Sundays at Tiffany's - James Patterson [55]
Looking at her lying there so peacefully made him want to . . . break all the windows in the room. Life was unfair, he understood that, for the first time, really. Was that why he was here, so that he could learn to be more compassionate? If so, this sucked big-time, because he was already pretty damn compassionate. Anyone who was an imaginary friend to a child would have to be. So now who was he supposed to be in this little melodrama? An angel? An ordinary person? An imaginary friend? He had as many questions as Jane did, and no one was giving answers to either of them.
He quietly swung around, sitting up on the side of the bed. He walked into the bathroom and looked into the mirror.
You’ve got to tell Jane what’s going on, what’s going to happen to her.
But he wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. It could be the wrong thing. He turned on the shower, as hot as he could stand it. The shower shelf was filled with Jane’s things — almond soap, Kiehl’s conditioner, shampoo.
How sick was she? Was it cancer? Something to do with her heart? Yesterday, after the fish and chips, Jane had said she was so full that she wished she could call a cab and not have to bike back to the inn. Then she was tired on the walk through the village. And she wasn’t eating much, not by normal Jane standards.
“Hey, there’s so much steam in here, I thought the bathroom was on fire.”
He heard her in the room, and he started to smile.
“Michael? Are you in here?” she called out.
“No, he’s not here. I’m just a guy with his voice.”
Jane laughed as she pushed aside the shower curtain. “Oh! And here’s something else of Michael’s. My God, it’s large. And it’s growing. Somebody step on it. Hit it with a stick. Or . . . okay . . . I guess you could do that with it.”
Sixty-eight
AND HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.
They made love again, then slept again. In the morning they woke up with smiles on their faces, and a newfound, joyous sense of wonder and contentment. After breakfast, they went on a chartered whale-watching trip. Michael loved Jane’s excited amazement when they actually saw a humpback breech, impossibly close to the boat. After lunch, they went to the Brant Point Lighthouse. That was followed by a long walk on the beach, hand in hand, talking and not talking.
Michael told Jane how long he’d been a “friend,” and he told her as much as he could remember. He could recall only the past few assignments; he had a sense that there had been others, but the memories had faded, like dreams. Seeing Jane now, as a grown-up, his memory of their earlier years came back. He honestly didn’t know if every kid had an invisible friend, but he hoped so.
That night Michael called a local restaurant, and a taxi delivered lobster, steamers, and corn on the cob to them right on the beach. They went back to the inn, and made love again, and got even more comfortable with each other. And the sex was great, better than Michael could have imagined. Probably because they were so in love, and knew each other so well. Jane felt a little queasy during the night, but she was sure it was something that she ate, probably the steamers.
Which led to the next morning, and renting a Sailfish, and then they were on a fishing boat. Jane caught about a dozen bluefish, while Michael caught none. He tried to memorize the way she looked, so delighted and triumphant, pulling in yet another flashing, wiggling bluefish. Her hair shone in the sun, her smile lit the sky. He couldn’t wait to go back to the inn with her.
Before dinner, they made love again, with a fierceness that took them both by surprise. Afterward they didn’t talk about it, but got on the old bikes and pedaled back to picturesque Siasconset. On the way back to the inn, they stopped and picked armfuls of spicy-scented wild roses, which they put in their wicker bicycle baskets. They had dinner at Ozzie and Ed’s restaurant in town, where