One Cold Night

earrings, arranged by size in numerous compartments. Below, in a larger section, were necklaces and bracelets. Her attention landed on the little chain coiled in one corner; nestled into the curl of gold was the small crucifix she had received for her first Communion. Back in her hometown of Vernon, Texas, she hadn’t had a single girlfriend who didn’t go through that rite of passage. She wondered what those girls were doing now; she hadn’t seen most of them since she was fifteen, pregnant but not yet visibly so, and the Bailey family had moved away.
    She reached in and took out the necklace, dangling it long and then recoiling it in the palm of her hand, remembering how she used to wear it every day, how special it had been to her as a young girl. When she looked at her childhood necklace now she felt a strange pang of remorse, realizing that the last time she had taken it out and held it had been the one time she’d shown it to Dave. Dave, who openly called himself “a devout atheist,” had chuckled at the sight of the crucifix, and she had kept it hidden from him ever since. Religion was the one thing they couldn’t agree on. But she had been lapsed in her religious devotion for so long that she wasn’t really offended, just a little bit bewildered about her relationship to God, thoughshe couldn’t begin to explain that feeling. Holding the necklace now, Susan decided she would give it to Lisa, and wondered why she had never thought of it before. She carefully replaced the necklace in the bottom of the jewelry box and looked at the clock: six more minutes had passed.
    In the bathroom she brushed her teeth and then her hair. She splashed cold water on her face, patted herself dry and returned to the living room to continue the wait. On the way past the kitchen she picked up the phone and sat on the couch with it cradled in her lap. She had already talked to all Lisa’s friends. Whom else could she call now? For all the people Susan knew, it struck her that she had no really close friends of her own to rely on; she had acquaintances, neighbors and employees, but had never made the time for a best girlfriend who would forgive her such undisciplined worry.
    She thought of her parents; she could call them. But shouldn’t she wait? Her mother, Carole, would quickly become distraught, and her father, Bill — well, she didn’t know how he would react. Since he’d stopped drinking twenty years ago he’d become the kind of dry drunk who needed to control everyone around him in order to keep hold of himself; the top-ranking salesman in his office; the devout Christian; the neighbor with a perfect lawn. His reaction to a call about Lisa being out late could land anywhere in a range from concerned to outraged. She fingered the phone’s rubber buttons and thought about it but didn’t dial. She would wait, she decided, before she said anything to them, because probably Dave was right: Lisa would waltz in any minute now and Susan’s worry would dissolve. She would have hersister/daughter back and they would have their chance to really talk it out. Then she would prepare herself to make the same confession to Dave.
    She set the phone down on the coffee table and walked over to the open window. Leaning out, she felt the night chill on her face. Goose pimples formed on her uncovered arms. She looked toward the right, in the direction of the park, then toward the left, in the direction of Water Street. It was quiet out, and cold. Lisa was nowhere in sight.
    At the card table, she snapped three more puzzle pieces into place, increasing the length of blue. It seemed like some kind of background, but there was still no indication of what, if any, image would emerge after all the pieces had been assembled.
    She picked up her BlackBerry and thumbed another message, this time directly to Lisa’s e-mail address. When I was your age I was in love. At least I believed I was. Madly madly in love. His name was Peter and my dear sweet darling the truth is that you look like him. You look like your father. The boy-man who gave us all the gift of you. I have so much to tell you.

Chapter 4
    Wednesday, 12:10 a.m.
    Riding upward in the mirrored elevator, Dave closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the exhaustion of a long day seep into him. He hoped Lisa was home by now. Susan’s call had alarmed him more than he had let on; he knew the statistics, and Lisa was a ripe age for the creeps who loved girls so much they