Epilogue
Six months later
T wo things were different. No one was playing pool, and the MotorTrend the bartender was thumbing through was a more recent edition.
“Beer, please.”
“Brand?”
“I’m not particular.”
The bartender uncapped a longneck. As he slid it toward John, he whispered, “Same booth as before. Maybe you’ll have better luck this time.”
Doubtful , John thought as he picked up the beer and turned toward the booth. He’d thought he’d prepared himself, but his first sight of Beth made his breath catch and his gut clench. He’d hoped that she might have grown a wart on her nose or had an outbreak of adult-onset acne.
No such luck.
Denying that desire was running rampant through him, he walked over, slid into the booth across from her, and set the bottle of beer on the table.
After a strained silence, she said, “I see you got my message.”
“I’m here.”
“I purposefully didn’t leave my name.”
“You didn’t before.”
“I figured you would know by the meeting place…”
She let that trail off, and, when he failed to comment, she picked up her glass and took a sip from the straw. As she returned the glass to the table, she said, “Mitch invited me to the christening tomorrow.”
Peachy. He would be put through this agony two days in a row. He was gonna kill Mitch the Matchmaker.
“They sent me a birth announcement,” she said. “When I called to congratulate them, Mitch described baby Andrew as a rock star.”
John hated himself for wanting to take a bite of her soft, pink smile. He grumbled, “He’s obnoxious over that baby. Brags so much, you can hardly stand to be around him. At least he’s shaved off that godawful mustache.”
“His bragging must make it difficult for you two to work together every day.”
How sly of her to slip that into the conversation. He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his beer and took a drink.
“Congratulations, John.”
“Thanks.”
“You should have been heading the CAP unit all along. You’ve certainly assembled a great team. In addition to bringing Mitch back into the fold, I heard you also talked Isabel Sanchez into joining your ranks.”
“Who’s feeding you all this information?”
“I heard a lot of local gossip from the production crew. They were here for several weeks, talked to a lot of people who were integral to the restructured Crissy Mellin story.”
“For several weeks they were a pain in the ass. They overflowed all the good cafes and caused traffic jams around the police station nearly every day.”
“I obtained a permit.”
He knew that, but didn’t say so.
“I assigned one of our female contributors to interview Carla and Crissy together.”
“Did Carla cooperate?”
“She still has a sting, but it’s not as vicious. Crissy has…” She searched for a word and used her hands to express it. “Blossomed. It’s miraculous.”
He took another sip of beer.
“She told me that you call her at least once a week to see how she’s getting along.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “The least I could do.”
Looking exasperated, she sat back against the booth, and for a minute neither of them spoke. Then she said, “You’re determined to make this hard, aren’t you?”
That angered him. First of all, it was she who was making it hard. It was so damn hard his eyes were probably crossed. Secondly: “Define ‘this,’ Beth. What is this ?” Then something occurred to him that made him furious. “Don’t tell me you lured me here again in the hope of getting an interview. Is that what you’re after?”
She fired back. “If that’s what I was after, I wouldn’t have specifically ordered everyone working on the episode not to approach you.”
“Then why did you call and ask me to meet you here?”
“I didn’t want there to be an awkward scene at the christening tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t have made a scene.”
She looked at him doubtfully, and she was right to. There might have been some monumental awkwardness if she’d walked into the church while he, as godfather, had a vital role to play. Questions to answer, pledges to make. Taken off guard by seeing her there, he probably would have flubbed it all and ruined the observance for Mitch and his family.
“And,” she continued around a unsteady breath, “I wanted to see you, talk to you, and not in the presence of Angela’s slew of kinfolk, which Mitch warned me would all be attending the after-party. John…” She extended her hand, but drew it back without making contact. “I wanted to catch up on you, on everything.”
“Seems to me you are caught up. I can’t think of anything to tell you that you haven’t already heard from your talkative sources.”
Miffed again, she said, “I know that Barker was indicted for murder, was considered a flight risk, denied bail, and is in jail awaiting trial, the date of which is TBD, but it’s not going to be speedy. Meanwhile, his wife has filed for divorce.
“Professor Victor Wallace is also incarcerated, awaiting sentencing on two counts of kidnapping, etcetera, etcetera. Prosecutors are pushing for at least twenty-five years for each count. His wife, oblivious to his hobby, has sold their home. She and her son have moved to Dallas to live with her parents.”
“Worse than that, he’s had to cancel all his scheduled lectures.”
She didn’t acknowledge his droll remark, but continued in the same vein she’d been using. “The two previously overlooked suspects in Galveston and Jackson are now awaiting trial. Patrick Dobbs has been granted an appeal. Cougar in Shreveport still hasn’t isolated a suspect in the disappearance there, but he’s more aggressively working on it.
“You and Mutt have moved closer to town. Molly loves your new house. Even more, she loves getting to spend half of each week there with you.”
“Roslyn and I worked out an arrangement. I think the stepdad is happy about it, too.”
“Molly has applied for the art school scholarship.”
“Fingers crossed.”
“She’ll get it,” Beth said with confidence. “Does Mutt like the new house?”
“He likes any place so long as there’s food.”
“And you.” She paused, then asked, “Have I left out anything?”
“Will you get Max his Emmy?”
He could tell she hadn’t expected that question. She said, “We’re talking about you.”
“Not anymore we’re not. What’s the status of that two-hour episode?”
“It’s done. Finished. It will premier Crisis Point ’s fall season next month. It remains to be seen about the Emmy, but my goal was to create a program that Max would be proud to have his name attached to. In that I believe I’ve succeeded.
“In any case, I did my best to tell the story cleanly, without exploitation, but with enough entertainment value and suspense to keep the viewing audience interested.”
She paused before saying, “There was no way to tell the story without including you, but it’s acknowledged that you had declined to be interviewed. And, just so you know, I left Molly’s name out of it. She’s identified only as a minor whose parents asked that she remain anonymous.”
He was more relieved and touched than he let on. He said simply, “Thank you for that.”
She gave a small nod.
“What’s next on the Crisis Point lineup?”
“I don’t know. Once the Mellin episode was finished, I resigned.”
That hit him like a right hook he didn’t see coming. He actually recoiled. “Resigned? You left the show?”
“Left the network.”
“What are you doing now?”
She left him in suspense while she took another sip from the straw. “Remember I told you about the minutiae that make a good show a better one?”
“Small things that give it oomph.”
“You do remember.”
“I remember everything.”
That halted her momentarily. When she continued, he could swear her voice was huskier. “I spent years editing pieces under Max’s tutelage, and he was a master. I’m going to shop myself out as a freelance editor. With my credentials, I should be able to support myself, especially with the lower cost of living down here.”
His heart skipped several beats. “Down here?”
“Louisiana has become a big draw for production companies. There’s a lot of work. Since I grew up here, I have a feel for the area, which will be valuable to site locators and cinematographers. No more frigid winters. Sweltering summers, yes, but then I like the heat. I’ll be able to eat gumbo whenever I’m hungry for it, and work at home in my pajamas. Although I plan to rent a small office for appearance’s sake.
“So, you see? There are a lot of advantages to relocating, but the main one is that I’ll be near you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I love you, John Bowie like the knife.”
A fever spread through his entire body. The tops of his ears turned hot. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips.
She scooted forward on the bench, bringing her right up against the edge of the table. “I had to leave you that day. If I hadn’t, if I’d stayed without finishing what I had set out to do, I would always have regretted it.
“You would have sensed my regret, and felt guilty for keeping me from achieving my goal, and the guilt would have caused you to shut down.” She smiled ruefully. “As you’ve done anyway.”
He took a long drink of the tepid beer because his mouth had gone so dry. Returning the bottle to the table, he said, “I haven’t shut down.”
“No? Since you got here, you’ve addressed my chin, my shoulder, my earring, my breasts.”
“Only because your hands were making circles in front of them to illustrate ‘blossomed.’”
“The point is, you haven’t looked directly at me .”
He did then. He looked at her fiercely. Leaning forward, bringing their faces close, he said, “I look at you directly all the fucking time. Daylight or dark, sunny or cloudy, on the job, on days off, in daydreams, in wet dreams, I’m seeing your face, and it’s been maddening, infuriating as hell, and bloody damned torture.”
Her eyes clouded with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you come after me? Why didn’t you at least call me or take my calls?”
“God knows I wanted to.”
“Then…?”
“Because, Beth, from the very start, I didn’t see how it—how we —could possibly work. You had your career. I had mine to salvage. You had to deal with losing Max. I had to focus on Molly and all that was going on with her even before the abduction. You lived in Manhattan, and I lived in a swamp. I didn’t see any of that changing.”
“But all that has changed,” she argued. “All those blockades you itemized are resolving themselves, or have already been resolved. I’m here, and I’m staying.”
“One blockade won’t change.” He pointed to his forehead. “This dent? It’s evidence of the difference in our ages.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. Nine years! Just turned.”
“Who told you?”
“Molly.”
“Man! The lines of communication have been hot, haven’t they?”
“The age difference is a ridiculous excuse, and you know it. What’s the real reason?”
He’d struggled with it since he’d been sitting here. Hell, he’d struggled with it six months ago in this same spot, looking at this person, and wanting her in every way. “The real reason,” he said roughly, “is because it would kill me to have you, and not be able to keep you.”
“Well then, we don’t have a problem.” She slid out of the booth and got in on his side, crowding him into the corner. “I’m yours to keep, John. And I love that dent.” She tilted his head down and kissed it.
He couldn’t take any more. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. He said, “I want you, Beth. I want you so bad.”
“You have me.”
“No, I mean right now.” The kiss they shared was ravenous, but only left them hungrier for each other. Breathless when they broke, he whisked his lips across hers. “Let’s get out of here. Get out of our clothes. I want to French kiss you.”
“You just did.”
He nuzzled her ear, whispering, “Not everywhere.”
She angled her head back and looked at him through smoky, topaz eyes, then scrambled out of the booth and retrieved her handbag from the other side.
On their way out, the bartender gave them a thumbs-up. “Y’all have fun.”
“Count on it,” John said over his shoulder. He walked her over to the only car on the lot except for his SUV. He gave her a quick kiss. “Follow me and keep up because I’ll be driving fast.”
When he would have turned away, she grabbed him by his shirtfront. “Remember when you told me to watch myself? You didn’t finish. Watch myself, or what ?”
“Or I might come to love you body and soul.”
“Oh. I didn’t get to hear that part.”
He wound a strand of her hair around his finger and pulled her face closer to his.
“And look what happened.”