you and Enid have to move your butts, not me. As of this moment, the liner notes are no longer my problem.”
Peter’s face was blank. “What are you talking about? We have to deliver the layout to Shepard this morning, and if we don’t—”
“You, Peter. Not we. I’ve revised those notes three times. The disk is in my purse.” She dug it out and handed it to him. “Change it on your computer. Deliver it to Shepard yourself. I can’t go today.”
“Can’t go? Are you nuts?” Peter looked horrified. “Nance, I don’t do desktop publishing! I’m an artist, not a secretary!”
“You could always leave the album order like it was, if you get desperate,” she suggested. “It was fine before.”
“You’re not coming?” Enid’s limpid blue eyes widened with outrage, to the point of bulging, Nancy noticed with detached interest. “What’s gotten into you? What are we supposed to say to Shepard?”
“Call and reschedule, if you don’t want to go alone.” Nancy suggested. “Or tell him that I’m having some personal problems.”
“What personal problems could be more important than—”
“Being attacked by masked kidnappers. Being threatened with death and dismemberment,” Nancy said. “Just for starters.”
“Oh, please, Nance. You don’t even care if the album gets into the catalog or not?” Enid sounded wounded.
“Of course I care. But you guys have to do your part. I’m done pulling rabbits out of hats. I have to go. Peter, get your shoes on. You have to come back with me to my apartment.”
“Today? Why?” He sounded outraged. “Nancy, don’t be ridic—”
“You owe me,” Nancy said, her voice steely. “I work my ass off for you. I almost got killed last night, and I promised a friend I’d get company everywhere I go. And that means you’re up to bat. Lucky you.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Your timing is—”
“Plus, I need help packing my computer and scanner and printer into the car. I’m going up to Latham for a while.”
Enid and Peter exchanged shocked glances. “Latham?” Peter repeated. “Now is not the time for country air! Tonight’s the gig at the Bottom Line with Brigid McKeon! The liner notes are due, we’re going on tour in two weeks, the FolkWorld Conference is coming up—”
“It’s really not that far,” she assured him, patting his shoulder. “And I’ll be in touch. By e-mail and cell. It’s really no big deal.”
Peter accompanied her with bad grace, but she ignored his sulking. Outside, it was a beautiful morning. A brisk wind made the bits of garbage dance and swirl cheerfully over sidewalk grates.
She snagged them a cab back to Avenue B on the first wave.
Peter stared stonily out the window, leaving her free to be self-absorbed. Peter usually required a lot of attention, but she wouldn’t be capable of giving it to him today if she wanted to. And she couldn’t be bothered. She felt strange, manic. Something had happened to her last night. She had changed. She wasn’t sure exactly what the change was, but she liked it. She was going to pack up every piece of her life that was portable, collect her cat, drive up to Latham, and throw herself on Liam’s mercy. And a couple of other choice body parts.
Doubt clutched at her. No way could it work. A guy like him, with his mellow country lifestyle, his earth mother ideal. A busy, citified madwoman like herself. Besides, he was so angry at her. And there were the armed abductors and angry burglars. Add a murdered jeweler to the mix, a mysterious letter, a deadly hidden object, and yikes. Having Nancy D’Onofrio for a girlfriend was quite a proposition.
Problematic didn’t even begin to describe it.
But at least she no longer felt like she would disappoint him in bed. Oh, no, she knew just exactly what she wanted to do to that big, strong body. She thought about the look in his eyes when he told her how to look at the flower. The feeling that pierced her. The sweetness. It made her heart catch, and her lungs squeeze, painfully.
She was going to Latham. And if she got her heart crushed to a fine powder, well, whatever. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But it would definitely be the worst.
Eoin shuffled up the driveway to Liam’s house at 2:00, red eyed and shamefaced, like any guy would who had been guzzling Guinness all night and had faced the new day without sleep or a shower.
Liam looked up from the chopping block. He’d been trying to unload excess adrenaline and misery by chopping wood. So far with limited success. “Look who the cat dragged in,” he commented sourly.
Eoin flushed. “I was playing tunes with the lads at this pub in Sheepshead Bay, and I lost track of the time. I had to hitchhike back.”
Liam grunted. “Hear you’ve got a new job.”
“Uh, yes. I’m going on tour with this band, Mandrake. Next week.”
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Don’t think I don’t appreciate—after all you’ve done for me—”
Liam held up his hand, and Eoin choked off whatever he was about to say. “It’s okay, Eoin,” he said wearily. “You should be making music. You’re doing the right thing.”
Hope dawned on Eoin’s pallid face. “You’re not mad?”
“Do you want to work for Matigan until you leave, or don’t you?” Liam demanded. “If you’re too busy, I need to let him know right now.”
Eoin straightened his thin shoulders. “I’d be glad to work,” he said with dignity. “I start rehearsing Sunday. I can work until then.”
“Go get some rest,” Liam said. “You look like hammered shit.”
Eoin hesitated. “So. Ah. Liam. Is, ah, something happening? With you and Mrs. D’Onofrio’s daughter, I mean?”
Liam shot him a look that made Eoin spin on his heels and bolt.
Inviting her to the seisiun had been his first mistake. Taking her home was the second, though he’d paid for that by getting pounded by masked assholes. But the crowning stupidity had been fucking her. Now he knew what it felt like. And he could think of nothing else.
He was begging for the trouble he’d spent the first eleven years of his life watching. Bitterness that ate away love until it was gone. Was he programmed to repeat this bullshit? Was he fucking doomed?
Memories rolled into his mind, sickening and vivid. The vacation to Niagara Falls his mother had planned, a last-ditch effort to unite them as a family. The bags were packed, train tickets in his mother’s clutch purse. She’d been waiting, dressed in her eggshell blue pantsuit. But when his father walked in the door, Liam took one look and knew that it wasn’t going to happen. Dad had done it again. You could count on him to let you down the way you could count on the sun to rise.
“It’s about time you got here,” his mother said, reaching for her coat. “We’ll have to hurry to catch the train.”
“Something’s come up, Fiona,” his father said flatly.
His mother laid her coat down, her face carefully expressionless. “What do you mean, something’s come up?”