Hooked

frigid air pierced right through, and she shivered. “Not for this weather, I can tell you that.” The digression was more to evade the real answer. It’d come later. “You in a hurry? Bad time?”
    “I went back to school, but I’m sure you must know that too. I can miss this morning’s class.”
    That was a good sign. He wasn’t racing away from her. “Psychology, Dennis said. That was your college major, wasn’t it?”
    He drifted back to the steps. “Double major, along with criminal justice. Look, why don’t we go up to my apartment. You’re freezing. I’ll make a pot of coffee and we can catch up.”
    She nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”
    He took her by the arm. “Thought I’d work on my Master’s, get that doctorate, then go into practice. Maybe in the process I can figure out why people do what they do, because I sure as hell don’t understand any of it.”
    That was the most he’d ever talked about himself, and she liked that he did. “Can I be your first patient?”
    Walsh smiled, his eyes brightened. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, Tawny Dell. You always knew who you were. Never made excuses, never lied. Take me as I am or not at all. I always admired that about you.”
    “You mean you didn’t think I was fucked up?”
    “We’re all fucked up. Maybe you knew it better than most.”
    She tilted her head in appraisal of his assessment and decided she agreed. “I went home to Marblehead before I moved back. Got things squared away with my parents.”
    Walsh leaned forward, interested. “What did they say?”
    “They were devastated, of course. It was a very emotional visit. The hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I’m glad I went and came clean. I’m lucky to have them in my life, after what a disappointment I’ve been.”
    “I doubt they saw it that way.”
    “They said they didn’t, but they did. They love me, so they forgave me.”
    She walked alongside him up the driveway of the gingerbread Victorian, waited while he talked to the old woman sweeping off her back porch and craning her neck to see who he was with. They climbed the stairs to the second floor. His apartment wasn’t what she expecte d, although she had no idea what that was. The furniture was comfortable, with a guy’s mandatory recliner―not an ugly one―a flat-screen TV, and a wall of shelves overstuffed with books.
    He must have noticed her surprise because he said, “Did you think I wa s illiterate?”
    “Not at all, but I didn’t expect a voracious reader either.”
    “What did you expect?” He went into the small galley kitchen, stealing glances in her direction.
    Good question. She realized now she barely knew him. Other than the sexual attraction and the undercover operation, she had no idea if he liked old movies or sports or walks in the park. She’d been a small part of his lif e .
    She watched him grind the coffee and fill the pot with water. He turned it on, and the coffee bubbled into the pot, releasing a rich aroma that wafted through the small space. She also noticed his left hand appeared to move with more difficulty than his right.
    A lump formed in her throat. Had she made a mistake coming here? He’d saved her life, and now he’s permanently damaged because of it. And I walked away when he needed me. Does he curse me every time he tries to use that hand? Does he hate me for leaving?
    He caught her looking as he leaned against the doorjamb, waiting.
    Heat rose to her cheeks. “I don’t know what I expected.”
    “Back to my original question, then. Why are you here?”
    Her insides shook with nerves, her heart fluttered. “The most important reason is to thank you for my life. It’s a long overdue thank you.”
    “You’re welcome. What else?”
    She’d planned this meeting, knew what she wanted to say, and now, faced with his question, her mind was a total blank. Just tell it like it happened, Tawny.
    “There I was, Walsh, where I thought I always wanted to be, going from museum to museum, digging in the ground with excavation tools and brushes, and I wondered why I felt so alone. Wasn’t that what I always wanted?” She shed her jacket and sat at one of the two chairs at the small table and took in more of the room. There was a framed photo on the mantle of a very pretty woman. The photo was old, creased in a place or two. She knew who it was. “The answer, put simply, was no. Then I asked myself why, and I came up with the most startling answer.