A Grave Talent (29 page)

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After Hawkin left they dispersed upstairs, each to her separate room. Kate stripped and put on her warm robe, and went to run herself a long, hot bath. She had not slept well in many days, partly because of the omnipresent responsibility down the hall, but mostly because she did not like to sleep alone. She was tired, and edgy, and unhappy because she was not in top form and tomorrow would need her full attention. She ran the bath very hot, soaked until it cooled, and then half drained and filled it again with hot water until she felt rather boiled. She then took a rough washcloth and methodically scrubbed every reachable inch, and shampooed her hair three times, and shaved her legs. She then turned the shower to almost straight hot, and when her skin was numb with the heat she flipped it to cold and screamed silently for a count of ten. She turned it off and leaned against the tiles in relief for a moment before reaching for her towel.

She dried her hair, did her nails, cut her toenails, brushed and flossed her teeth, put on her bathrobe again, and went down the dim, carpeted hallway to her room. The heat and the water had emptied her, and she felt hollow, and more at peace than she had for many days. She could sleep now.

At the end of the hall a flickering light showed under Vaun's door, and the low mutter of the television. Kate stopped outside Lee's closed door and saw from the blue-white light under its edge that the reading light was on. She heard the sound of a page turning, and a minute later the tap tap tap of a pencil on the oversized artist's board that Lee used as a desk in bed, and a grumble as she complained to the author about whatever article she was reading. Kate smiled, reached out for the doorknob, and then slowly let her hand fall away.

In her own room she exchanged the robe for an oversized T-shirt and a pair of soft running shorts, in case of nocturnal emergencies, and crawled into her bed. Sleep came to her quickly and pulled her down into a place that was thick and black and heavy and dreamless.

Hours later a small sound broke sleep's hold on her and she struggled up from the depths, automatically fumbling for the gun on the table next to her as the door whispered open across the carpeting. She had the sights trained on the gap before she was yet awake, and Lee's outline stepped into them.

"Oh, Christ, hon," Kate blurted out. "Don't do that to me." She put the gun carefully on the table and sat up. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Nothing's wrong." The door closed and Lee moved surely through the dark room. "Move over."

"Lee, what are you doing? We agreed--"

"I didn't agree, you told me, and now I've decided you were wrong. Move over."

"Look, sweetheart, Vaun's just down the hallway and I promised Al--"

"You and Al didn't talk about our sleeping arrangements, and Vaun couldn't give a damn."

"But what if she--"

"If she comes in during the night she'll figure we're sleeping together. I don't think there's much that can surprise that lady."

"Aren't you going to let me finish a sen--"

"No. Shut up."

Kate shut up and moved over, and during the time that followed she made a considerable effort to maintain an awareness of the world outside the door, but there were moments when she would not have heard Andy Lewis come through the house if he'd been wearing cleated boots and sleigh bells.

Some time later Kate lay limp and purring, and spoke into Lee's shoulder.

"What was all that hostility about?"

"What hostility?" Lee said drowsily.

" 'What hostility?' I like that. And what have you done with your beeper?"

"On the table next to your damned gun. And I wasn't hostile, I was healthily sublimating my hostility into a libidinous outburst. If you'd been Jack Zuckerman I would have been hostile."

"I'm glad I'm not Jack Zuckerman. I'm always glad I'm not Jack Zuckerman. Who is Jack Zuckerman?"

"He wrote an attack in the
Psychotherapeutic Journal
on that article I did for them last month. A brilliant piece of writing. His, I mean. Nasty, snide, but slippery, nothing to respond to. Leaves the reader with the distinct impression that Lee Cooper is a well-meaning amateur who would be better off leaving people's heads to the big boys like himself who know what they're doing."

"Remind me to thank him for giving you some hostility to sublimate."

"Oh, he'd like that. He has a special place in his heart for me, because he knows that his ex-wife told me all the more sordid details of their relationship when she was working herself up to leave him, and he hates knowing that I know. He also thinks that I convinced her to make the break."

"Did you?" Kate was not interested, but she enjoyed lying on Lee's shoulder and listening to her talk.

"Of course not. I didn't have to. Look," she said abruptly, "what are we going to do about Vaun?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping to help keep her from getting killed," said Kate mildly.

"Yes, but after that?" Kate smiled to herself at Lee's casual dismissal of obstacles and wished she were as sure of the outcome as Lee seemed to be.

"All right, I'll go for it. What
are
we going to do about Vaun?"

"I'll have to talk with Gerry Bruckner again, see if he's come up with anything." Lee was lying staring up at the gray square of ceiling, and had her arm been free she would have been tapping her teeth with a pencil eraser. "Maybe she should go to him for a while."

"If she wants to," Kate added, even more mildly. Lee laughed.

"I'm doing a Hawkin, aren't I? Go here, go there, do this. I do know one thing that might help her, and that would be if you would allow her to be your friend instead of doing your armadillo routine."

"My what?"

"Don't get all huffy, you know what I mean. Two people in the last couple of weeks have held out a hand to you in friendship, and with both of them you pretend not to see it and curl into a well-armored ball. First Hawkin, and now Vaun. Both of them would be good friends for you."

"I thought you didn't like Hawkin," said Kate, sidestepping.

"Like doesn't enter into it. I respect him. I trust him."

"Really?" That surprised Kate.

"Oh, yes. He may be hard on you, but he won't hurt you. But I do think that if you allowed Vaun to make you her friend, it would do her a lot of good. Probably more good than anything Gerry Bruckner or I could do for her. Professionally, anyway."

"All right. When the next few days are over, I promise to be less armadilloish. Armadilloid? Can I go back to sleep now? It's been lovely, but unlike some people in the room I don't function well on four hours a night."

"Shall I stay?"

"Yes. Yes." Kate molded herself up against Lee, but it was like trying to relax beside a quivering spring.

"What's wrong, sweet Lee? Jack the Sugarman?"

"Partly that, yes. He's right, you know."

"No."

"Yes, he is. I was overreaching myself in that article, trying to say something about theory without the foundations to hold it steady. Since I came back from New York I've been concentrating on therapy, on helping people keep their lives together. I don't regret it--it's important work, and I've learned so much."

"But."

"Yes. 'But.' I told you that I've been having nightmares about being eaten. I don't know how much longer I can go on without giving some attention to myself. What I've learned is too one-sided. I have to take it and work with it, test it, build on it, or else make up my mind to dump it and stick to straight day-to-day therapy. That's what Jack was saying, in his own sweet way, and he's right."

"You want to leave San Francisco?"

"Not without you. Never without you. And not perma nently. A year, maybe. Gerry Bruckner invited me to his place for a couple of months; then I'd like to spend three or four months in New York, maybe six months in Zurich."

"I'd have to quit my job."

"A leave of absence?" Lee suggested. "But look, love, this is a lousy time to bring it up, and I'm sorry. We'll talk about it another day. Go to sleep."

"You said it was partly that. What else?"

"Nothing specific, just nerves. What the next few days are going to bring."

So, Kate thought, she's not so casual and confident after all.

"I think you should go away for a few days, until it's finished."

"I won't do that. You know I won't leave. It's just that waiting and uncertainty are difficult."

"Are you scared?"

Lee did not answer.

"It isn't right that you should be in this. You don't have the training or the background for it. I'm going to tell Hawkin to move Vaun out of here."

"No! No, Kate, you can't do that; you must not. Yes, I'm frightened, but not for myself. Why would Andy Lewis want to hurt me? No, it's you. I'm often frightened for you, you know, when you're off at night or when you go all silent about a case and I know it's coming to a head. It's the cop's wife syndrome, that's all. I worry about you, but you must not change the way you do your job because of me. Please?"

"I still think you should go away for the next few days, until it's over."

"Not just yet. Vaun needs me. I'll be okay. But, you be careful, promise me that."

"Dear heart, with all the people who will be watching the house, we're safer than we would be driving to San Jose."

"Promise me."

Kate wondered at the urgency in Lee's voice, and relented.

"I promise. When this is over I'm going to make them give me a week off and you can have someone else see your clients, and we'll go somewhere. Baja? Go lie on the beach for a week and drink margaritas? And listen to some overweight mariachi band singing about doves?"

"And play with the parrot fish and get sunburned. Yes, I'd like that. I love you, Kate. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For bribing that Todd kid to get into my teaching section at Cal. For calling me one nasty gray morning in Palo Alto. For loving me."

They lay together in the dark, Lee's hand on Kate's hair, smoothing it gently. She felt Kate relax, and heard her breathing slow, until finally Kate gave a twitch and slipped back into sleep.

Two hours later Kate was awakened again, by a small noise and a change in Lee. It was still as black dark as the city ever is.

"What--?"

"Shh!" Lee hissed, and Kate heard then the sound of a door closing and the nearly inaudible but somehow distinctive movement of Vaun coming down the hall and going down the stairs.

"What time is it?" Kate whispered.

"Just after four."

"I'd better go see what she wants," said Kate. She started to throw off the covers, but Lee stopped her.

"Let her go. If she needs something she'll ask, but give her a bit of rein. I'll get up in a while and make myself a cup of tea, if she wants to talk. Go back to sleep."

Kate got up and put her T-shirt and shorts back on and went down the hall to the toilet. The hall light was on downstairs, but no sound came up. Well, she couldn't get out without Kate's knowing it, and Lee was right to say she shouldn't hound the poor woman's steps. Maybe she wanted to watch a video. Kate went back to bed and eventually to sleep. Lee got up a while later, made herself tea, and took it into the living room. There was no sign of Vaun, which meant she was in the therapy rooms.

At six-thirty Lee was still curled up on the sofa, with a journal and a cup of coffee now, when she heard Vaun come out of the rooms, go into the kitchen and pour herself some coffee, and then start up the stairs. Lee looked up from her reading.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she called softly.

The footsteps stopped, and after a long minute they turned and Vaun came to the door.

"Good morning, Lee. No, I don't think so. There's no need, really." She looked as if she hadn't slept in days, but calm. "I left it there. You can put it away, if you like." She had done a sand tray, then.

"Do you want me to put it away before anyone else sees it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You're dreading today, aren't you?" Lee asked, careful to keep any sympathy out of her voice.

"Wouldn't you?" Vaun's voice was also matter-of-fact.

"You won't be alone."

Vaun smiled, a slow and affectionate smile.

"There is that, yes. It makes it almost bearable." She looked at the half-empty cup in her hand. I'll go have a shower, I think. A bracing shower might help." She drained the cup and went to put it in the sink, then came back to look at Lee.

"You're very good, you know. I've met a lot of therapists, and other than Gerry Bruckner, you're the best I've met at getting down to business."

Lee was surprised and didn't know quite how to respond. Vaun nodded anyway, as if she had, and went up to shower.

At seven o'clock Lee went up the stairs with two fresh cups of coffee. Kate was awake, her eyes puffed with sleep. Lee put one of the mugs on the table for her and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm glad you didn't try to shoot me again this morning."

"I heard you coming. Last night you were sneaking." She wrapped her body around Lee, reached for the coffee, and sighed contentedly. "Al Hawkin was right. You can make coffee like nobody else I know."

"Vaun did a sand tray this morning. That's where she was going when she got up."

"Did she now?" Kate glanced at the closed door and lowered her voice. "Can you tell me about it?"

"She said she didn't mind. It was odd. Sad. Powerful. Extraordinarily lonely. You know how most people use the sand as the foundation for the story, a stage setting built up into hills or valleys or abstract lines and shapes--something to set off the figures and hold them upright? Well, in hers the sand was the main character. She used the larger tray, dampened the sand and smoothed it into a perfect round bowl all the way up to the top edge, nearly exposing the wood on the bottom. It looked like a circular wave about to collapse in on itself, or an animal trap, or some kind of carnivorous earth formation. This perfect wide sweep of sand mounting up on all sides, and in the middle, the exact middle, the small stub of an orange crayon."