“Just kind of?” I said.

“Okay. Really bad. And then, with all this,” she waved her hand in the air, “you’ve pretty much been the irritation equivalent of, say, a nail in my eardrum.”

“It says a lot about you that a nail in your eardrum would be only an irritation, rather than excruciatingly painful.”

She smiled. “I’m tough.” She pointed the beer bottle in my direction. “But, now, I’ve gotta admit…” Her voice trailed off.

“Admit what?”

She clutched the bottle in both of her hands. “I’ve gotta admit I don’t hate that you’re here.” She looked at me for a moment, then drained the beer, setting the empty bottle down next to the others. “But maybe I’m drunk.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” I told her.

She swung her legs over the chair, sitting on the edge of it. “Well, neither am I.” She looked at me. “Why are you here, Noah?”

I rolled my empty beer bottle between my hands. A horn blew out on the harbor from a distance, echoing softly across the water. The thought in my head that had rattled around as I left Emily’s was this: if Liz had answered the door in another man’s shirt, I would’ve been jealous and upset. I couldn’t explain why, but I knew it as surely as I knew anything at that moment.

“I didn’t want to be alone and I kept thinking of you,” I told her. “Carter’s in the hospital. Who the hell else do I hang out with?”

“Ernie?”

I grunted. “Not anymore. I put him in a bad spot and I feel like shit for doing it.”

“He’ll forgive you,” she said.

“Maybe, but it’ll be a while.”

“Probably, but he will. Everyone does.”

I looked at her. “Everyone does what?”

She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “Forgive you, Noah. Everyone does—eventually. You screw up, you do dumbass things, but in the end, you get it right. You just have to do some stupid things before you get to the right things.” She paused, her blue eyes staring me down in the shadows. “It’s just your way.”

I gazed back at her, wondering if she realized that might have been the kindest thing she had ever said about me.

“You are drunk,” I said.

She stood. “A little.” She walked over to me and held out her hand. “Come on.”

I grabbed her hand and pulled myself up, stifling a groan as my ribs protested that I should remain seated. “Where are we going?”

“Inside,” she said, taking me with her.

“Why?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea.

She didn’t look back. “Because I don’t feel like being alone, either.”

45

I felt the early-morning sunlight on my face and woke up, squinting at the beam pouring into the room through a sheer curtain.

I turned over to find Liz awake, looking at me. “Hey.”

She had her hands tucked between her cheek and the pillow, her hair spilling around her shoulders. “Hey.”

I twisted the rest of my body around to face her and grimaced, my ribs and back knotting up in pain.

“A little sore?” she asked.

“Try a lot.”

“Carter took four bullets. He makes you look like a sissy.”

“I am a sissy.”

She laughed. “You said it, not me.”

“Actually, you did say it.”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes, a loopy grin on her face. Then her smile faded. “Remember how last night I said it was weird being around you again?”

“Yeah.”

“This is even weirder.”

I nodded, agreeing with her.

“I didn’t come here to…for this,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “If I thought you had, I would’ve kicked your ass off the roof.”

“No doubt.”

She rolled over onto her back and sighed. “But this is weird.”

She had the sheet pulled up over her chest and tucked under her arms. Her shoulders were tan, probably from the running.

“So now what?” I asked.

“Little picture or big picture?” she asked, staring up at the ceiling.

“Your choice.”

She turned her head to me. “I choose little picture because I have no desire to draw the big picture.”

“Fine with me.”

“And little picture says, what’s for breakfast?”

“Am I invited to stay?”

She reached over and placed her hand lightly on my chest. “Those are hideous.”

I peered down at the dark purple bruises that decorated my upper body. “Wish I could disagree.” I put my hand over hers. “Gonna answer my question?”

Her eyes lingered on the bruises for a moment before she looked up at me. “Since you’re already here, you can stay. But since you’re the guest, you get to do the cooking.” She gave a tiny grin, slid out from under the sheet, and stood. “I’m going to shower. The food better be ready by the time I’m out.”

I watched her walk to the bathroom, and despite not wanting to, I smiled.

I got up, found my shorts and shirt, and headed to the kitchen. It was small but sunny, the light from the west not nearly as blinding as it had seemed in her bedroom. I found the skillet where I remembered it to be, some eggs, cheese, and mushrooms in the fridge, and threw together two omelets.

I was sliding them onto plates when she came out.

“Wow,” she said, her dark hair still damp. She wore a pair of black cotton shorts and a gray T-shirt with UCSD written across it. “You were fast.”

I pointed to the coffeepot. “Even got that going.”

She grabbed a mug out of the cabinet. “You still averse to caffeine in the morning?”

“Yep.”

“Your loss.” She poured a cup from the pot, and we sat down at the table in the corner of the kitchen.

We ate in silence. Most of the time, when I’m quiet at a meal, it’s because I’m uncomfortable. With Liz, it felt normal and right.

She pushed the plate away from her when she’d finished. “So. What’s your plan of attack today?”

I wiped my mouth and set the fork down on my empty plate. “Got a couple of ideas.”

“Like?”

“Like working on that Charlotte thing you gave me.”

“I didn’t give you anything,” she said, looking at me over her coffee cup.

“Right. Like working on this Charlotte thing I found.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Tell me something. Have you guys looked at Randall much with this?”

“Kate’s husband?” she asked. She gestured with the coffee mug. “Sure. Doesn’t seem to be anything there, though. He wasn’t in San Diego when she died.”

“Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have been involved, though.”

“No. Why?”

“He was a user, too.”

She nodded. “I know. We ran his record. He’s on probation.” She looked at me, puzzled. “Why would that make him wanna kill his wife?”

My thoughts flashed on my conversation with Ken again, but I pushed them aside. I didn’t want to put the idea that Kate had covered for Randall out there until I thought I could get Liz to take it seriously.

“Isn’t there some statistic about husbands being the most likely suspects in the deaths of their wives?” I said.

“Sure. I don’t know what it is, but it’s high. But you’ve usually got motive and some sort of evidence.” She shook her head. “Randall’s run clean so far.”

I tried a different track. “Emily thought he was having an affair.”