Assumed Identity

13

It was dark outside. Buchanan kept the guest room’s light off as he packed, relying on the slight illumination from the hallway. After he finished and made sure that he hadn’t left anything behind, he considered taking the 9-mm pistol from the holster attached to the side of the bed but decided against it. If there was trouble, the police might trace the gun to Doyle, and Buchanan didn’t want to involve him any more than Doyle already was.

Leaving the guest room, Buchanan almost turned left toward the lights in the kitchen but changed his mind and instead turned right toward a door farther along the dimly lit hallway. He knocked, received no answer, noticed that the door was slightly ajar, and decided to take a chance. Pushing the door farther open, he knocked again. “Cindy?”

“. . What is it?” her weary voice asked from the darkness.

Buchanan entered, crossed the murky room, and knelt beside the bed, able to see her shadowy contour under the sheets but not her face. “I missed you at supper.”

“Tired,” she whispered. “The casserole. .?”

“Was excellent. You didn’t need to use up your energy making it. Jack and I could have eaten takeout.”

“Not in my home.” Cindy managed to emphasize the word despite her fatigue.

“Well,” Buchanan said, “I just wanted to let you know I appreciate it and to thank you for everything.”

She moved slowly, evidently turning toward him. “You sound as if. . Are you leaving?”

“I have to.”

She tried to sit up but couldn’t. “I hope not because of me.”

“What would make you think that?”

“Because people feel self-conscious about me being sick. It’s hard to be around. .”

“I don’t feel that way,” Buchanan said. “It’s just that I have things to do. It’s time for me to move on and do them.”

She didn’t reply.

“Cindy?”

“I sort of hoped you’d stay so you could be company for Jack.” She inhaled in a way that made Buchanan suspect she was crying. “Seems like most of the time I’m either in the hospital or here in bed. I’m not afraid for me, but I feel so sorry for Jack.”

“He loves you very much.”

“Sure.”

“He told me that several times. He told me how proud he was of you, the way you put up with being married to him when he was in the service and how you stonewalled those reporters.”

She chuckled slightly, then sniffled. “Yeah, I was tough. The good times. Except Jack was gone so much then, and now that we’re together. .”

“Right. You just said it. You’re together. And you don’t need me around to make a crowd. In a few minutes, I’ll be on my way.”

“Take my car.”

Buchanan cocked his head in surprise.

“I get the feeling you’ll be needing it.” She touched his hand. “I sure won’t. I haven’t driven it since before I was in the hospital this last time. Take it. Please.”

“I’ll get it back to you when I’m settled.”

“There isn’t any rush, believe me.”

“Cindy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Buchanan leaned down and kissed her gently on the cheek, his lips salty from her tears. “Take care.”

“I always tried to. Didn’t do me any good, though. You take care.”

“I’ll have to.” He stood from beside the bed. “Maybe sometime I’ll be back this way.”

She didn’t respond.

“I’d better let you get some sleep.” Buchanan touched her cheek, then backed from the room and closed the door.