Time Off for Good Behavior (17 page)

I shrugged and let a small smile escape.
“
Maybe.
”

He raised his other eyebrow.
“
You
’
re
not fucking your lawyer, are you?
”

I slapped my hand down on the arms of my chair.
“
Oh, for Christ
’
s sake, Bones. Can
’
t I just sit and have a cup of coffee in peace?
”

He sat back and watched me, his black eyes glittering.
“
You know Shelley
’
s knocked up ag
ain.
”

“
She
’
s married, Bones. Married women don
’
t get knocked up. Women like me get knocked up.
”
I smiled.
“
Good for her, though. She here?
”

He gave a dismissive wave with one craggy hand.
“
She
’
s over at your old office, trying to get some commercials on wi
th that skittish little blonde.
”

I nearly spit coffee through my nose.
“
Are you kidding me? They put you on Susie
’
s list? Did you make her cry over the phone, or did it take an in-person visit?
”

“
Don
’
t change the subject. Shelley
’
s going on maternity leave
in January, after the holidays.
”

He looked at me, his thin lips clamped shut. I raised an eyebrow. I knew what he was getting at, but damned if I was going to make it easy on him. Bones and I didn
’
t work that way.
“
Again, good for Shelley,
”
I said.

Bones
rolled his eyes and leaned forward.
“
If no one else in town wants you, you can help me manage the place while she
’
s gone, starting the first week of January. It
’
s not good for an able-bodied girl to be lazing around all day like a damn dog.
”

“
You think I
’
m
able-bodied?
”
I camped up the act of wiping a tear from my eye.
“
Bones, you
’
re melting my heart.
”

He shrugged and sat back in his chair with a huff. I took a sip of my coffee.

“
Tell you what, Bones,
”
I said finally.
“
If I
’
m so desperate for work come Janu
ary that I won
’
t mind working for the crankiest fucking guy in America, I
’
ll call you.
”

He chuckled and nodded. I sat back in the chair. It was good to be home.

***

“
Wanda. Yeah, hi. This is Jim McKibbey. I
’
m a vending machine sales rep. I don
’
t know why
you wanted to know, but... Well, there you go.
”
Click.

I leaned on Walter
’
s kitchen counter, his phone pressed against my face as I retrieved my home messages. There were twelve. One from my landlady, Mrs. Forini, who
’
d agreed to pick up my mail for me an
d keep an eye out for anything suspicious. One from Jennifer at the
Hastings Daily Reporter,
notifying me that the charges to my credit card had been reversed, which was good, because the other ten were from nutcases telling me who they were.

“
Hi
—
giggle, g
iggle
—
Is this, like, one of those radio show things? You know, like on a radio show? Am I on Q94?
—
giggle, giggle
—
Well, this is Alexandra. Call me!
”

Jesus.
I half wished the phantom music would visit again. Infuriating as it was, it was better than listenin
g to this. I sighed, tossing the pen I
’
d been using to take notes across the counter. I punched 7 to delete the message, then moved on to the next one.

“
Hi. I
’
m Elizabeth. I have to say, I
’
m kind of... intrigued why someone would put an ad like that in the
paper. I mean, you must be getting a ton of nutcase calls.
”
She laughed.
“
Hell, you probably think
I
’
m
a nutcase. Ironically, I
’
m a therapist. Not that the two are mutually exclusive.
”
Heavy sigh.
“
This message is going down the shitter fast, isn
’
t it? We
ll, why not, right? I
’
m leaving a message with a stranger, and I
’
m supposed to be the sane one here. Well, fuck it, if you
’
re not selling anything, feel free to give me a call.
”
Click.

I stretched over the counter and grabbed the pen, hitting 9 for replay,
writing Elizabeth
’
s number down as I heard it the second time. Based on the message, I thought Elizabeth was someone I could talk to. For one, she managed to fit three curse words into less than thirty seconds; I could respect that. Two, she was suspicio
u
s I might be selling something, which was exactly what I would think if I saw that crackpot ad. Three, she was a therapist, and while I ordinarily didn
’
t like therapists, who was I to turn down a free headshrink?

And besides, I was so horribly, horribly bo
red.

I dialed the number, and after four rings, a woman
’
s voice came on the line.

“
Hello?
”

“
Yeah, hi. I
’
m calling for Elizabeth. Is she in?
”

“
This is she.
”

This is
she.
I stood up straighter.
“
Hi. This is Wanda.
”

There was a pause. Then a slight intake of
breath. Then another pause.
“
I
’
m sorry. Wanda?
”

“
Yes. From the newspaper ad. You called?
”
I cringed and pressed my palms into my eyes. What was I doing? I used to have friends. I was popular in high school. I
literally
dated the quarterback. How was it po
ssible that I ended up here, with only priests and strange therapists to talk to?

“
Oh! Wanda!
”
She laughed. I relaxed a bit.
“
The one from the paper?
”

“
Yeah,
”
I said.
“
Look, that ad was a mistake.
”

“
Not necessarily,
”
she said, taking a pause. The tone in h
er voice changed from friendly to oversweet with just a hint of condescension.
“
I mean, if it helped you to express your feelings... I mean, it
’
s important to
—
”

“
No,
”
I said, cutting her off, saving us both the pain.
“
I mean, it was really a mistake. They
screwed it up at the paper. It was meant for this other person, and... It doesn
’
t matter.
”

I heard some breath release from the other end.
“
Crap. I
’
m sorry. I didn
’
t mean to sound like I was lecturing.
”
She sighed again, and then a quiet self-admonition:
“
I always do that.
”

“
Hmm? Do what?
”

“
Talk down to people. I hate it, but I can
’
t help it. They start talking, and then there
’
s a pause, and I
’
m supposed to jump in and be brilliant, but usually what I
’
m thinking is that I wish they would stop all the whinin
g, and so I go into this college textbook crap.
”
She gave a frustrated sigh.
“
It
’
s awful.
”

“
Maybe you need to find a new line of work.
”

“
Yeah, if you can think of one that allows me to be here when the kids come home from school, I
’
m open. I
’
ve got some cl
ients who would thank you, I
’
m sure.
”
She laughed. It was a genuine, hearty laugh. I liked it.

“
Well, you
’
re gonna hate this. Part of the reason I called is because I have something I kind of need to talk about.
”

“
Oh,
”
she said. Her sunshine voice came bac
k.
“
Sure, Wanda, that
’
s great. Go ahead.
”

“
Um... how about this? I tell you what I
’
m thinking about, and you try to stay out of Pollyanna land, okay? You can be my practice therapist, and I can be your practice client. You tell me if I
’
m crazy, and I tell
you if you
’
re weird. What do you think?
”

“
We don
’
t like the term
crazy,
”
she began.

“
Weird,
”
I warned.

“
Is that why all my clients keep leaving me?
”

“
I
’
d take that bet, yes.
”

“
Well, shit.
”
She laughed again, and her voice went natural.
“
Go ahead. What
’
s yo
ur problem?
”

“
It
’
s kind of a moral question. I was just watching the news, and they had this story about this crabbing boat in Alaska.
”

“
The one that went down and all the crew members died?
”
Chopping in the background. Sounded like a good idea. I opened t
he fridge and started to poke around.

“
Yeah. Well, my ex-husband is in Alaska and he just lost his job and I know those crabbers always need people and I
’
m actually sitting here praying that he was on that boat.
”
The chopping in the background stopped. I v
isualized Elizabeth taking an unconscious step back. I grabbed a bag of baby carrots and shut the door to the fridge.
“
That makes me a bad person, doesn
’
t it?
”

A moment of silence. The chopping resumed.
“
I can
’
t do this.
”

“
Why?
”

“
Because there
’
s a huge dif
ference between what I
’
m supposed to tell you and what I want to tell you.
”

“
What
’
s the difference?
”

“
Okay. What I
’
m supposed to tell you is that there
’
s no value to defining something as
‘
good
’
or
‘
bad.
’
Then I
’
m supposed to ask you how those thoughts mad
e you feel.
”