I took a step inside. He turned and said, "Uyh, Jonny, you don't look so good. You kids and all your stress, it'll kill you. Relax, drink some vino, it's good for your heart, you listen to me. You and Katie, why don't you go have fun, like go bowling? Or better, you stay in tonight and let me cook a good meal for you. I was right, wasn't I? That fish in that goddamn Frank's Bistro, it makes you sick. I'll get some breakfast, okay? And you make your girl eat."
"I'll do my best."
"We still got the pasta fagioli. It doesn't go bad, you listen to me. You want that?"
"Maybe something a little lighter," I said. "She hasn't been feeling well lately."
"Yeah, yeah, she looks pale to me all the time, I told you." He nodded knowingly, and I caught him glancing at the crucifixes and statues of saints as if praying for my soul. "Aspetta minuto, I make some peppers and eggs. Biscotti et caffe, it sounds like a spicy meal, but it's not. It'll help. A little. I have three sons, I been through this before."
"Thank you."
"And it'll help you, too, you must have one big headache. I saw the news on the television early this morning. I'm not gonna ask about it, you tell me later when you want. All right?"
"All right."
"Well, okay then."
I watched some more of the Italian soap opera. Soon the dead woman roused and the men crossed themselves and thanked God and everybody appeared to be friends again. In ten minutes Mr. Leone brought out a tray of coffee and cookie-like biscuits, two plates of fluffy omelet with thinly sliced red and green bell peppers. "You can bowl a two-thirty easy when you eat this. Jonny, the back of your head looks like you got an eggplant growing out of it."
I took the tray upstairs trying not to think of that image, knocked lightly on Katie's door and opened it. She stood at the mirror doing her hair and let out a heavy sigh when she saw me, perhaps like an exasperated mother, perhaps as if she'd been holding her breath for the past two days. I noticed how all her muscles slacked at once. She dropped back on the bed, and I sat beside her and put the tray on my lap.
"Here, we're going to bowl at least a two-thirty now."
"Oh my, and just when I'd given up hope."
I brushed the hair from her face, and drew my thumbs across her dimples. The set of her lips remained the same, and then slowly the lines around her mouth deepened, the frown causing a trench between her eyes. She sounded trapped between annoyance and relief. "I've been worried as hell, you know."
"I know. Did you see the news earlier?"
She nodded, and the light in her eyes glowed and dimmed and glowed. "There's a lot of conjecture about you and why you're always getting into trouble."
"I'd like to know the answer to that myself," I said.
Only half-finished, her hair rolled out to one side and twisted down across her face into her mouth. She kept brushing it behind her ear. "Is Crummler out of danger with this sadist gone?"
"Maybe out of immediate physical danger, although his brother told me they wouldn't have touched him for a while anyway. Still, I don't trust the doctor in charge of Panecraft."
"Do you trust the brother?"
I gave the same answer as before. "He saved my life.”
“God, you're lucky that maniac Shanks didn't fracture your skull. Let me see."
She touched the back of my head with talented, trained fingers. She could have been a doctor if only she'd loved the profession enough to continue with medical school; I thought about all the hospitalized men who would never get a cheap thrill out of her touch. I looked around her room. She'd chosen this-she'd preferred Felicity Grove over southern California, where most of us used to dream of moving to after high school.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"Come on, you seemed a little flustered. Is Jesus bothering you again?"
I took her in my arms. "Let's go back to bed for a while."
She grinned and the light in her jade eyes flashed more brightly. "Those Italian love songs always get you in the mood."
"If you're lucky I'll serenade you with my rendition of ‘Summertime in Venice.' "
"You devil."
"Do you feel up to some breakfast?"
"Yes, I'm starved, actually," she said. "Are you going to tell me about it?"
"Uh … let's eat first, then."
I'd stopped at the flower shop earlier. Lowell had been right-not much damage had been done to the place, and Ray had done a solid job of patching up the small side window. I'd cleaned up a few broken pots and scattered bags of plantgrowth. The cash register hadn't been worked on though it looked like a couple of flowers had been lifted from the refrigeration unit. Devington hadn't had much of a fight left in him. Maybe he stole a corsage for his new girlfriend. Maybe this would be the end of it, or at least the end for another ten years before his mid-life crisis or his bitch of a mother spurred him back after me.
It came as a surprise that Katie had an appetite, and that her face had a pleasant pink shade to it. Like most bachelors, and a vast percentage of married men, I was woefully ignorant about the arcane workings of female biology in general, and about pregnancy in particular. Though she'd stressed that morning sickness was common, it worried me to see her so ill so often. I'd batted around the idea of abortion for her health's sake, which made it even worse to think about.
She waved me on with her free hand while she scooped peppers into her mouth. I told her about the shop and she froze in mid-bite. "Tell me it's not bad."
"It's not bad."
"Tell me you're not just telling me that."
"I'm not just telling you that. Almost nothing was touched."
"Who did it?"
"Arnie Devington."
"That bastard, why'd he have to pick on me? Did they catch him?"
"No, there's no proof it was him. Lowell might go out there to roust him a little, or maybe he won't."
"Well, how nice for everybody." Her sarcasm didn't have much sharpness to it, maybe because she didn't want to look bad in front of Jesus. "I know this might seem a peculiar time to bring this up, seeing as how I've just been vandalized, but have you thought any more about moving the bookstore?"
"Yes," I said. "I have."
She scanned my face, trying to glimpse lies or terror or desperation. I didn't know myself what might be showing in there, but she grinned, apparently appeased, and nibbled on the biscotta. "Okay, so back to last night and you getting attacked by this psycho. You think Theodore Harnes sent him?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe Sparky thought he would get in better with the boss if he took some initiative."
"That's generally not the way to get in better with the boss."
"That's why it doesn't feel right to me."
"So what did Anna have to say about all this?"
I told her what Anna had explained to me back at the house. I tried to keep my voice steady but wound up sounding like a crotchety old man who'd been having trouble with his regularity. Katie took it in stride, and continued eating until the plate was empty. Everyone had a much calmer demeanor than I did, and it was pissing me off.
"You look surprised," she said.
"Aren't you?"
"That she nearly ran him down? Hell no. Don't you know anything at all about your grandmother? It's not like it was a conspiracy to commit murder. Anna was only nineteen or twenty years old, her friend comes to her distraught, wanting to leave Harnes, who, as we've already established, has got some serious issues, and asks for help."
"She might've killed him."