Public Secrets

shoulder. “Shit.”
“Michael, really, it’s a bad time. I can just—” She’d stepped over the threshold. The dim light had her narrowing her eyes, “Oh my.” She couldn’t think of anything else. The living room looked as though it had been run over by a group of particularly vicious elves. “Have you been robbed?”
“No.” He was too groggy to worry about appearances and took her arm to drag her back to the kitchen. The dog continued to bark and leap in circles around them.
“You must have had a party,” she decided and felt a bit miffed that he hadn’t asked her to come.
“No. Please God, let there be coffee,” he muttered, pushing through the cupboards.
“Here.” She found the can of Maxwell House in the sink with a bag of potato chips. “Would you like me to—”

“No.” He brushed her aside. “I can make the damn coffee. Conroy, if you don’t shut up I’m going to tie your tongue around your neck.” In defense, he took the chips and set the bag on the floor for the dog to enjoy. “What time is it?”
Emma cleared her throat. She decided it would be unwise to point out that there was a clock on the coffee maker. “About twelve-thirty.”
He was scowling at the coffee scoop in his hand. Obviously, he’d lost track. As he began to add more, Emma lifted her camera and shot. “I’m sorry,” she said when he glared at her. “It’s reflex.”
He said nothing, but turned to root through the cupboards again. His mouth felt as though he’d dined on chalk. There was a jazz combo jamming gleefully in his head. He was sure his eyes had swollen to the size of golf balls, and, he discovered, he was out of fucking cereal.
“Michael…” Emma trod carefully, not because she was intimidated, but because she was deathly afraid she would laugh. “Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?”
“I can’t find any.”
“Sit down.” She had to clear her throat again as she pushed him to a chair. “We’ll start with coffee. Where are your cups?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Okay.” After a search, she found a package of Styrofoam cups, jumbo size. She poured the coffee. It looked as thick as mud and just as appetizing, but he guzzled it. As the caffeine kicked in, he saw her with her head in his refrigerator.
She looked great, absolutely great, with a little cropped blouse and breezy summer pants in pale blue. Her hair was loose. He liked it best loose so he could imagine running his hands through it. But what was she doing with her head in his refrigerator?
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing you breakfast. You have one egg. How would you like it?”
“Cooked.” He drained the cup and hobbled back for another dose.
“Your bologna’s green, and there’s something in here that might be alive.” She took out the egg, a hunk of cheese, and a heel of bread. “I’ve never seen things move in a refrigerator before. Got a skillet?”
“I think so. Why?”

“Never mind.” She found it eventually and with a little invention managed to fix him an open-face egg-and-cheese sandwich. She settled on a flat ginger ale and sat across from him as he ate. “Michael, not to intrude, but could I ask how long you’ve been living this way?”
“I bought the place about four years ago.”
“And you’re still alive. You’re a strong man, Michael.”
“I’ve been thinking about getting it cleaned.”
“Think bulldozers.”
“It’s hard to get insulted when I’m eating.” He watched her take a picture of Conroy, who had gone back to sleep with his paws crossed over the bag of chips. “He’ll never sign a release form.”
She smiled at him. “Feeling better?”
“Almost human.”
“I was out—decided it was time to start working again. I thought you might like to tag along for a few hours.” She felt shy suddenly. It was different now that he was fully awake, watching her over the remains of the breakfast she’d fixed him. “I know you’ve been busy the last few weeks.”
“Tackling crime single-handed. Conroy, you lazy mutt, go fetch.” The dog opened one eye and grumbled. “Go on.” He gave what sounded like a very human sigh as he dragged himself up and out. “You’ve been avoiding me, Emma.”
She started to deny it. “Yes. I’m sorry. You’ve been a good friend, and I—”
“If you start on that friendship-and-gratitude business again, you’re only going to piss me off.” He took the pack of cigarettes Conroy dropped in his lap, then rose to let the dog