I pulled into the first parking space I saw, took a deep, bracing breath, and sauntered through the old familiar door with as much aplomb as I could muster. My eyes flicked quickly over the crowded tables. Granted, a few faces gawked, and a few more looked less than friendly, but by and large people were too busy with their own little lives to pay much attention to me. Probably it had always been like that and I'd been mired too deep in my own issues to realize it. I gave an intentionally breezy smile to the gawkers, ignored the unfriendly glances, and picked my way slowly through the crowd to a small table in the back. I'd spotted the familiar leather coat as soon as I'd hit the door.

"Hey," I said, hand on the shoulder, intending to slide around to the other side of the booth.

Before I knew what hit me, I found myself enveloped in a tight hug, surrounded by soft hair and the unmistakable scent of gardenias. Mary Lou had worn White Shoulders as long as I could remember, and I closed my eyes and drank in her unwavering support. Only a best friend would have recognized the support, of course, because her mouth was moving at ninety miles an hour. I could only catch small snatches of her berating me over the usual Friday night din in Pinos. Something about not knowing if I was alive or dead, and what did I think I was doing pulling a disappearing act on my best friend, and a whole lot of other things that I just let wash over me. Mary Lou and her gardenia perfume were as familiar to me as my own face in the mirror had been, and I clung to the strength of her concern for me. The rest of the world might point and laugh, or even look at me like I was dirt the way Tony Morelli had, but Mary Lou would always have my back.

We were drawing quite a bit of attention, and I laughed through tears at the fierce way MaryLou stared down the gawkers. Most had retreated into anonymity at her first glare. Even the most hardcore gossipmongers couldn't stand up to MaryLou's narrow-eyed "Mind your business." The combination of mom voice with the residual Jersey girl behind it was pretty convincing. "So why didn't you call me?" she demanded once things had settled back down.

"I did," I answered. She canted her head to the side and gave me a patented look. We'd been friends for so many years that I didn't have any trouble reading her skepticism, even though she didn't say a word. "I did, really. I had a lot of thinking to do. So much thinking my head hurts, if you want to know the truth of it. And when I got done, I picked up the phone and called you. Swear to God."

She looked slightly mollified, but worry was still written all over her face. "I would have come over," she said, still not ready to completely forgive me for disappearing for the past two weeks. I knew the Burg, and I knew the rumor mill had likely been grinding overtime, especially when fed such a juicy and public breakup.

I reached over and laid my hand on top of hers. "I know you would," I answered. "But this was something I had to work through by myself."

She sat back and folded her hands in front of her, waiting for me to spill. Somehow, the thought of spilling my guts to Mary Lou had a lot more appeal than than the daunting thought it had been with my mother. I guess old habits die hard. MaryLou had been my sounding board since we were in pigtails, and that wasn't likely to change. She might chew my ass for cutting her out of my life when I was hurting, but she took her role as best friend seriously. Unfortunately, there was just no easy place to start. What the hell. We'd start at the heart of the matter and work our way around to everything else. "So you heard about me and Joe," I finally choked out.

"I heard," she answered, noncommittally.

Unspoken was her question of why I hadn't called her to talk about it before now. Why she'd had to hear about it third hand when she was my best friend. She didn't make any accusations, but I felt them, all the same. Friendships and relationships all required an investment of time and effort, and had their own expectations and demands attached, depending on the depth of the relationship. I'd let MaryLou down by not coming to her earlier, I realized. She would never demand an apology from me, but it was my place to offer if not an apology, at least an explanation. MaryLou wasn't some casual friend, and she'd deserved more consideration than to be left hanging for more than two weeks.

"I was really torn up about it," I said, "And I needed to do some thinking." She nodded, but still looked wary. I drew in a deep breath. "I needed to figure out some things about my life, and I couldn't lean on anybody else. It was important that I do it on my own. Do you understand?"

Her eyes teared up. "Of course." I knew she'd understand. She'd always understand, even when she really didn't, because that was what best friends did. "But you could have called and let me know you were okay."

I rolled my eyes. "I only called my mother because she showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night and upset all the neighbors with her banging on the door," I explained.

"Yeah, I know," said MaryLou. "She told me." She waited for a beat. "Still, it would have been nice to hear it from you."

I nodded. "I just couldn't talk to anybody about it MaryLou. Not then."

She nodded in agreement, my tacit apology accepted. "So what about now?"

"Now?" I answered. "Now I get on with the rest of my life. Joe and I," my voice broke, and I cleared my throat and made myself talk through it. I'd thought it a thousand times, but I'd never said it out loud before. "Joe and I are finished. I really hurt him, MaryLou, and he's not talking to me. I don't think I'll ever see him again." Suddenly, the sense of loss was overwhelming. It was almost like if I didn't say it out loud, it might not happen. But now that I had actually said the words to MaryLou, they rang with a finality that I couldn't hide from. My heart clenched as I recognized the truth of what I'd said. A thousand images of Joe raced through my mind. Laughing, smiling, teasing, sleeping, his face intent and focused as his body moved over mine. But ultimately, the face that haunted me was the face I'd seen right before I walked out his front door. Carefully blank, giving away no emotion, except his eyes. His beautiful, expressive, eyes had just looked bleached out and dead. And I had done it. I swallowed hard and looked away, willing the tears standing in my eyes to go back to where they came from.

"What about Ranger?" MaryLou asked quietly.

I shook my head. "There was never anything there to build a relationship on," I explained, not willing to share our personal interlude, even with MaryLou. Ranger was a solitary, private man, with more than his own share of demons chasing him, but his secrets were not mine to share. The end result was the same, but those intimate details he'd gifted me when I was at my lowest point would remain just between the two of us. And whatever else might happen or not happen between the two of us in the future, those confidences had been a gift of enormous proportion. Ultimately, Ranger and I wanted different things out of life. He had been right all along. I would always dream of a semi-conventional life with my own unconventional twists, while those fetters would always make him unhappy. He loved me yes, and I loved him. But not enough for either of us to be comfortable in each other's lives for the long-term in a go-the-distance kind of way. He was allergic to long-term, and long-term was an undeniable need within me. My only real regret was that I hadn't listened more carefully to what he told me years ago. I could have spared all of us, including me, but especially Joe, a lot of heartache.

"So it's just me," I said, trying to put on a brave face and probably failing miserably. Still, I had to practice. "And I'm thinking about making some changes."

"What kind of changes?" asked MaryLou, right on cue.

"I'm thinking about taking out a small business loan. Opening my own business." I knew I was taking a chance. Every other person I knew might well laugh in my face at the idea of me running my own show.

"I think that's terrific," she said, without missing a single beat. "What kind of business, and what can I do to help?"

I smiled through sudden tears. That was my MaryLou. "Investigating. I think I'd make a good private investigator." I finally confided. "I'd start out small, of course, but I really think I could make a go of it. I'm good at finding things out—finding people," I elaborated, warming to my subject. "And I bet I could do some contract work for Vinnie, or even for Rangeman. I haven't talked to either of them about it yet, because I'm still in the planning stages. So what do you think?"

"I think you'll be great at it, Steph! You're a natural! That's so exciting, you starting your own business. I definitely think you should do it." I couldn't tell if MaryLou was really all that enthused about my plan, or if she was just glad to see me back among the living and offering her unstinting support as always. And for tonight, it didn't really matter. I hadn't needed someone to critique my business plan, haphazard though it still was, I'd needed my friend to be my cheerleader, and as usual, MaryLou had come through in spades.

We talked until the crowd thinned, which was a long time on a Friday night, and until MaryLou's cell phone became too insistent. She looked at me apologetically after the fourth interruption in the past ten minutes. "I'm really sorry, Steph," she said with real regret. "But I'm going to have to go."

I shook my head in understanding. "Not a problem. I know you have kids, MaryLou. I'm just glad you were able to come out and meet me tonight on such short notice."

"Always," she said, and hugged me tight once more as she gathered her purse and coat and headed for the door.

My own departure was a little more drawn out. Unlike MaryLou, I didn't have a husband and kids waiting at home for me. I'd always secretly reveled in that, especially when her kids were on less than stellar behavior. But tonight, it just felt lonely. Nobody would be calling my cell phone, anxiously waiting for me to get home. Nobody was waiting for me to make everything right with their world, and if Mikey's last shrill diatribe was to be believed, only MaryLou had that capacity. I didn't envy MaryLou her Mikey, of course, but in the back of my head there had dwelt a little dark haired boy or girl whose eyes lit up when I came into the room, someone who was convinced I had hung the moon and loved me with purity and simplicity. That ephemeral someday would never come, and I quietly shut the door on that proverbial child that would never be, more than a little wistful. A little girl with Joe's dark eyes and my mother's delicate hands, or a little boy grinning up at me with my own blue eyes dancing with Joe's devilment. Gone, in a puff of smoke, or in my case, a surge of errant hormones. I touched my suddenly empty belly with a sense of loss. I'd never feel Joe's child growing inside me, yet another loss to chalk up to Hurricane Stephanie. How could you miss something that never was? But somehow, I did.

It was late when I finally walked into the elevator, Mrs. Bestler had gone to bed long since. I pushed the button and idly leaned against the back wall. I was exhausted, but I had made it through the first night of the rest of my life. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been real. And MaryLou had been there for me just like she always had. In a cold and suddenly bereft world, that stability was a beacon of surcease, and I held onto it for all I was worth. The doors slid open as I fished out my door key from the bottom of my handbag. Not looking where I was walking, I tripped, then stumbled and fell, sprawling in a disorganized heap across Joe Morelli's outstretched legs.

His eyes were closed, and he had slouched down so his head was resting just below my doorknob. I hadn't seen him since Black Thursday, and took a moment to just drink in the sight of him. The long denim encased legs hadn't changed, and the chest underneath the thermal Henley didn't look any different. His hands were resting on his thighs, fingers long and oddly elegant for a man who was such a primitive male. Dark stubble gave his face a more swarthy look than when I'd seen him last, and he still had disgustingly long eyelashes that rested against chiseled cheekbones. Faint lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes, and a small frown seemed to have taken up permanent residence between the sweep of his eyebrows. Even in sleep, he looked tired, more worn around the edges as if life hadn't been kind lately. I sighed, and his eyes fluttered open, his cop's instinct kicking in at even the small sound I'd made. "Hey," I said, unable to think of anything else.

Joe's mouth parted in a lopsided grin that didn't reach his eyes. His eyes remained shuttered, blank. As if all the life had been drained out of him, leaving behind just a shell. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Joe's eyes were boarded up he'd moved and left no forwarding address. "How ya doin'?" He pronounced his words carefully, overly enunciating each syllable, but deliberately casual in his delivery, like something he would have said to a stranger passing him on the street. I flinched.

"Why are you here, Joe?"

I watched him struggle to his feet, more than a little unsteady, with the overly exaggerated careful movements of a man who was hopelessly drunk and trying desperately to hide it. "I needed a favor," he finally said, holding onto the doorknob for dear life.

I noticed the door across the hall creep open, and made quick work of stepping around a still-unsteady Joe to unlock my door. If this was going to be a showdown, I wanted it private. I'd already given plenty of fodder to the gossip mills at the sub shop, and I wasn't eager for a repeat. "You still have a key," I snapped, glaring at my neighbor until I heard the door snick shut. "You could have waited inside."

"No, I couldn't," said Joe. I looked at him, but he just shook his head. "I couldn't," he repeated.

I lowered my eyes, and looked anywhere but at him. I couldn't stand to see the pain seeping out around the edges of those carefully concealing shutters, especially knowing I had put it there.

"I thought he would be here," he said, following me into the livingroom. I dumped my bag and hung my jacket up on the coat rack.

"No," I answered. I wasn't going to give a long, involved explanation. I didn't need to parade my own stupidity around any more than necessary. I'd had a good thing going with Joe and blown it because I couldn't or wouldn't control my hormones with Ranger. The hormonal thing with Ranger had no substance or staying power, so here I was on a Friday night, dateless and alone, the high point of my week a quick and greasy pizza with my childhood friend. My guess was that Joe hadn't been drinking alone, and I didn't want to seem like any more of a loser than I already felt. Joe might smell of beer, but underneath the smell of hops and stale cigarette smoke from the bar was the unmistakable scent of a woman's perfume. Expensive, I thought. Exotic. Alluring. I shut my eyes against the onslaught of unwelcome images. Joe with his arms around someone else, Joe dancing with some woman, nuzzling her neck the way he used to mine, making her laugh up into those beautiful brown eyes. I swallowed down the gorge rising in the back of my throat and took a deep and hopefully calming breath. No such luck, the smell of that damn perfume filled my nostrils. Was this what Joe had felt when I'd come home reeking of Bulgari? Suddenly, I never wanted to smell that fragrance again.

"Damn," Joe muttered, and collapsed in a heap on the sofa.

I shook my head. "Why would you want to see Ranger, Joe?" I was tired, bone-tired, and just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there for a week or three. I just wanted to not hurt for a little while.

"Well, here's the thing," he sat forward unsteadily and braced his elbows on his knees, looking at me earnestly. "I went out to this bar tonight." Tell me something I didn't know. "And I wanted to get laid." I closed my eyes again. Too much information, Joe. "But I was looking at this woman, and she was beautiful." That last word drug out so long, I was ready to smack him. "Pretty, long hair, big tits, and she smelled so good." Yeah, I bet she did. Again, my stomach did a barrel roll. Probably I would have to fumigate my apartment to get rid of that smell. "And I had my arms around her, and I looked into her face." I could picture it. The picture wasn't pretty, but I'd given up any right I had to object, so I listened quietly, and hoped like hell he'd get to the end of whatever he wanted to say and just leave. I didn't know how much more I could take.

"And all I could see was you."

What? I looked up at him to make sure I'd heard him correctly.

"Yeah," he answered.

"So then I thought if I came over here, and I saw you with him, that maybe I would see that instead, you know? If I could see you with him, then that would be the image of you I'd have instead of your face whenever I looked at another woman." Joe ruminated for a minute, then shot to his feet, which was probably a mistake, given that he practically landed on his ass. He staggered over to the bedroom and opened the door, peering around the doorframe to look inside. "So he's really not here? Damn. I was really hoping this would work." He turned to face me, and the shutters had dropped from his eyes, leaving only the broken pieces behind. "Because I really don't want to love you any more."

"Joe," I said, and moved toward him. But he turned and faced the bedroom again before I could cross the room.

"You fucked him in this bed, didn't you?" That stopped me in my tracks. I didn't know how to answer that. And the question by itself sliced through me like a knife. Joe looked over his shoulder at me, and made a dismissive gesture, like the answer didn't matter. Probably it didn't. Probably he already knew the answer and wished he'd never asked. Probably wouldn't have if he hadn't been drunk. "You know what's funny?"

"What's that?" I asked, dutifully, grateful to have a question I could actually answer without incriminating myself.

Joe turned back toward my bedroom, his eyes zeroed in on my bed. On my damnable bed. "I burned my bed."

"What?"

"Yup. Took it out in the back yard and set it on fire," he elaborated. "Old Lady Rossi called the fire department, of course, and then they called the cops." Shit, how much trouble was Joe in? "Carl and Big Dog got the call. I was ready to torch the house by then, but they said I couldn't. Said they could just give me a ticket for illegal burning since it was just the bed, but if I did the house it was arson and that's a felony. Can you believe that shit? A man can't even burn down his own house. Fuckers." I didn't know if he was referring to the cops or the legislators that made arson a felony or just anyone and everyone in general. "So they sat down with me in the backyard and we all had a beer while the bed burned." He looked over at me conspirationally. "Don't tell anybody about them having beers while they were on duty, okay? I don't want to get them in trouble. Especially since they got me out of the whole arson thing."

"Okay, Joe," I choked out.

"Yeah, you were always good at keeping secrets," he mocked. "The thing is, you're in every fucking corner of my house, Stephanie. You were the only woman who ever slept there. I didn't know how else to get you out. I've been sleeping on Mooch's sofa, for Christ's sake. I'm thirty-four years old, and sleeping on my cousin's sofa. That's no kind of life, Stephanie. So tonight, I figured I'd go hook up with somebody, go back to her place, you know? At least you wouldn't be there. Except you were." He sighed wearily, and I reached out my hand to touch his arm. He flinched away from me.

"So he's really not here?" I shook my head, too choked up to speak. "Well, that's too bad for me, isn't it." He thought for a couple of minutes longer, then leveled a long gaze straight at me. "Can you at least tell me why? Why wasn't I enough, Stephanie? Was it something I did? Something I didn't do? I've been trying to wrap my head around this, and I really just don't get it." He sounded so lost, so broken. I just shook my head mutely.

"I loved you," he said simply. "But that wasn't enough. I always thought that when you loved somebody, it was with your whole heart. At least it was for me. I waited a long time, you know." I did know, and suddenly the tears that had been struggling to the surface broke free. "I waited, and you scared the shit out of me so many times, because I'd never felt anything like that before. I fought it, and I tried not to love you, but I just did." He looked at me beseechingly. "I just did, and I thought that was enough. Where did I fuck up?"

"It wasn't about you, Joe. It was about me, okay?"

He shook his head. "No. No way. I wasn't enough for you, and I need to know why? Just be straight with me Stephanie. You owe me that much."

"I am being straight with you Joe." I took a deep breath and fought down my tears to continue. "You want to know where you fucked up? You fucked up when you took my virginity and never looked back, and you fucked up that first morning in your house when you didn't want forever with me. But that's it."

His head was still shaking, but more slowly, out of confusion instead of denial. "I apologized for when we were kids, Steph—" I held up my hand to stop him.

"I know you did, Joe, and it's okay."

"And I admit you scared the hell out of me that morning. You walked into that kitchen, and I knew in that minute that I wanted to see you there every damn morning for the rest of my life, and I freaked. I'm sorry that it hurt you, Steph, I really am. I wish you would have said something, I really do. I would have made it up to you."

"Joe, you're not listening to me. It wasn't about you, it was about me." He still looked confused, but at least he was listening to me. "Yeah, you broke my heart when I was sixteen. I thought it was forever when it was really a one-night stand. I was young and naïve, and I didn't understand." He started to interrupt me, but I held out my hand again to stop him. "Please, Joe, just let me finish, okay?" He nodded, and I geared myself up for the rest of it. "I'll be honest with you. It fucked me up. It fucked me up to the point that I married Dickie the wonder-weenie just to prove I had what it took to land a decent guy. Only he wasn't decent. He nailed half the women in the Burg, including that skank whore Joyce. And if I wasn't good enough to hold onto Joe Morelli, well, here was Dickie willing to publicly humiliate me by preferring that bitch to his own wife. You have any idea of how stupid I felt? How humiliated? Bad enough that he'd pick someone else over me, but a total loser like Joyce Barnhardt? I lost to Joyce Fucking Barnhardt? And then I sleep with you, and I fell right back into the same stupid trap. The same trap I'd fallen into with Dickie. You wanna talk about being scared? It scared the shit out of me how fast I went down. I trip down the stairs ready to make you breakfast, and wash your socks, and have your babies, and you looked at me like you wished I was anywhere but there. One more time, Stupid Stephanie mistakes a one night stand for forever."

"I never meant for you to feel like that," Joe admitted.

"I know that, Joe. I do. But I still felt like that. And the idea that I'd fallen right back into that old trap scared me so bad that the very idea of any relationship at all scared me. I felt like if I let myself love someone, I'd be right back there, ready to be taken advantage of, ready to be humiliated, ready to be stupid. I just couldn't do it."

Joe still looked confused, but he nodded. Maybe at least part of him was getting it. I don't know. Maybe he was so far gone that he wouldn't remember any of it tomorrow anyway.

"So when Ranger started paying attention to me, it was easy." I shrugged. "I'm not proud of it, but I have to admit it did my battered ego a lot of good to have two hot men chasing after me. Like I was saying, 'Look at me—I do too matter.'" I shook my head. "It's not your fault, Joe, not really. It just is. I dunno. All I know is I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Was it ever real?" Joe asked. I looked at him and blinked, not sure what he was asking. "Between us. Was it ever real? Did you ever feel for me what I felt for you? You were the only woman who ever made me feel like I could maybe break out of the Morelli mold. Maybe I didn't have to be just like my old man. I started thinking that maybe I could be a good husband. Maybe I could be a real father, not some asshole who knocked his kids around and chased skirts. I started believing the fairy tale. You wanna talk about stupid? I feel stupid."

"Don't feel stupid, Joe. If anyone's stupid, it was me, for not realizing what we had until it was too late. For not cherishing it, nurturing it like the rare gift it was. Was it real? It was the realest I ever felt, Joe. Swear to God."

Joe walked over and sat down tiredly on the edge of my bed. "I don't want to love you any more, Stephanie."

I cringed. "You said that already."

He nodded. He tilted then, and crashed like a tower, his head on my pillow. "I mean it, though. I really don't want to."

"I know, Joe." I slipped his shoes off and maneuvered his feet up onto the bed.

"I really do love you though." Tears pricked my eyes, and I pulled the blankets over him.

"I really do love you too, Joe." I ran my hand over his hair, unable to stop myself.

"But I'm going to figure out how to stop," he said earnestly, his eyes closing.

"Good luck with that, Morelli." He smiled in his sleep.

Hours later, I crawled into the other side of the bed and wrapped myself around him. I knew it would be for the last time. I knew in the morning, he would be gone, but I was an addict. I needed one last fix. I wanted one last memory of a night in Joe's arms to last me, so like a fool I took it. When he moved against me in his sleep, I didn't protest, just savored the feel of him moving on top of me, inside of me one last time. His eyes never opened, and mine never closed, I was so determined to imprint his face on my synapses one final time. And in the morning, when I woke to the bright sun coming in my bedroom window, I knew before I turned that the bed beside me was empty. He'd left me a Butterscotch Krimpet on the pillow, and a note telling me he was going to Newark, and wouldn't be back.