“Oh, my God . . .”
“Yo, doc? You okay?”
Shocked, I slid back the deadbolt and opened the door.
HIS FACE WAS A HALLOWEEN mask, eyes shadowy recesses, cheeks hollow, jaws stubble-dark.
“Talk to me.” Slidell’s barked demand spit from the phone.
I raised the device to my ear, gaze locked with that of the man on my doorstep.
“I’m fine.”
“What the—”
“It’s a friend.” Level, camouflaging the emotion roiling inside me. “I’m good. Thank you.”
I disconnected. Stood frozen, unsure how to play it. Joyful? Angry? Indifferent?
I flipped on the porch light. In the soft yellow glow I could see red spiderwebbing the whites of his eyes.
“You look like hell.” Opting for humor.
“Thanks.” Ryan’s voice sounded gravelly and hoarse.
“Shall I to try to reboot you?”
“Doesn’t work.”
“Come in.”
He didn’t move.
“If I leave you out there, you’ll run down and terrify the villagers.”
Normally, Ryan would have hit me with a snappy retort.
“This a bad time?” No snap.
“I was about to clean lint from the dryer.” Keeping it light.
“Fire hazard if you let that go.”
I smiled.
Ryan smiled. Sort of.
I stood back.
Ryan reached down and grasped the handle of a draped cube at his feet. As he brushed past me I heard a bell jingle. Scratching. His clothes stank of sweat and cigarette smoke.
I closed the door and turned.
Ryan stood in the center of the room, unsure what to do. He’d lost weight and looked gaunt and haggard.
“He expressed a desire to go south.” Pulling the cover from the cage.
Charlie, our shared cockatiel, looked startled. But birds always look startled.
I gestured to the dining room. Ryan set the bird on the table, replaced the cover, then returned to the parlor. I dropped into an armchair and drew my feet up.
Ryan sat on the sofa but didn’t lean back. “Place looks good.”
“Been a while,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad to see both of you.”
Gran’s clock ticked off a full thirty seconds. The silence felt strained and awkward.
“How’s the birdcat?” Ryan asked.
“Still king of the lab.”
Ryan nodded, but didn’t call out or search for Birdie as he normally would.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I went to the kitchen. Ryan didn’t follow. Cranking up the Krups, I thought of the times we’d shared the task, grinding beans, measuring water, arguing the mix was too strong or too weak. What the hell had happened?
When I returned to the parlor, Ryan was sitting forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped and hanging between them.
He accepted the steaming mug, then turned his head to stare out the window. To stare away from me?
I resumed my place in the armchair, legs tucked beneath my bum. Steeled for the words I was about to hear. The final severance.
At length, Ryan’s eyes rolled my way. He set down his untouched coffee. Cleared his throat. Swallowed.
“She’s dead.”
“Who?” Totally thrown. “Who’s dead?”
“Lily.” A strangled whisper.
Saying his daughter’s name unleashed a torrent of emotions Ryan had been battling to hide. His nostrils blanched and his breathing turned ragged.
A bubble of heat formed in my chest. Tears threatened.
No!
I flew to the sofa, pulled Ryan to me, and held him close. Sobs racked his shoulders. I felt hot dampness on my shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured again and again, feeling helpless in the face of such devastating grief. “I’m so, so sorry.”
At length, Ryan tensed. He pushed from me, sat back, and ran his palms down his cheeks.
“Captain America, reporting for duty.” He smiled, clearly embarrassed.
“Crying is good, Ryan.” I took his hand.
“Man tears.”
“Yes.”
He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I thought you should know.”
“Of course.”
Ryan yanked a hanky from a jeans pocket and blew his nose.
“When?” I asked softly.
“Ten days ago.”
No wonder he’d returned none of my calls. Remorse overwhelmed me. But with undertones of pain. Why hadn’t he reached out for my support?
“What happened?” I asked.
I was certain of the answer. Ryan had shared his daughter’s recent history. The drug escalation, culminating in heroin addiction. The dealer boyfriend. The arrest for shoplifting. I was one of the few in whom he’d confided.
The past year, Lily had appeared to be turning a corner. She’d seemed happy, was attending rehab.