(Chapter 20. Malibu beach house, Roger Gorini's warehouse. March 25.)
Maribeth was awake about five minutes before six in the morning. The alarm was set to sound at six thirty, but she turned it off so it wouldn't wake her husband. Steve needed his rest. She lay beside him and watched him sleep for a few minutes. It was so good just to *be* here with him for a change, to smell his scent, feel his warmth, hear the slow steady rhythm of his breathing. Except for the rare vacation, the last time she could remember going to bed with him and waking up alongside him the next morning for more than two or three days in a row had been when he was recovering from his heart attack eight years ago. She couldn't help but hope that if he got used to the easy pace of days enjoyed by a man of leisure, there might be a chance of getting him to retire. The two of them still had a few good years ahead, and it would be nice to spend them together.
She wished she had been able to spend this week with Steve since he was home and she could have had him all to herself, but she had already agreed to cover for Peter Green while he was off at a conference and as a result, she had been spending long hours at the hospital. Between her patients and Peter's and the inevitable emergencies that kept popping up, she had been lucky to see daylight the past several days. No matter, though, Peter was back from the conference now, and once he heard about Steve's situation, he had agreed to go on call for the next month so she could spend more time with her husband. In her mind, Peter was a genuine hero, because now all she had to worry about were her regular rounds and previously scheduled surgeries and appointments. She was back to eight-hour days, and would have plenty of time to spend with Steve.
She smiled as Steve snuggled closer and murmured her name, then frowned as his arm came up to rest on the pillow and she saw all the diodes glowing red and amber, even in his sleep. She kissed him softly on the temple and smoothed his tousled hair back behind his ear. Her hand gently followed the line of his jaw down to his throat, and along his neck to rest against his chest where she felt the reassuring thud of his heartbeat. The lights slowly dropped to amber and green. Steve smiled, and she smiled, too, delighted to know that even in his sleep, he knew and enjoyed her touch. After thirty years, moments like this still hadn't lost their wonder. She gave him another kiss and heard him sigh contentedly, then she slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him.
Keith was waiting just outside Maribeth's bedroom door when she emerged at six fifteen. She was bleary-eyed, bespectacled, still had bed-head, and wore mismatched slippers on her feet. She backed out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her so as not to wake her husband. Then she turned toward the kitchen, jumped about three feet in the air, and stumbled backward, barely strangling a scream before she woke the whole house, flapping her arms and gasping in fright, as Keith said a quiet, "Good morning."
"Goodness!" she whispered sharply, "Good morning. You nearly scared the life out of me."
"Sorry about that," he murmured back.
"Did you need something?"
"No."
He stood facing her in the hall, leaning his shoulder against one wall, not exactly blocking the way, but not really giving her room to pass either. When he refused to move, Maribeth turned sideways and sidled past him. As she padded quietly out to the kitchen, she heard him following her.
She entered the kitchen, took a deep breath, smelled coffee in the air, and sighed with relief. "Thank God somebody set the timer," she said.
She went over to the coffeemaker, and Keith followed close at her heels. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him, and he accepted it with a soft, "Thank you." Then she poured another cup for herself, and turned to the refrigerator for some milk to put in her coffee. She offered some to Keith who was still hovering at her elbow, but he shook his head no. So, she shut the refrigerator door, and turned to go to the table. Again, Keith wasn't quite blocking her way, but wasn't leaving her room to get by, either.
He was certainly acting strangely today.
Shrugging, Maribeth put her coffee on the center island and headed out to the front door to get the morning paper. When she came back in the house, already intently reading the front-page news, she walked headfirst into Keith who had been watching her from the foyer. They each stumbled back a step, and she looked at him in exasperation.
"Are you sure you don't need anything?"
Keith shrugged. "Nope. I'm fine."
This time she squeezed past him without waiting to see if he would move to let her by. She went back to the kitchen, picked up her coffee from the island, slipped around Keith again as he had come to block her way, and sat at the table to drink her coffee and read her paper. She would have preferred to get some fresh air and sunshine out on the deck, but it was still too cold for that this year.
She heard Keith sit across from her, and she swore she could feel him watching. Maybe he thought he was being funny. It seemed a rather sophomoric joke to her, and she decided she simply wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of noticing.
After about fifteen minutes, Maribeth decided to freshen her coffee. She downed the last of the cooling liquid in two gulps and headed back to the coffeemaker, Keith just a step behind her. As she picked up the coffeepot, he cleared his throat quietly.
"What?" She asked, tersely.
"Are you sure you want that?"
"Yes."
"Ok," Keith sighed, "but if you have it, you may live to regret it. Too much coffee isn't good for you."
She peered at him through bifocals. "If I *don't* have it, you may *not* live to regret it. Too *little* coffee for me could be very bad for *you*. What is up with you this morning anyway?"
"Oh, nothing," Keith said in an exaggeratedly offhand manner.
"Uh-huh." Maribeth made it clear she didn't believe him.
As she scuffled back to the table, Keith hid a smile, please that his plan was working so well already.
"God, kid, you're killin' me!"
"Quit complaining and save your air for breathing, Moretti. Keep running! You're almost to the top of the hill."
"Ahhhhhhh.ahhhhhhh.ahhhhhhh.Yeahhhhhhh!" Moretti shouted as he reached the top of the hill, and he and Emily celebrated with high fives and slaps on the back. Less than three weeks ago, he hadn't even been able to walk to the top, and now he was jogging it. Besides the fitness routine she'd helped him establish, he was actually enjoying the running because it gave him a chance to get out of the house Em was renting. It was nice to get a breath of fresh air once in a while. He'd lost twelve pounds last time he was on the scale and over three inches from his waist. With Emmy's help, he was not only losing fat, but also building muscle, and he looked slimmer and firmer and felt younger than he had in years. He had a long way to go, he knew, but this hilltop had been a goal he'd been working toward for eighteen days now, and he had finally made it. He couldn't recall ever being so proud of anything he had done.
Suddenly, he fell silent.
"What's the matter?" Emily asked.
Moretti shrugged and said, "I just realized I have to go back down now. Uuuuuugh!"
Emmy laughed. "Man, you're not happy unless you're complaining, are you?"
"I guess not," Moretti said.
The truth was, he didn't know how to tell her how pathetic he felt to know that running up this hill was his greatest moment in all his sixty-plus years.
"Wah!"
When Maribeth emerged from her bedroom dressed and ready for work, she was so startled to find Keith lurking in the hallway again that she couldn't suppress a tiny squeak this time. God, she wanted to wipe that goofy little grin off his face with her fist, but that would only give him what he wanted, whatever the hell that was. She was getting tired of this stupid game, and couldn't figure out why he had started it, but she was leaving for the hospital in a few minutes, and she'd be damned if she'd let him get to her before then. She headed out to the kitchen to say goodbye to Mark and Steve, and as Steve went to dip his knife in the butter for his toast, she pulled it away from him and said, "You need to go easy on that stuff. It's not good for your cholesterol or your ulcers."
Steve sighed, put his knife down, and said, "Ok," then he bit into the dry toast. All the lights on the glove were bright red.
She kissed him on the cheek and, as she crossed the kitchen, said, "Don't over do it, and be sure to get some rest this afternoon. I'll see you around six. I love you. Bye."
She pushed past Keith and headed out the door. As she crossed the driveway, she hit the remote control that disengaged the locking device on her car. She opened the door, put her briefcase on the floor behind her seat, sat down, turned to shut the door and found Keith standing in the way, grinning like an idiot.
She took a deep breath, huffed and puffed and finally said, "Ok, what in the hell are you doing?"
Keith laughed slightly and said, "I'm glad you finally asked."
Leigh Ann rewound the tape from Roger's bug in the pathology lab and played it again.
"Jess, Liv and Keith were married on Valentine's Day. Emily's birthday, her *thirtieth* birthday, Jess, was in September."
"But Steve, that's only seven months."
There was a brief silence.
"Ohhh, that's *only* seven months."
"I know."
Leigh Ann smiled.
Keith crouched to be on Maribeth's level. He had to hold on to the car door and the doorframe for balance, but he knew she'd never listen if he started talking down to her.
"I'm sorry if I got on your nerves, but I wanted you to know how Steve felt."
"Excuse me?"
"Everybody's watching him, all the time, Maribeth, and they all report back to you. He's under constant scrutiny, and it's smothering him."
Maribeth gave a snort of laughter. "Please," she said derisively. "You make it sound like he's a prisoner."
Calmly and seriously, Keith said, "He is."
She laughed again. "Pah! This is ridiculous."
Keith stood and offered her his hand. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.
"I'll be late."
"It will be ok. I told Steven I needed to talk to you, and he's going to get someone to cover for you." When she hesitated, he said, "Please, for Steve's sake."
She took his hand and stepped out of the car.
Steve had been reading Liv's letters since he had woken up that morning at about twenty after six. They were typically full of news, and each one contained only a brief mention of her battle with her illness. She seemed to be getting better and in every letter, she mentioned that she had gained a little weight or had reached a small milestone. Steve's own mother had lost her battle with cancer years ago, and sometimes he still missed her. Since then, he had known other people who'd suffered with it. Some had lived, and some had not, but from knowing them, he was able to recognize each of Liv's small achievements for what it was--a reaffirmation of life and hope--and as he read about her gradual healing process, he got the feeling that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel for him, too.
He'd stopped to have a bite for breakfast around seven thirty, and now that Maribeth had headed off to work, he planned to read for a couple more hours. Then maybe he'd go for a walk on the beach and putter around in the garden for a while. It was going to be a big day, he thought sarcastically.
He'd noticed Olivia's handwriting had steadily improved since the letter where she was hoping to join her friends for the Fourth of July, but as he turned to a letter dated July of 2006, it was suddenly nearly illegible again. This time, though, it wasn't cramped and wobbly. Now, the page was covered in quick bold pen strokes. Words splashed carelessly across the page.
*** Dear Mark!
I'm just too excited to write a real letter, so you will have to settle for my news and trust that I will tell you more, later!
My latest blood test has come back clear!!!!!!!!!! There is no sign of cancer!
Emmy has written an opera! She's not yet four!
I have apologized to the priest!
Congratulate Amanda and Ron for me! There's a gift on the way!
We're off to celebrate! I love you! God bless!
Happy day!!!!!!!!!!
Love! Liv! ***
Steve had to laugh at the plethora of exclamation points. He'd always marveled at Liv's ability to get excited over the small things in life, and she had greeted this wonderful news with the same childlike delight she had once greeted a trip to Disneyland. Of course, he'd known there would eventually be a letter saying she was well again, but he was thrilled for her just the same.
Keith and Maribeth were about half a block from the house. They had been walking and talking for just a few minutes, and Keith was trying to keep the conversation going until they got a little farther down the street.
"Then I came home from work one day, and she was gone. No note, no phone number, no forwarding address, nothing. She'd taken some clothes and some books, and that was it."
Maribeth stopped and stared. "And you had no idea it was coming, did you?"
Keith shook his head. "If you had given me a quarter, I wouldn't have been able to go out and *buy* a clue. I thought she had been kidnapped. She's extraordinarily wealthy, and a lot of people know that."
Laughing, Maribeth said, "Men are just so incredibly dense."
"Some of us are," he agreed, "but in my experience, so are an equally proportional number of women."
"Well!" Maribeth said, but before she could protest further, he cut her off.
"Do you do any gardening?" Keith asked.
Thoroughly confused now, all she could do was answer. "Some. Dad takes care of most of it. He enjoys pottering around among the plants, and since he's retired, he has all the time in the world to do it, but the petunias and geraniums are mine."
"Good."
They walked a little further in silence. Maribeth was curious about where this conversation was going next, but she was so confused by Keith's sudden change of tack that she didn't even know what to ask to elicit more information.
"Jeeeeezus!" Ron heard 'Fredo Cioffi murmur as he entered the office a step behind the FBI agent. The place reeked of decay, and as Ron pulled out a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth and filter some of the stench, the young officer followed his lead. Ron glanced at the young man and noticed he was slightly green and perspiring.
"Ok," he said, turning to his right and looking for a secret passageway, "Joey said the door was over here somewhere. Call the ME's office and ask my wife to come over here to take care the body. This whole place needs to be photographed and dusted for prints. Get Donovan and your dad in here to help."
"Yessir!"
He heard the clatter of running footsteps across the hardwood floor, then he heard them stumble. His own stomach clenched and he had to swallow hard as to quell the sympathetic reflex that threatened when he heard young Cioffi heaving just outside the office door. Ron sighed. At least he'd been able to wait until he was out of the crime scene proper.
Abandoning his task, Ron left the office and knelt beside the younger man on the warehouse floor. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Ron tried very hard to avoid looking at what 'Fredo had deposited there.
"Are you all right, now?"
'Fredo was still gasping for breath, but he did manage to nod.
"Ok, change of plans," Ron said evenly. "First, get yourself some air. Then call the ME's office and send your dad and Donovan in here. Warn them what they're coming into. When you feel up to it, *if* you feel up to it, come back in and help us."
"Yes, sir," 'Fredo said as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "I'm sorry, sir."
Ron shook his head. "Don't apologize. Most of us have been there one time or another, but if it should ever happen again, just go and deal with it instead of trying to wait around for orders. There's not a man worth serving with who wouldn't understand."
"Yes, sir." Ron was gratified to see the rookie smile. He was going to be a damned fine cop one day, and it was really a shame he hadn't joined the bureau.
Steve sighed and turned the page. He'd read a year's worth of letters in the past hour and while Liv's health had gotten better and better, Emily had become more and more of a handful and her marriage had gotten steadily worse. She and Keith had argued over everything from housework to vacation plans to who was going to decorate the Christmas tree. Seeing them now, he never would have dreamed Keith and Liv had faced marital problems. The thoughtful frown that had settled on his face deepened as he turned the page.
*** Dear Mark,
Well, enough is enough and I have finally done it. Note the new return address.
As I have told you, Keith has been infuriatingly overprotective since I was allowed to come home last year. Breakfasts in bed and having him take care of the laundry and other housework were lovely at first, but then I came to realize he wasn't so much willing to help, as he was terrified that I was too fragile to do it myself. Everything I have tried to do for the past year, from making dinner to hiking in the woods with Emmy, has been a constant battle with him. He cannot accept that I do not need his permission to fire up the grill or run the vacuum cleaner, and he refuses to believe that I will know when I need help and won't be too proud to ask for it. And God forbid I should tell him, 'No, I don't need a nap right now.'
After what happened last week, I am still so angry, if he were standing here before me, I would wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyeballs popped out!
I can tell you are laughing. Stop it! ***
Steve had smiled at her threat, then chuckled at, 'I can tell you are laughing.' When he read, 'Stop it!' he laughed aloud. In her letters, Liv's rants often took on the tone of an angry comic raging at the little injustices of the world, and the occasional odd turn of a phrase only enhanced that effect.
The next paragraph made him suddenly more serious.
*** One night last week, we were watching the news coverage of the riots and praying for all of you and hoping everything was all right. It had been on all day, every day here, and we stayed glued to the set. When the mob crossed the Hollywood Freeway, I began to worry for Steve. Keith said things would settle down before they got that far, but I was not convinced. When they hit the Northeast Community Police Station, I knew Steve was in trouble.
I actually ate dinner in front of the TV that night, Emily by my side. Oh, I know it was rather graphic for a child, but Mark, she is mature and intelligent enough already to understand the reasons behind the rioting, and as a result, the violence isn't so scary for her.
Well, about ten o'clock, my self-appointed keeper, my infuriating, sanctimonious, husband stood up and snapped off the set, saying, 'Ok, girls, bedtime.'
I could have slapped him silly!
You're laughing again. Stop it! ***
Steve was indeed laughing again. He didn't think his dad was so predictable, but to him there was just something funny about Olivia in a full-blown rage at her well-meaning husband. In his mind, she was like an angry hummingbird, certainly not overpowering an annoying old crow, but driving him off with her far superior quickness and agility. Even if he was only mildly amused, the 'Stop it!' made him laugh every time. It was as if she wanted to emphasize that even in the heat of the moment, she realized her fury was only a temporary thing and nothing to be terribly concerned about.
He continued reading.
*** Over the past year, I have learned that it does little good to put up a fight when Keith is in his Mother Hen mood, so, that night I just bit my tongue, and followed instructions. The next morning, after he had gone to work, taking Emmy to his mother's on the way because he still thinks I am too frail to deal with her (idiot!), I packed a bag, got in the jeep, and found an apartment in town.
I have told his mother where I am staying, and I have promised to call if I need anything. With May as a mediator, we have worked out a private shared custody of Emily, and I am sure in time everything will be ok, but Mark, I swear, every time I think of him telling me, 'bedtime,' I still see red. I don't intend to leave him for good, but until he can treat me like an adult again instead of a child or worse yet, some damned china doll, I have to stay away. Maybe, if I live on my own for a month or two without self- destructing, he will realize I can take care of myself and I have the sense to recognize my limits and take a break when I need to.
I have also, finally, decided to go back to work. It has only been the last month or so that I have been able to keep busy with the house and yard work all day without being exhausted at night, and now that I am in my apartment, there is no yard, so I will need something to occupy my time. I start back on Monday working nine to one, and in a couple weeks, if I handle that ok, I will have a full schedule again.
Say a prayer for Keith and me. Hopefully, we will be back together by Emily's birthday in September, or, if not then, maybe in time for Thanksgiving. I think I just need to make him understand that I am still whole and finally healthy again. Once he gets rid of his image of me as an invalid, we should be ok. ***
Steve frowned. There was something terribly familiar about Liv's story, but he really couldn't put his finger on it. He felt as though he had read it somewhere before, but for some reason, he doubted that was the case. Maybe it was just that he'd read several other letters in which she described how Keith had been smothering her and it was all starting to sound the same.
"I accused O of abandoning Emily and me," Keith admitted. "She said she could hardly abandon Emmy when I hadn't left her alone to care for the child since before she got sick, and as for me, well, she said she was escaping."
"From the sound of things, that's exactly what she was doing, Keith. You weren't her husband anymore; you were her keeper. I'd have left you, too."
Maribeth wasn't sure why, but the odd little grin Keith gave her made her nervous.
"Do you know why she finally left me?"
Maribeth hated to ask. She knew she wouldn't like the answer, but she could see no way around it. "Why?"
"Because I told her it was bedtime. She was watching the riots that you had out here a couple years after the big quake, and I decided she needed some rest, so I turned off the TV and told her it was bedtime."
Maribeth laughed. "You're lucky she didn't hit you."
"Don't I know it," Keith agreed. "She might be small, but she packs one hell of a wallop."
They walked a few steps in silence, then Keith asked, "Maribeth, don't you see that you're doing the same thing to Steve?"
"Excuse me? I don't think so."
"Think about it, Maribeth. You've been telling him what and how much he can eat, when to go to sleep, when to wake up, what he's allowed to do with his waking hours, even how much butter he's allowed to have on his toast."
"He has ulcers and a history of heart disease!" she said defensively. "I'm trying to get him to take care of himself."
"You're trying to save him from himself," Keith said firmly, but gently, "but you're killing him by inches."
"But I--"
"You what?" Keith made it a challenge. He demanded a good answer.
"I'm a doctor," she said flatly.
"You're also a worried wife. I did the same thing twenty-five years ago, and O escaped me by walking out. Steve is escaping you by turning in on himself. He's hiding in his depression."
Steve turned to the last page of Olivia's letter. It was so familiar he still couldn't shake the idea that he had read it before, but he knew that wasn't the case. The last page was no longer about her troubles with her husband. He smiled when he realized it was about him.
*** I put my letter aside an hour ago to watch the CBS Evening News Special Report on the riots with Dan Rather. Steve acquitted himself well, and you should be proud of him. I am sure he is much too modest to be proud of himself.
I had to laugh when Rather asked Steve how he had chosen the officers to back him up. I could tell by the look on Rather's face that he never expected so innocent an answer as, 'They're my friends. I knew I could trust them.' Of course, five minutes later I was livid again as Rather and that annoying woman whose name I can never recall discussed Steve's 'possible future political career' and his 'likely agenda' now that he had 'gotten lucky, and with a desperate plan, single-handedly quelled the riots threatening to level LA.'
Augghhhh!
I doubt that Steve simply got lucky. You know my faith, and I believe he had a divine power guiding him the whole time, telling him the right things to say and do. I am sure Steve would be the first to admit he was desperate, but then so was the rest of LA, and I know he would heatedly deny he had done anything single-handedly. He must have been furious when he saw the interview.
It agitates me no end that these jaded hacks and shamelessly overpaid and over-praised muckrakers could with just a few words tarnish such a decent man with all the trappings of a politician including an 'agenda.' Have things really gotten so bad that the world just can't accept that there are still good men with good intentions willing to do good things? Don't they realize that there are people who don't give a fat baby's butt what race, religion, or ethnicity their friends are? Does no one else see what I did when I watched that interview: a man who was singularly relieved to have completed the one and only item on his so-called 'agenda', that being bringing an end to the bloodshed and loss of life.
Maybe I should contact Dan Rather and offer him an, 'I Knew Him When.' story about Steve. He could sit down with Keith and talk about what Steve was like when he was visiting here five years ago. Then, after Keith told Rather what a hero Steve was when Ted escaped and how nobly he stepped aside at the wedding.I COULD KNOCK THEIR HEADS TOGETHER AND SATISFY MY RAGE WITH BOTH OF THEM AT ONCE!
I know you're laughing again. Stop it!
I'll write again soon, and hopefully, I will be in a better mood.
Love, Liv ***
Steve sighed and shut the notebook. He could tell by the outrageous suggestions Liv had made at the end of the letter that she had worked out the worst of her anger as she wrote to his father. He got up and stretched and decided he needed a shower to wake himself up, then he was going to go out for a run on the beach. Having been cooped up so long, he missed the smell of the sea, salt air, and sun.
Keith stopped in front of a house a few blocks down from the beach house. He'd seen this place earlier in the week, and he knew it would illustrate his point perfectly. With an arm around Maribeth's shoulders, he turned her to face the house.
"Look at the garden, tell me what you would do differently."
"Well," she said, her voice plainly revealing her confusion as she observed the jumble of spindly, feeble-looking plants through the wrought-iron gate. The only healthy thing in it was the ivy, and it was running rampant up the walls, around the trees and over a sheltered walkway.
"I think I'd start by pruning back the trees. Then I'd probably tear down roof over the path and knock out the front wall."
"Why? Don't they shelter the garden?"
"Well, yeah, but they do too much. The plants aren't getting any sun."
"So," Keith said, standing beside her and looking at the sorry garden, "you know that when you plant a garden, you need it to be sheltered from the elements, but if it's too well protected it won't flourish because it doesn't get any sun or rain. That's what you're doing to Steve now, Maribeth. That's what I did to O. She was like the ivy, taking off and growing wild wherever she could find the sun. Steve is like the other plants, eking by on what little light he can get where he is."
They were silent a moment, then Keith said, "I suppose you should be happy in a way. O left me. Steve loves you enough to stay, despite what it's costing him."
After another brief silence, Maribeth practically growled at him, "My husband is not a geranium."
Keith stood alone, looking at the garden for several more minutes before he followed her back to the house.
As Steve lathered the soap in the shower, he couldn't shake the mental image of Keith snapping off the television and telling Olivia it was, 'bedtime.' It played in his head repeatedly, and as he rinsed the shampoo from his eyes, it somehow morphed into an image of Maribeth snatching the butter dish away from him at breakfast telling him, 'You need to go easy on that stuff.'
Suddenly he knew why Liv's story seemed so familiar, he understood her anger, and he knew what he had to do. He rinsed off quickly, dried himself, and dressed. Then he got the big suitcase out from under the bed, and in five minutes, he had it packed full. He had to sit on it to fasten the latches and mused that Olivia had probably packed with more care. She wouldn't have had to squash the case shut to latch it, and her things had likely come out of it less wrinkled than his would. She was precise about everything.
Right now, though, precision and tidiness didn't matter much to him. He could buy an iron and smooth out the wrinkles later. He just had to get out of the house and away from his wife for a few days. He needed to convince her and himself that he would not self-destruct if he went back to normal life. He wasn't even going to say goodbye. He knew if he tried, he'd never be able to go. He hadn't lived on his own in forty years, and the prospect was as frightening as it was exhilarating.
He glanced at the diodes on the glove and was surprised to note they were only glowing amber and not scarlet red.
Steve set the suitcase by the door, then he got his old nylon gym bag out of the closet. Into it, he threw some workout clothes, his robe, a pair of pajamas, his shaving kit, and a couple spare pairs of shoes. Finally, he dumped in the entire contents of his socks and underwear drawer. He put the bag over next to the suitcase, put two of his good suits in a garment bag so that he had something appropriate to wear to the trial, and hung the garment bag on a hook on the back of the bedroom door.
When he finished packing, he stood in the middle of the bedroom, panting slightly. He considered leaving a note, but couldn't bring himself to try to compose a suitable message. Finally, he placed the notebook on the bed, open to the last letter he'd read. That would explain it all.
Opening the bedroom door, Steve listened intently for a few minutes and heard his dad and Liv talking out on the deck. If he was quiet, he could be gone before they realized he was leaving. He slung the gym bag over his shoulder, took the suitcase in one hand, and looped one finger of the other under the hanger of the garment bag. At the end of the hall, he set the suitcase down and grabbed the keys to his truck. Then he opened the front door, picked up the suitcase again, and slipped outside.
Halfway down the steps he froze as he saw Maribeth coming toward him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked.
"I'm leaving for a while, Maribeth. I need some time on my own." Though his stomach was burning, he ignored the sensation as he finished descending the steps and headed for his truck.
"I don't think that's a very good idea."
"I realize that, but you're not gonna stop me."
"We'll just see about that," she said and grabbed the gym bag.
Steve set the suitcase down beside the truck and draped his suits over the side of the truck bed. Then he gave the bag a yank.
To his surprise, Maribeth held on. Now she had one handle and he had the other.
"Let go, Mar," he demanded, tugging harder, "I'm going, and that's that."
"No!" she insisted taking her handle in both hands and leaning back. "We'll work this out, Steve."
Steve suddenly became aware that they had acquired a small audience. His dad and Liv were watching from the door, and Keith was at the end of the driveway. He took his handle in both hands as Maribeth had done, set his feet, and pulled. He was determined to win this tug of war.
"I promise I'll come back," he vowed, "but right now, I need to go off by myself."
"Steve, please!" she pleaded, "I promise I'll ease up!"
"You never have before!" he shouted back.
"I never realized I had to," she told him.
They were fighting over the bag almost as much as they were arguing over his leaving, and each of them knew its final disposition would determine the outcome of the argument.
Suddenly, with an ear splitting, skin crawling tearing of nylon, the bag surrendered to the rough treatment and split in two sending shaving kit, pajamas, bathrobe, sweat suits, shoes, and a couple dozen pairs of socks and underwear flying into the air to scatter themselves about the driveway. Steve fell back against the truck where he hit with a thud and a curse before he slipped to the ground. Maribeth stumbled backward several steps before she tripped and tumbled to the gravel with a thump and a yelp.
They sat up almost simultaneously and glared at each other for a moment. Then Maribeth held up a miniscule, leopard print jock strap that had landed near her. With barely suppressed laughter she asked, "You were taking this?"
Blushing crimson, Steve looked to his side and grabbed something. For her perusal, he held up a pair of shiny, black satin boxers with a bright red kiss embroidered over the fly. "I was taking everything," he said sheepishly.
After a moment of strained silence, the two burst into laughter. Grinning from the doorway for a moment, Mark eventually nodded to himself and tottered back into the house, confident now that his son really was going to be all right. Liv looked across the driveway to her husband and gave him the thumbs up, then she also went inside and he went for another walk down the block to give their friends some privacy.
As Steve and Maribeth gathered up his things, they kept breaking into fits of laughter. They were still chuckling when they headed into the house, Maribeth walking ahead with the garment bag over her shoulder, and Steve following her, suitcase in one hand, the remains of the gym bag and its contents clutched to his chest with the other. Still giggling, they went back into the bedroom and began unpacking Steve's things.
As he replaced the items that belonged in his underwear drawer, Maribeth shot a shimmering blue bit of cloth at him, and he groaned.
"Thank you for not showing them this," he murmured. Just a scrap of blue covered elastic with a pouch sewn on at the middle, it wasn't even really a g-string. It had been a gag gift from Maribeth for their fifth anniversary, and he had only worn it for her the one time. Like the satin boxers and the racy jock she had bought him years ago, it had been briefly entertaining and then got shoved to the back of the drawer. *Briefly!* he rolled his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know," she whispered in his ear. "I think it matches your eyes nicely."
"Somehow, I think that would only have made things worse," he said, and they both collapsed in giggles once again.
After several minutes, Steve caught his breath. Then his smile faded, and he said desperately, "Mar, I've got to get out of here."
"I know that, Steve, and I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner, but you're still not well."
"Mar, please."
They were standing close, so she covered his mouth with her own and kissed him breathless. Several moments later, she pulled away and stepped across the room.
"Eight 'til noon, five days a week," she said, knowing she was giving up all hope of ever having him to herself. "You come home for lunch, and then you can go for a run on the beach or mess around in the garden or go surfing or whatever, but for now, you stay away from police work after lunch. In a week or two, we'll see. I'll call Tanis and tell her you're clear to go back part time starting today."
"Maribeth."
She cut him off as she left their bedroom.
"No, Steve, that's it for now. Eight 'til noon. I'll see you tonight. I'm late for work."
She ran out to her car and dropped into the seat where she sat crying for a long time. When she turned to close the car door, she was startled to find Keith in her way yet again.
"Dammit!" she swore. "What does it take to get rid of you, garlic and a crucifix or just a silver bullet? It's a shame daylight doesn't seem to do the trick."
Keith laughed softly at her outburst. Then he put a hand on her arm.
"You can leave me alone now," she pouted. "I told him he could go back to work half days. In another week or two it will probably be full time, and then he'll be back to his old routine."
He squeezed her arm gently and said, "It's ok if you want to hate me for it, but I think you know you did the right thing."
Sighing, she nodded.
"I wish he would just quit," she confessed, "but if he could do that, he wouldn't be my Steve anymore. How did you walk away from it?"
Keith smiled and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not the same kind of man he is. For me it was a job; what I did, not who I was. When I lost my legs, I took over the weapons cage, and that was good enough for me. I was still building my pension and got to hang out with my friends. I was a good cop when I was on active duty, but it was never a calling, never a way of life."
Maribeth looked at her watch and said, "It's getting late, almost ten. Why don't you give him a lift? Tell him just for today he can stay until two, but starting tomorrow, he leaves at lunchtime. I'll call and let Cheryl know he's coming. Then I'll sign a provisional health certification and send it on over to the Chief Archer."
"Ok," Keith agreed as he stepped away from the car and shut the door. "I'll take good care of him for you," he promised.
"You better," Maribeth said, "or I'll make you wish you had."
"Oh, shit!" 'Fredo Cioffi cursed softly.
"What?" Donovan asked.
The two young officers had been put to work in Roger Gorini's secret apartment listening to all the cassettes and writing down what was on each one. They'd already closed a dozen cases, and opened dozens more. They knew who was sleeping with whom on the city council, and they'd found out how the same two or three businessmen kept getting city contracts, and there were still hundreds upon hundreds of tapes to go. As far as 'Fredo Cioffi was concerned, though, this was by far the biggest, most damaging scrap of conversation he had come across.
"What is it, 'Fredo?" Donovan demanded anxiously.
"Listen." He took off his headphones and handed them over to his partner. Then he rewound the tape and played it back. He watched Charles as, first his eyes grew wide, and then his face clouded over.
Charles Donovan was surprised to hear Chief Sloan's voice on the tape. He wouldn't have believe the man capable of saying anything he was ashamed to have other people hear, and so he was surprised that Roger Gorini had found one of his conversations potential material for blackmail.
As the conversation went on though, he knew this could be big trouble for his idol.
"Jess, Liv and Keith were married on Valentine's Day. Emily's birthday, her *thirtieth* birthday, Jess, was in September."
"But Steve, that's only seven months."
There was a brief silence.
"Ohhh, that's *only* seven months."
"I know."
Charles took the headphones off said, "'Fredo, you're looking kinda green. Why don't you go get some air."
"I'm fine Charles. What do you think we should do about that tape?"
"'Fredo, man, just go get some air before I tell Agent Wagner you're about to puke on the evidence."
"Charles," 'Fredo said suspiciously, "what are you up to?"
"Just get the hell outta here, dammit!"
Knowing only that Donovan was getting quickly more agitated and that he probably would embarrass him in front of Agent Wagner again if he didn't comply, 'Fredo finally walked out for a few minutes. When he came back, there was a different tape in his machine, and the one with the Chief's secret on it was nowhere to be found.
"Feeling better?" Donovan asked casually.
"I thought so," 'Fredo said, "but now I'm not so sure."
Just then, Captain Bentley-Wagner came over and said, "Hey guys, be ready to report your findings so far in half an hour. Chief Sloan is back on half days starting today, and he's on his way over here now."
After the captain left, Cioffi and Donovan exchanged a look, and this time, each noticed that the other had turned slightly green.
Maribeth was awake about five minutes before six in the morning. The alarm was set to sound at six thirty, but she turned it off so it wouldn't wake her husband. Steve needed his rest. She lay beside him and watched him sleep for a few minutes. It was so good just to *be* here with him for a change, to smell his scent, feel his warmth, hear the slow steady rhythm of his breathing. Except for the rare vacation, the last time she could remember going to bed with him and waking up alongside him the next morning for more than two or three days in a row had been when he was recovering from his heart attack eight years ago. She couldn't help but hope that if he got used to the easy pace of days enjoyed by a man of leisure, there might be a chance of getting him to retire. The two of them still had a few good years ahead, and it would be nice to spend them together.
She wished she had been able to spend this week with Steve since he was home and she could have had him all to herself, but she had already agreed to cover for Peter Green while he was off at a conference and as a result, she had been spending long hours at the hospital. Between her patients and Peter's and the inevitable emergencies that kept popping up, she had been lucky to see daylight the past several days. No matter, though, Peter was back from the conference now, and once he heard about Steve's situation, he had agreed to go on call for the next month so she could spend more time with her husband. In her mind, Peter was a genuine hero, because now all she had to worry about were her regular rounds and previously scheduled surgeries and appointments. She was back to eight-hour days, and would have plenty of time to spend with Steve.
She smiled as Steve snuggled closer and murmured her name, then frowned as his arm came up to rest on the pillow and she saw all the diodes glowing red and amber, even in his sleep. She kissed him softly on the temple and smoothed his tousled hair back behind his ear. Her hand gently followed the line of his jaw down to his throat, and along his neck to rest against his chest where she felt the reassuring thud of his heartbeat. The lights slowly dropped to amber and green. Steve smiled, and she smiled, too, delighted to know that even in his sleep, he knew and enjoyed her touch. After thirty years, moments like this still hadn't lost their wonder. She gave him another kiss and heard him sigh contentedly, then she slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him.
Keith was waiting just outside Maribeth's bedroom door when she emerged at six fifteen. She was bleary-eyed, bespectacled, still had bed-head, and wore mismatched slippers on her feet. She backed out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her so as not to wake her husband. Then she turned toward the kitchen, jumped about three feet in the air, and stumbled backward, barely strangling a scream before she woke the whole house, flapping her arms and gasping in fright, as Keith said a quiet, "Good morning."
"Goodness!" she whispered sharply, "Good morning. You nearly scared the life out of me."
"Sorry about that," he murmured back.
"Did you need something?"
"No."
He stood facing her in the hall, leaning his shoulder against one wall, not exactly blocking the way, but not really giving her room to pass either. When he refused to move, Maribeth turned sideways and sidled past him. As she padded quietly out to the kitchen, she heard him following her.
She entered the kitchen, took a deep breath, smelled coffee in the air, and sighed with relief. "Thank God somebody set the timer," she said.
She went over to the coffeemaker, and Keith followed close at her heels. She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him, and he accepted it with a soft, "Thank you." Then she poured another cup for herself, and turned to the refrigerator for some milk to put in her coffee. She offered some to Keith who was still hovering at her elbow, but he shook his head no. So, she shut the refrigerator door, and turned to go to the table. Again, Keith wasn't quite blocking her way, but wasn't leaving her room to get by, either.
He was certainly acting strangely today.
Shrugging, Maribeth put her coffee on the center island and headed out to the front door to get the morning paper. When she came back in the house, already intently reading the front-page news, she walked headfirst into Keith who had been watching her from the foyer. They each stumbled back a step, and she looked at him in exasperation.
"Are you sure you don't need anything?"
Keith shrugged. "Nope. I'm fine."
This time she squeezed past him without waiting to see if he would move to let her by. She went back to the kitchen, picked up her coffee from the island, slipped around Keith again as he had come to block her way, and sat at the table to drink her coffee and read her paper. She would have preferred to get some fresh air and sunshine out on the deck, but it was still too cold for that this year.
She heard Keith sit across from her, and she swore she could feel him watching. Maybe he thought he was being funny. It seemed a rather sophomoric joke to her, and she decided she simply wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of noticing.
After about fifteen minutes, Maribeth decided to freshen her coffee. She downed the last of the cooling liquid in two gulps and headed back to the coffeemaker, Keith just a step behind her. As she picked up the coffeepot, he cleared his throat quietly.
"What?" She asked, tersely.
"Are you sure you want that?"
"Yes."
"Ok," Keith sighed, "but if you have it, you may live to regret it. Too much coffee isn't good for you."
She peered at him through bifocals. "If I *don't* have it, you may *not* live to regret it. Too *little* coffee for me could be very bad for *you*. What is up with you this morning anyway?"
"Oh, nothing," Keith said in an exaggeratedly offhand manner.
"Uh-huh." Maribeth made it clear she didn't believe him.
As she scuffled back to the table, Keith hid a smile, please that his plan was working so well already.
"God, kid, you're killin' me!"
"Quit complaining and save your air for breathing, Moretti. Keep running! You're almost to the top of the hill."
"Ahhhhhhh.ahhhhhhh.ahhhhhhh.Yeahhhhhhh!" Moretti shouted as he reached the top of the hill, and he and Emily celebrated with high fives and slaps on the back. Less than three weeks ago, he hadn't even been able to walk to the top, and now he was jogging it. Besides the fitness routine she'd helped him establish, he was actually enjoying the running because it gave him a chance to get out of the house Em was renting. It was nice to get a breath of fresh air once in a while. He'd lost twelve pounds last time he was on the scale and over three inches from his waist. With Emmy's help, he was not only losing fat, but also building muscle, and he looked slimmer and firmer and felt younger than he had in years. He had a long way to go, he knew, but this hilltop had been a goal he'd been working toward for eighteen days now, and he had finally made it. He couldn't recall ever being so proud of anything he had done.
Suddenly, he fell silent.
"What's the matter?" Emily asked.
Moretti shrugged and said, "I just realized I have to go back down now. Uuuuuugh!"
Emmy laughed. "Man, you're not happy unless you're complaining, are you?"
"I guess not," Moretti said.
The truth was, he didn't know how to tell her how pathetic he felt to know that running up this hill was his greatest moment in all his sixty-plus years.
"Wah!"
When Maribeth emerged from her bedroom dressed and ready for work, she was so startled to find Keith lurking in the hallway again that she couldn't suppress a tiny squeak this time. God, she wanted to wipe that goofy little grin off his face with her fist, but that would only give him what he wanted, whatever the hell that was. She was getting tired of this stupid game, and couldn't figure out why he had started it, but she was leaving for the hospital in a few minutes, and she'd be damned if she'd let him get to her before then. She headed out to the kitchen to say goodbye to Mark and Steve, and as Steve went to dip his knife in the butter for his toast, she pulled it away from him and said, "You need to go easy on that stuff. It's not good for your cholesterol or your ulcers."
Steve sighed, put his knife down, and said, "Ok," then he bit into the dry toast. All the lights on the glove were bright red.
She kissed him on the cheek and, as she crossed the kitchen, said, "Don't over do it, and be sure to get some rest this afternoon. I'll see you around six. I love you. Bye."
She pushed past Keith and headed out the door. As she crossed the driveway, she hit the remote control that disengaged the locking device on her car. She opened the door, put her briefcase on the floor behind her seat, sat down, turned to shut the door and found Keith standing in the way, grinning like an idiot.
She took a deep breath, huffed and puffed and finally said, "Ok, what in the hell are you doing?"
Keith laughed slightly and said, "I'm glad you finally asked."
Leigh Ann rewound the tape from Roger's bug in the pathology lab and played it again.
"Jess, Liv and Keith were married on Valentine's Day. Emily's birthday, her *thirtieth* birthday, Jess, was in September."
"But Steve, that's only seven months."
There was a brief silence.
"Ohhh, that's *only* seven months."
"I know."
Leigh Ann smiled.
Keith crouched to be on Maribeth's level. He had to hold on to the car door and the doorframe for balance, but he knew she'd never listen if he started talking down to her.
"I'm sorry if I got on your nerves, but I wanted you to know how Steve felt."
"Excuse me?"
"Everybody's watching him, all the time, Maribeth, and they all report back to you. He's under constant scrutiny, and it's smothering him."
Maribeth gave a snort of laughter. "Please," she said derisively. "You make it sound like he's a prisoner."
Calmly and seriously, Keith said, "He is."
She laughed again. "Pah! This is ridiculous."
Keith stood and offered her his hand. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.
"I'll be late."
"It will be ok. I told Steven I needed to talk to you, and he's going to get someone to cover for you." When she hesitated, he said, "Please, for Steve's sake."
She took his hand and stepped out of the car.
Steve had been reading Liv's letters since he had woken up that morning at about twenty after six. They were typically full of news, and each one contained only a brief mention of her battle with her illness. She seemed to be getting better and in every letter, she mentioned that she had gained a little weight or had reached a small milestone. Steve's own mother had lost her battle with cancer years ago, and sometimes he still missed her. Since then, he had known other people who'd suffered with it. Some had lived, and some had not, but from knowing them, he was able to recognize each of Liv's small achievements for what it was--a reaffirmation of life and hope--and as he read about her gradual healing process, he got the feeling that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel for him, too.
He'd stopped to have a bite for breakfast around seven thirty, and now that Maribeth had headed off to work, he planned to read for a couple more hours. Then maybe he'd go for a walk on the beach and putter around in the garden for a while. It was going to be a big day, he thought sarcastically.
He'd noticed Olivia's handwriting had steadily improved since the letter where she was hoping to join her friends for the Fourth of July, but as he turned to a letter dated July of 2006, it was suddenly nearly illegible again. This time, though, it wasn't cramped and wobbly. Now, the page was covered in quick bold pen strokes. Words splashed carelessly across the page.
*** Dear Mark!
I'm just too excited to write a real letter, so you will have to settle for my news and trust that I will tell you more, later!
My latest blood test has come back clear!!!!!!!!!! There is no sign of cancer!
Emmy has written an opera! She's not yet four!
I have apologized to the priest!
Congratulate Amanda and Ron for me! There's a gift on the way!
We're off to celebrate! I love you! God bless!
Happy day!!!!!!!!!!
Love! Liv! ***
Steve had to laugh at the plethora of exclamation points. He'd always marveled at Liv's ability to get excited over the small things in life, and she had greeted this wonderful news with the same childlike delight she had once greeted a trip to Disneyland. Of course, he'd known there would eventually be a letter saying she was well again, but he was thrilled for her just the same.
Keith and Maribeth were about half a block from the house. They had been walking and talking for just a few minutes, and Keith was trying to keep the conversation going until they got a little farther down the street.
"Then I came home from work one day, and she was gone. No note, no phone number, no forwarding address, nothing. She'd taken some clothes and some books, and that was it."
Maribeth stopped and stared. "And you had no idea it was coming, did you?"
Keith shook his head. "If you had given me a quarter, I wouldn't have been able to go out and *buy* a clue. I thought she had been kidnapped. She's extraordinarily wealthy, and a lot of people know that."
Laughing, Maribeth said, "Men are just so incredibly dense."
"Some of us are," he agreed, "but in my experience, so are an equally proportional number of women."
"Well!" Maribeth said, but before she could protest further, he cut her off.
"Do you do any gardening?" Keith asked.
Thoroughly confused now, all she could do was answer. "Some. Dad takes care of most of it. He enjoys pottering around among the plants, and since he's retired, he has all the time in the world to do it, but the petunias and geraniums are mine."
"Good."
They walked a little further in silence. Maribeth was curious about where this conversation was going next, but she was so confused by Keith's sudden change of tack that she didn't even know what to ask to elicit more information.
"Jeeeeezus!" Ron heard 'Fredo Cioffi murmur as he entered the office a step behind the FBI agent. The place reeked of decay, and as Ron pulled out a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth and filter some of the stench, the young officer followed his lead. Ron glanced at the young man and noticed he was slightly green and perspiring.
"Ok," he said, turning to his right and looking for a secret passageway, "Joey said the door was over here somewhere. Call the ME's office and ask my wife to come over here to take care the body. This whole place needs to be photographed and dusted for prints. Get Donovan and your dad in here to help."
"Yessir!"
He heard the clatter of running footsteps across the hardwood floor, then he heard them stumble. His own stomach clenched and he had to swallow hard as to quell the sympathetic reflex that threatened when he heard young Cioffi heaving just outside the office door. Ron sighed. At least he'd been able to wait until he was out of the crime scene proper.
Abandoning his task, Ron left the office and knelt beside the younger man on the warehouse floor. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Ron tried very hard to avoid looking at what 'Fredo had deposited there.
"Are you all right, now?"
'Fredo was still gasping for breath, but he did manage to nod.
"Ok, change of plans," Ron said evenly. "First, get yourself some air. Then call the ME's office and send your dad and Donovan in here. Warn them what they're coming into. When you feel up to it, *if* you feel up to it, come back in and help us."
"Yes, sir," 'Fredo said as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "I'm sorry, sir."
Ron shook his head. "Don't apologize. Most of us have been there one time or another, but if it should ever happen again, just go and deal with it instead of trying to wait around for orders. There's not a man worth serving with who wouldn't understand."
"Yes, sir." Ron was gratified to see the rookie smile. He was going to be a damned fine cop one day, and it was really a shame he hadn't joined the bureau.
Steve sighed and turned the page. He'd read a year's worth of letters in the past hour and while Liv's health had gotten better and better, Emily had become more and more of a handful and her marriage had gotten steadily worse. She and Keith had argued over everything from housework to vacation plans to who was going to decorate the Christmas tree. Seeing them now, he never would have dreamed Keith and Liv had faced marital problems. The thoughtful frown that had settled on his face deepened as he turned the page.
*** Dear Mark,
Well, enough is enough and I have finally done it. Note the new return address.
As I have told you, Keith has been infuriatingly overprotective since I was allowed to come home last year. Breakfasts in bed and having him take care of the laundry and other housework were lovely at first, but then I came to realize he wasn't so much willing to help, as he was terrified that I was too fragile to do it myself. Everything I have tried to do for the past year, from making dinner to hiking in the woods with Emmy, has been a constant battle with him. He cannot accept that I do not need his permission to fire up the grill or run the vacuum cleaner, and he refuses to believe that I will know when I need help and won't be too proud to ask for it. And God forbid I should tell him, 'No, I don't need a nap right now.'
After what happened last week, I am still so angry, if he were standing here before me, I would wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyeballs popped out!
I can tell you are laughing. Stop it! ***
Steve had smiled at her threat, then chuckled at, 'I can tell you are laughing.' When he read, 'Stop it!' he laughed aloud. In her letters, Liv's rants often took on the tone of an angry comic raging at the little injustices of the world, and the occasional odd turn of a phrase only enhanced that effect.
The next paragraph made him suddenly more serious.
*** One night last week, we were watching the news coverage of the riots and praying for all of you and hoping everything was all right. It had been on all day, every day here, and we stayed glued to the set. When the mob crossed the Hollywood Freeway, I began to worry for Steve. Keith said things would settle down before they got that far, but I was not convinced. When they hit the Northeast Community Police Station, I knew Steve was in trouble.
I actually ate dinner in front of the TV that night, Emily by my side. Oh, I know it was rather graphic for a child, but Mark, she is mature and intelligent enough already to understand the reasons behind the rioting, and as a result, the violence isn't so scary for her.
Well, about ten o'clock, my self-appointed keeper, my infuriating, sanctimonious, husband stood up and snapped off the set, saying, 'Ok, girls, bedtime.'
I could have slapped him silly!
You're laughing again. Stop it! ***
Steve was indeed laughing again. He didn't think his dad was so predictable, but to him there was just something funny about Olivia in a full-blown rage at her well-meaning husband. In his mind, she was like an angry hummingbird, certainly not overpowering an annoying old crow, but driving him off with her far superior quickness and agility. Even if he was only mildly amused, the 'Stop it!' made him laugh every time. It was as if she wanted to emphasize that even in the heat of the moment, she realized her fury was only a temporary thing and nothing to be terribly concerned about.
He continued reading.
*** Over the past year, I have learned that it does little good to put up a fight when Keith is in his Mother Hen mood, so, that night I just bit my tongue, and followed instructions. The next morning, after he had gone to work, taking Emmy to his mother's on the way because he still thinks I am too frail to deal with her (idiot!), I packed a bag, got in the jeep, and found an apartment in town.
I have told his mother where I am staying, and I have promised to call if I need anything. With May as a mediator, we have worked out a private shared custody of Emily, and I am sure in time everything will be ok, but Mark, I swear, every time I think of him telling me, 'bedtime,' I still see red. I don't intend to leave him for good, but until he can treat me like an adult again instead of a child or worse yet, some damned china doll, I have to stay away. Maybe, if I live on my own for a month or two without self- destructing, he will realize I can take care of myself and I have the sense to recognize my limits and take a break when I need to.
I have also, finally, decided to go back to work. It has only been the last month or so that I have been able to keep busy with the house and yard work all day without being exhausted at night, and now that I am in my apartment, there is no yard, so I will need something to occupy my time. I start back on Monday working nine to one, and in a couple weeks, if I handle that ok, I will have a full schedule again.
Say a prayer for Keith and me. Hopefully, we will be back together by Emily's birthday in September, or, if not then, maybe in time for Thanksgiving. I think I just need to make him understand that I am still whole and finally healthy again. Once he gets rid of his image of me as an invalid, we should be ok. ***
Steve frowned. There was something terribly familiar about Liv's story, but he really couldn't put his finger on it. He felt as though he had read it somewhere before, but for some reason, he doubted that was the case. Maybe it was just that he'd read several other letters in which she described how Keith had been smothering her and it was all starting to sound the same.
"I accused O of abandoning Emily and me," Keith admitted. "She said she could hardly abandon Emmy when I hadn't left her alone to care for the child since before she got sick, and as for me, well, she said she was escaping."
"From the sound of things, that's exactly what she was doing, Keith. You weren't her husband anymore; you were her keeper. I'd have left you, too."
Maribeth wasn't sure why, but the odd little grin Keith gave her made her nervous.
"Do you know why she finally left me?"
Maribeth hated to ask. She knew she wouldn't like the answer, but she could see no way around it. "Why?"
"Because I told her it was bedtime. She was watching the riots that you had out here a couple years after the big quake, and I decided she needed some rest, so I turned off the TV and told her it was bedtime."
Maribeth laughed. "You're lucky she didn't hit you."
"Don't I know it," Keith agreed. "She might be small, but she packs one hell of a wallop."
They walked a few steps in silence, then Keith asked, "Maribeth, don't you see that you're doing the same thing to Steve?"
"Excuse me? I don't think so."
"Think about it, Maribeth. You've been telling him what and how much he can eat, when to go to sleep, when to wake up, what he's allowed to do with his waking hours, even how much butter he's allowed to have on his toast."
"He has ulcers and a history of heart disease!" she said defensively. "I'm trying to get him to take care of himself."
"You're trying to save him from himself," Keith said firmly, but gently, "but you're killing him by inches."
"But I--"
"You what?" Keith made it a challenge. He demanded a good answer.
"I'm a doctor," she said flatly.
"You're also a worried wife. I did the same thing twenty-five years ago, and O escaped me by walking out. Steve is escaping you by turning in on himself. He's hiding in his depression."
Steve turned to the last page of Olivia's letter. It was so familiar he still couldn't shake the idea that he had read it before, but he knew that wasn't the case. The last page was no longer about her troubles with her husband. He smiled when he realized it was about him.
*** I put my letter aside an hour ago to watch the CBS Evening News Special Report on the riots with Dan Rather. Steve acquitted himself well, and you should be proud of him. I am sure he is much too modest to be proud of himself.
I had to laugh when Rather asked Steve how he had chosen the officers to back him up. I could tell by the look on Rather's face that he never expected so innocent an answer as, 'They're my friends. I knew I could trust them.' Of course, five minutes later I was livid again as Rather and that annoying woman whose name I can never recall discussed Steve's 'possible future political career' and his 'likely agenda' now that he had 'gotten lucky, and with a desperate plan, single-handedly quelled the riots threatening to level LA.'
Augghhhh!
I doubt that Steve simply got lucky. You know my faith, and I believe he had a divine power guiding him the whole time, telling him the right things to say and do. I am sure Steve would be the first to admit he was desperate, but then so was the rest of LA, and I know he would heatedly deny he had done anything single-handedly. He must have been furious when he saw the interview.
It agitates me no end that these jaded hacks and shamelessly overpaid and over-praised muckrakers could with just a few words tarnish such a decent man with all the trappings of a politician including an 'agenda.' Have things really gotten so bad that the world just can't accept that there are still good men with good intentions willing to do good things? Don't they realize that there are people who don't give a fat baby's butt what race, religion, or ethnicity their friends are? Does no one else see what I did when I watched that interview: a man who was singularly relieved to have completed the one and only item on his so-called 'agenda', that being bringing an end to the bloodshed and loss of life.
Maybe I should contact Dan Rather and offer him an, 'I Knew Him When.' story about Steve. He could sit down with Keith and talk about what Steve was like when he was visiting here five years ago. Then, after Keith told Rather what a hero Steve was when Ted escaped and how nobly he stepped aside at the wedding.I COULD KNOCK THEIR HEADS TOGETHER AND SATISFY MY RAGE WITH BOTH OF THEM AT ONCE!
I know you're laughing again. Stop it!
I'll write again soon, and hopefully, I will be in a better mood.
Love, Liv ***
Steve sighed and shut the notebook. He could tell by the outrageous suggestions Liv had made at the end of the letter that she had worked out the worst of her anger as she wrote to his father. He got up and stretched and decided he needed a shower to wake himself up, then he was going to go out for a run on the beach. Having been cooped up so long, he missed the smell of the sea, salt air, and sun.
Keith stopped in front of a house a few blocks down from the beach house. He'd seen this place earlier in the week, and he knew it would illustrate his point perfectly. With an arm around Maribeth's shoulders, he turned her to face the house.
"Look at the garden, tell me what you would do differently."
"Well," she said, her voice plainly revealing her confusion as she observed the jumble of spindly, feeble-looking plants through the wrought-iron gate. The only healthy thing in it was the ivy, and it was running rampant up the walls, around the trees and over a sheltered walkway.
"I think I'd start by pruning back the trees. Then I'd probably tear down roof over the path and knock out the front wall."
"Why? Don't they shelter the garden?"
"Well, yeah, but they do too much. The plants aren't getting any sun."
"So," Keith said, standing beside her and looking at the sorry garden, "you know that when you plant a garden, you need it to be sheltered from the elements, but if it's too well protected it won't flourish because it doesn't get any sun or rain. That's what you're doing to Steve now, Maribeth. That's what I did to O. She was like the ivy, taking off and growing wild wherever she could find the sun. Steve is like the other plants, eking by on what little light he can get where he is."
They were silent a moment, then Keith said, "I suppose you should be happy in a way. O left me. Steve loves you enough to stay, despite what it's costing him."
After another brief silence, Maribeth practically growled at him, "My husband is not a geranium."
Keith stood alone, looking at the garden for several more minutes before he followed her back to the house.
As Steve lathered the soap in the shower, he couldn't shake the mental image of Keith snapping off the television and telling Olivia it was, 'bedtime.' It played in his head repeatedly, and as he rinsed the shampoo from his eyes, it somehow morphed into an image of Maribeth snatching the butter dish away from him at breakfast telling him, 'You need to go easy on that stuff.'
Suddenly he knew why Liv's story seemed so familiar, he understood her anger, and he knew what he had to do. He rinsed off quickly, dried himself, and dressed. Then he got the big suitcase out from under the bed, and in five minutes, he had it packed full. He had to sit on it to fasten the latches and mused that Olivia had probably packed with more care. She wouldn't have had to squash the case shut to latch it, and her things had likely come out of it less wrinkled than his would. She was precise about everything.
Right now, though, precision and tidiness didn't matter much to him. He could buy an iron and smooth out the wrinkles later. He just had to get out of the house and away from his wife for a few days. He needed to convince her and himself that he would not self-destruct if he went back to normal life. He wasn't even going to say goodbye. He knew if he tried, he'd never be able to go. He hadn't lived on his own in forty years, and the prospect was as frightening as it was exhilarating.
He glanced at the diodes on the glove and was surprised to note they were only glowing amber and not scarlet red.
Steve set the suitcase by the door, then he got his old nylon gym bag out of the closet. Into it, he threw some workout clothes, his robe, a pair of pajamas, his shaving kit, and a couple spare pairs of shoes. Finally, he dumped in the entire contents of his socks and underwear drawer. He put the bag over next to the suitcase, put two of his good suits in a garment bag so that he had something appropriate to wear to the trial, and hung the garment bag on a hook on the back of the bedroom door.
When he finished packing, he stood in the middle of the bedroom, panting slightly. He considered leaving a note, but couldn't bring himself to try to compose a suitable message. Finally, he placed the notebook on the bed, open to the last letter he'd read. That would explain it all.
Opening the bedroom door, Steve listened intently for a few minutes and heard his dad and Liv talking out on the deck. If he was quiet, he could be gone before they realized he was leaving. He slung the gym bag over his shoulder, took the suitcase in one hand, and looped one finger of the other under the hanger of the garment bag. At the end of the hall, he set the suitcase down and grabbed the keys to his truck. Then he opened the front door, picked up the suitcase again, and slipped outside.
Halfway down the steps he froze as he saw Maribeth coming toward him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked.
"I'm leaving for a while, Maribeth. I need some time on my own." Though his stomach was burning, he ignored the sensation as he finished descending the steps and headed for his truck.
"I don't think that's a very good idea."
"I realize that, but you're not gonna stop me."
"We'll just see about that," she said and grabbed the gym bag.
Steve set the suitcase down beside the truck and draped his suits over the side of the truck bed. Then he gave the bag a yank.
To his surprise, Maribeth held on. Now she had one handle and he had the other.
"Let go, Mar," he demanded, tugging harder, "I'm going, and that's that."
"No!" she insisted taking her handle in both hands and leaning back. "We'll work this out, Steve."
Steve suddenly became aware that they had acquired a small audience. His dad and Liv were watching from the door, and Keith was at the end of the driveway. He took his handle in both hands as Maribeth had done, set his feet, and pulled. He was determined to win this tug of war.
"I promise I'll come back," he vowed, "but right now, I need to go off by myself."
"Steve, please!" she pleaded, "I promise I'll ease up!"
"You never have before!" he shouted back.
"I never realized I had to," she told him.
They were fighting over the bag almost as much as they were arguing over his leaving, and each of them knew its final disposition would determine the outcome of the argument.
Suddenly, with an ear splitting, skin crawling tearing of nylon, the bag surrendered to the rough treatment and split in two sending shaving kit, pajamas, bathrobe, sweat suits, shoes, and a couple dozen pairs of socks and underwear flying into the air to scatter themselves about the driveway. Steve fell back against the truck where he hit with a thud and a curse before he slipped to the ground. Maribeth stumbled backward several steps before she tripped and tumbled to the gravel with a thump and a yelp.
They sat up almost simultaneously and glared at each other for a moment. Then Maribeth held up a miniscule, leopard print jock strap that had landed near her. With barely suppressed laughter she asked, "You were taking this?"
Blushing crimson, Steve looked to his side and grabbed something. For her perusal, he held up a pair of shiny, black satin boxers with a bright red kiss embroidered over the fly. "I was taking everything," he said sheepishly.
After a moment of strained silence, the two burst into laughter. Grinning from the doorway for a moment, Mark eventually nodded to himself and tottered back into the house, confident now that his son really was going to be all right. Liv looked across the driveway to her husband and gave him the thumbs up, then she also went inside and he went for another walk down the block to give their friends some privacy.
As Steve and Maribeth gathered up his things, they kept breaking into fits of laughter. They were still chuckling when they headed into the house, Maribeth walking ahead with the garment bag over her shoulder, and Steve following her, suitcase in one hand, the remains of the gym bag and its contents clutched to his chest with the other. Still giggling, they went back into the bedroom and began unpacking Steve's things.
As he replaced the items that belonged in his underwear drawer, Maribeth shot a shimmering blue bit of cloth at him, and he groaned.
"Thank you for not showing them this," he murmured. Just a scrap of blue covered elastic with a pouch sewn on at the middle, it wasn't even really a g-string. It had been a gag gift from Maribeth for their fifth anniversary, and he had only worn it for her the one time. Like the satin boxers and the racy jock she had bought him years ago, it had been briefly entertaining and then got shoved to the back of the drawer. *Briefly!* he rolled his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know," she whispered in his ear. "I think it matches your eyes nicely."
"Somehow, I think that would only have made things worse," he said, and they both collapsed in giggles once again.
After several minutes, Steve caught his breath. Then his smile faded, and he said desperately, "Mar, I've got to get out of here."
"I know that, Steve, and I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner, but you're still not well."
"Mar, please."
They were standing close, so she covered his mouth with her own and kissed him breathless. Several moments later, she pulled away and stepped across the room.
"Eight 'til noon, five days a week," she said, knowing she was giving up all hope of ever having him to herself. "You come home for lunch, and then you can go for a run on the beach or mess around in the garden or go surfing or whatever, but for now, you stay away from police work after lunch. In a week or two, we'll see. I'll call Tanis and tell her you're clear to go back part time starting today."
"Maribeth."
She cut him off as she left their bedroom.
"No, Steve, that's it for now. Eight 'til noon. I'll see you tonight. I'm late for work."
She ran out to her car and dropped into the seat where she sat crying for a long time. When she turned to close the car door, she was startled to find Keith in her way yet again.
"Dammit!" she swore. "What does it take to get rid of you, garlic and a crucifix or just a silver bullet? It's a shame daylight doesn't seem to do the trick."
Keith laughed softly at her outburst. Then he put a hand on her arm.
"You can leave me alone now," she pouted. "I told him he could go back to work half days. In another week or two it will probably be full time, and then he'll be back to his old routine."
He squeezed her arm gently and said, "It's ok if you want to hate me for it, but I think you know you did the right thing."
Sighing, she nodded.
"I wish he would just quit," she confessed, "but if he could do that, he wouldn't be my Steve anymore. How did you walk away from it?"
Keith smiled and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not the same kind of man he is. For me it was a job; what I did, not who I was. When I lost my legs, I took over the weapons cage, and that was good enough for me. I was still building my pension and got to hang out with my friends. I was a good cop when I was on active duty, but it was never a calling, never a way of life."
Maribeth looked at her watch and said, "It's getting late, almost ten. Why don't you give him a lift? Tell him just for today he can stay until two, but starting tomorrow, he leaves at lunchtime. I'll call and let Cheryl know he's coming. Then I'll sign a provisional health certification and send it on over to the Chief Archer."
"Ok," Keith agreed as he stepped away from the car and shut the door. "I'll take good care of him for you," he promised.
"You better," Maribeth said, "or I'll make you wish you had."
"Oh, shit!" 'Fredo Cioffi cursed softly.
"What?" Donovan asked.
The two young officers had been put to work in Roger Gorini's secret apartment listening to all the cassettes and writing down what was on each one. They'd already closed a dozen cases, and opened dozens more. They knew who was sleeping with whom on the city council, and they'd found out how the same two or three businessmen kept getting city contracts, and there were still hundreds upon hundreds of tapes to go. As far as 'Fredo Cioffi was concerned, though, this was by far the biggest, most damaging scrap of conversation he had come across.
"What is it, 'Fredo?" Donovan demanded anxiously.
"Listen." He took off his headphones and handed them over to his partner. Then he rewound the tape and played it back. He watched Charles as, first his eyes grew wide, and then his face clouded over.
Charles Donovan was surprised to hear Chief Sloan's voice on the tape. He wouldn't have believe the man capable of saying anything he was ashamed to have other people hear, and so he was surprised that Roger Gorini had found one of his conversations potential material for blackmail.
As the conversation went on though, he knew this could be big trouble for his idol.
"Jess, Liv and Keith were married on Valentine's Day. Emily's birthday, her *thirtieth* birthday, Jess, was in September."
"But Steve, that's only seven months."
There was a brief silence.
"Ohhh, that's *only* seven months."
"I know."
Charles took the headphones off said, "'Fredo, you're looking kinda green. Why don't you go get some air."
"I'm fine Charles. What do you think we should do about that tape?"
"'Fredo, man, just go get some air before I tell Agent Wagner you're about to puke on the evidence."
"Charles," 'Fredo said suspiciously, "what are you up to?"
"Just get the hell outta here, dammit!"
Knowing only that Donovan was getting quickly more agitated and that he probably would embarrass him in front of Agent Wagner again if he didn't comply, 'Fredo finally walked out for a few minutes. When he came back, there was a different tape in his machine, and the one with the Chief's secret on it was nowhere to be found.
"Feeling better?" Donovan asked casually.
"I thought so," 'Fredo said, "but now I'm not so sure."
Just then, Captain Bentley-Wagner came over and said, "Hey guys, be ready to report your findings so far in half an hour. Chief Sloan is back on half days starting today, and he's on his way over here now."
After the captain left, Cioffi and Donovan exchanged a look, and this time, each noticed that the other had turned slightly green.
