Maybe

12

IT’S UNSEASONABLY WARM at 8:00 a.m. in downtown Louisville, and destined to get hotter. By 2:00 p.m. the heat index is expected to hit a buck-twelve, thanks to the legendary Ohio Valley humidity. But no matter. Dr. P. and I will be in Virginia by then. Miranda, too.

Miranda’s a real trooper.

After learning why Dr. P. and I came here, she asked to join us. I tempted her with sleeping in and ordering room service, and warned it wouldn’t be pleasant. But she insisted, and that’s why we’re enjoying a cup of coffee in the hotel restaurant, waiting on Dr. P.’s phone call. He’s across the street, at Jefferson Memorial Hospital, arranging clearance for us.

Miranda sips her coffee and smiles. Yes, she’s paid to smile and be pleasant on three hours’ sleep. But most women in her situation would’ve been happy to stay in bed and order room service.

At a separate table a few feet away, a young brunette in business attire is staring holes in us over a bowl of oatmeal. Miranda seems not to notice, or care. This is one of the many things I love about being with her in public. Miranda’s half my age, but not the least self-conscious about our relationship.

She says, “You’re beautiful!”

I laugh. “That’s my line for you.”

“It applies, though.”

I shrug. “Sounds silly when you say it. I mean, I’m old enough to be your father.”

She shakes her head. “Donovan?”

“Yeah?”

“Accept the compliment.”

“Okay.”

“Asshole.”

I check to see if she’s smiling.

She is.

The young brunette at the table next to us has removed her cell phone from her purse. I think she’s texting about us to one of her girlfriends.

“This is something I need to work on?” I ask. “Accepting compliments?”

“It is. But we’ve discussed this several times.”

“I know.”

“I won’t be here much longer,” she says.

“I know.”

She gets to her feet and leans across the table to give me a kiss. The local businessmen at the table behind her enjoy the view her short skirt offers, while the brunette beside us looks to be retching, as if she swallowed some bad seafood.

Miranda kisses me a second time and says, “You’re going to miss me, aren’t you?”

I kiss her back, and sigh. “I will. But what I’ll really miss?”

“Tell me.”

“Us.”

She sits down, reaches across the small table, and takes my hand. “I’ll miss us too.”

She sees the look in my eyes and says, “Don’t ask.”

“Too late.”

“If you don’t ask, I won’t cry,” she says.

“I already asked. With my heart.”

The intrusive brunette rolls her eyes, props her cell phone on the table and snaps a picture of me with one hand while pretending to signal a waiter with the other. Then she adjusts the angle and takes a picture of Miranda.

She’s annoying the shit out of me, as are the businessmen sitting behind Miranda. When one of them says to his friends, “Kiss him again, honey,” and the others giggle, I think about the popping sound their eyes will make if I burst them with my fingers. I always thought that sound was caused by a little pocket of gas behind the cornea, but according to Lou’s research, the eyes contain no such gas, and the popping sound has more to do with the clear jelly of the vitreous body needing a place to escape in a hurry.

Speaking of eyes, Miranda’s are gorgeous, and she has impossibly long, natural eyelashes models would kill to possess. She uses them to blink a couple of tears from her eyes.

“I’ll say it again, Donovan. We can’t keep seeing each other after I graduate.”

“Maybe not like last night,” I say. “But when you get your license, I’ll be your first client.”

“You can’t. It wouldn’t be ethical.”

“You’ve been counseling me for a year.”

“Not professionally. I can’t counsel a client with whom I’ve been intimate.”

I frown. “That’s a stupid rule. Who could possibly understand me better, a total stranger, or a woman who knows me intimately?”

She smiles. “You’re not going to draw me into a debate on this issue.”

“Why not?”

“First, you’re too persuasive. And second, you’re right. But this license is very important to me. I’ve worked very hard to earn it. In order to keep it I have to follow certain rules of conduct.”

“These rules are important to you?”

She gives me her analyst look, the one she uses when trying to give the impression she’s speaking to me as an equal. Since I already know she’s smarter than me, her look doesn’t have the intended effect. It only makes her more adorable in my eyes.

She says, “You’re trying to suck me in again.”

“You think?”

“If I say I believe in following rules of ethical conduct, you’ll remind me I’m already breaking them by sleeping with you for cash. Which I’ll attempt to justify by saying it was a means to obtain the finest education. But then you’ll say I could’ve gotten a school loan, and I’ll say if I got a school loan I never would have met you.”

“All of which is true,” I say.

“Yes, but then you’ll point out we did meet, and-”

“Miranda?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Exactly how long do I have?”

She bites her lip.

“Miranda?”

She blinks more tears from her eyes.

The lady at the table next to us is hanging on our every word. I noticed her jaw drop a moment ago when Miranda said she’d been sleeping with me for cash. Now she’s glaring at us in a rude fashion.

Miranda notices too, because she turns to the brunette and says, “Excuse me, have you ever considered whoring?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Would you consider a three-way? You, me, and my boyfriend?”

“Excuse me?” The young brunette’s face is beet red. She looks at me with total disgust.

I blow her a kiss. She does a double-take, and intensifies her glare.

Miranda says, “We’ve got a room upstairs. We can bang one out in ten minutes if you’re in a hurry to get to work.”

“What? You can’t possibly think I’d-Are you insane?”

Miranda says, “I hope you don’t expect us to believe you got that round mouth by eating oatmeal.”

“Omigod!” she says, and jumps to her feet to run tell the manager.

“I guess that’s a no,” Miranda says. “Sorry, Donovan.”

“Story of my life,” I say.

My cell phone vibrates. I answer it.

“Yes?”

“We’re good to go,” Dr. P. says.