Judge & Jury - James Patterson [47]
“I have some appetizers under the broiler. Make yourself at home.”
I stepped into the small, nicely decorated living room as Andie ducked back into the kitchen. She had a yellow paisley fabric couch and a coffee table with Architectural Digest and InStyle on it. A creased paperback, The Other Boleyn Girl. I recognized the jazz she had on. Coltrane. I went over to the bookshelf and picked up the CD. A Love Supreme.
“Nice,” I said. “I used to play a little sax. Long time ago.”
“What?” she called from the kitchen. “Like in the fifties?”
I came over and took a seat at the counter. “Very funny.”
She slid a platter of cheese puffs and empanadas across the counter. “Here, I went all out.”
I grabbed a cheese puff with a toothpick. “Tasty.” She poured me a glass of Pinot Grigio from an open bottle and sat across from me.
She had a fresh, blossomy scent—lavender or apricot or something. Whatever this was—dinner, a date, just bringing her up to speed on Cavello—I was already enjoying it more than I thought I should.
She smiled. “So, uh, this is just a little bit awkward, isn’t it?”
“I left the car running downstairs, just in case.”
“In case it got weird?”
“In case I didn’t like your paella.”
Andie laughed. “Bring it on,” she said, and tilted her glass. “So I guess this is good news, right?”
“That’s right.” We clinked glasses. “Cavello is going down this time.” Suddenly, talking about my meeting with the gangster didn’t exactly seem like the thing to do. All we ever had between us was that awful trial. There was a lull. We both took another sip of wine. Andie smiled and let me off the hook.
“We don’t have to talk about it. We can talk about your class. Or what’s going on in Iraq. Or, God forbid, the Yankees.”
Over dinner, I finally told her more about my meeting with Cavello. I think it made her feel good, knowing the bastard would have to account for something. And the paella was a ten, just the way I liked it.
Afterward, I helped her clean up, stacking dishes in the sink until she made me stop, insisting she’d finish the rest later. She put on a pot of coffee.
Andie’s back was to me. We were talking about her acting, when I noticed a photo on the counter. Her and her son. She had her arm wrapped around his neck, smiles everywhere. Love. They looked like the happiest mother and son.
When I looked up, Andie was facing me. “Don’t take offense, Nick. But why do you keep coming around here? What is it you want to say?”
I was at a loss. “I don’t know.”
“You want to say it hurts? I know it hurts.” Her eyes were glistening now. “You want to say you wish you could’ve done something?”
“I don’t know what I want to say, Andie. But I know I wanted to come and see you.”
And I wanted to just reach out and hold her, too. I don’t think I ever wanted to take someone in my arms as much as I wanted her. And I think, maybe, she wanted it, too. She was just leaning there, palms against the counter.
Finally, Andie smiled. “Car’s still running, huh?”
I nodded. In the past minute or so, the temperature had risen about a hundred degrees in the kitchen. “Don’t take this wrong, but I think I’m gonna pass on that coffee.”
“Hey.” Andie sighed. “Whatever.”
I found my jacket on the chair where I’d left it, and Andie walked me to the door. “Everything was great,” I said, “as advertised.” I took her hand and held it for a second.
“It’s because I feel good around you. That’s why I came. You make me laugh. No one’s made me laugh in months.”
“You know, you’ve got a nice smile, Nick, when you let it out. Anyone ever tell you that?”
I turned to leave. “Not in a while.”
She closed the door behind me. There was a part of me that wanted to say, screw it, Nick, and turn around. And I knew if I did, she would still be there. I could almost feel her standing on the other side of the door.