"What time does her class end?" I asked.
"Twenty minutes."
"Okay. I'll call her then. Anything else?"
"Wayne Steubens doesn't allow visitors, except for his immediate family and lawyer. But I'm working on it. I got some other coals in the fire, but that's about it for now." "Don't spend too much time on it." "I'm not.
I looked at the clock. Twenty minutes.
"I should probably go," Muse said.
"Yeah."
She stood. "Oh, one more thing."
"What?"
"Do you want to see a picture of her?"
I looked up.
"Reston University has faculty pages. There are pictures of all the professors." She held up a small piece of paper. "I got the URL right here." She didn't wait for my reply. She dropped the address on the table and left me alone.
I had twenty minutes. Why not?
I brought up my default page. I use one with Yahoo where you can choose a lot of your content. I had news, my sports teams, my two favorite comic strips -Doonesbury and FoxTrot – stuff like that. I typed in the Reston University Web site page Muse had given me.
And there she was.
It wasn't Lucy's most flattering photograph. Her smile was tight, her expression grim. She had posed for the picture, but you could see that she really didn't want to. The blond hair was gone. That happens with age, I know, but I had a feeling that it was intentional. The color didn't look right on her. She was older-duh-but as I had predicted, it worked on her. Her face was thinner. The high cheekbones were more pronounced.
And damn if she didn't still look beautiful.
Looking at her face, something long dormant came alive and started twisting in my gut. I didn't need that now. There were enough complications in my life. I didn't need those old feelings resurfacing. I read her short bio, learned nothing. Nowadays students rank classes and professors. You could often find that information online. I did. Lucy was clearly beloved by her students. Her rankings were incredible. I read a few of the student comments. They made the class sound life altering. I smiled and felt a strange sense of pride.
Twenty minutes passed.
I gave it another five, pictured her saying good-bye to students, talking to a few who loitered behind, packing her lessons and sundries in some beat-up faux leather bag.
I picked up my office phone. I buzzed out to Jocelyn.
"Yes?"
"No calls," I said. "No interruptions."
"Okay."
I pressed for an outside line. I dialed Lucy’s cell phone. On the third ring I heard her voice say, "Hello?" My heart leapt into my throat but I managed to say, "Its me, Luce." And then, a few seconds later, I heard her start to cry.
Chapter 21
"LUCE?" I SAID INTO THE PHONE. "YOU OKAY?"
"I'm fine. It's just…"
"Yeah, I know."
"I can't believe I did that."
"You always were an easy cry," I said, regretting it the moment it came out. But she snorted a laugh. "Not anymore," she said. Silence. Then I said, "Where are you?" "I work at Reston University. I'm walking across the commons." "Oh," I said, because I didn't know what else to say. "I'm sorry about leaving such a cryptic message. I don't go by Silver- stein anymore." I didn't want her to know I already knew this. But I didn't want to lie either. So again I gave a noncommittal "Oh." More silence. She broke it this time.
"Man, this is awkward."
I smiled. "I know."
"I feel like a big dope," she said. "Like I'm sixteen again and worried about a new zit."
"Same here," I said.
"We never really change, do we? I mean, inside, we're always a scared kid, wondering what we're going to be when we grow up."
I was still smiling, but I thought about her never being married and the DUIs. We don't change, I guess, but our path certainly does. "It's good to hear your voice, Luce." "Yours too." Silence. "I was calling because…" Lucy stopped. Then: "I don't even know how to say this, so let me ask a question. Has anything strange happened to you lately?"
"Strange how?"
"Strange as in about-that-night strange."
I should have expected her to say something like that-knew it was coming-but the smile still fled as if I'd been punched. "Yes." Silence. "What the hell is going on, Paul?" "I don't know." "I think we need to figure it out."
I agree.
"Do you want to meet?"
"Yes."
"It's going to be weird," she said.
"I know."
"I mean, I don't want it to be. And that's not why I called. To see you. But I think we should meet up and discuss this, don't you?"
"I do," I said.
"I'm babbling. I babble when I get nervous."
"I remember," I said. And then, again, I regretted saying that, so I quickly added, "Where should we meet?"
"Do you know where Reston University is?"
"Yes."
"I have another class and then student appointments until seven-thirty," Lucy said. "Do you want to meet me at my office? It's in the Armstrong Building. Say, eight o'clock?" "I'll be there."
When I arrived home I was surprised to find the press camped out in front of my house. You often hear about that-about the press doing stuff like that-but this was my first experience with it. The local cops were on hand, clearly excited to be doing something that seemed quasi-big time. They stood on either side of the driveway so that I could pull in. The press didn't try to stop them. In fact, when I pulled in, the press barely seemed to notice.
Greta gave me the conquering-hero welcome. She was full of kisses and quick hugs and congratulations. I love Greta. There are some people you know are pure good, who are always on your side. There aren't many of them. But there are some. Greta would jump in the way of a bullet for me. And she made me want to protect her.
In that way she reminded me of my sister.
"Where's Cara?" I asked.
"Bob took Cara and Madison to Baumgart's for dinner."
Estelle was in the kitchen, doing laundry. "I need to go out to night," I said to her.
"No problem."
Greta said, "Cara can sleep over at our house."
"I think I'd rather she slept at home tonight, thanks."
She followed me into the den. The front door opened and Bob came in with the two girls. Again I envisioned my daughter sprinting into my arms while screaming, "Daddy! You're home!" That didn't hap- pen. But she did smile and she did come over to me. I swept her up in my arms and kissed her hard. She held the smile but wiped her cheek. Hey, I'll take it.
Bob slapped my back. "Congrats on the trial," he said.
"Its not over yet."
"That's not what the media is saying. Either way it should get that Jenrette off our back."
"Or more desperate."
His face paled a little. If you were to cast Bob in a movie, he'd be the bad-guy rich Republican. His complexion was ruddy, his jowls thick, his fingers short and stubby. Here was another example of where appearances could be deceiving. Bob's background was totally blue collar. He studied and worked hard. Nothing had ever been given to him or made easy.
Cara came back into the room carrying a DVD. She held it up as though it were an offering. I closed my eyes, and remembering what day of the week it was, I cursed to myself. Then I said to my little girl, "It's movie night."
She still held up the DVD. Her eyes were wide. She was smiling. On the cover was something animated or computer-generated with talking cars or maybe farm animals or zoo animals, something from Pixar or Disney, something I had seen a hundred times already.
"That's right. Will you make popcorn?"
I took a knee so I was at her eye level. I put a hand on either shoulder. "Honey," I said, "Daddy has to go out tonight."
No reaction.
"I'm sorry, sweetie."
I waited for the tears. "Can Estelle watch it with me?"
"Sure, honey."
"And she can make popcorn?"
"Of course."
"Cool."
Td been hoping for a little crestfallen. No go. Cara skipped away. I looked at Bob. He looked at me as if to say, Kids – what can you do? "Inside," I said, gesturing toward my daughter. "On the inside, she's really crushed."