Midas

37

Justin knew he had two more chores before he could say it was completely over.

The next day, at lunchtime, he drove over to Marge Leggett’s house, walked up the cement path that cut its way through an overgrown lawn and led to the front door. He knocked and saw the surprised look on Marge’s face when she opened the door to let him in.

She made him a cup of tea, which he didn’t really want, but she wanted to make it, so he let her dip the Lipton tea bag into the steaming hot water and then he drank from the caffeine-stained mug. While he sipped he told her what he knew. He didn’t give her all the details-she didn’t need to know most of it-but he told her what he could. Said it was confidential. But he said he’d made her a promise and he was keeping it. So he explained that while most of what she’d been reading in the paper and hearing on the news was accurate, some of it wasn’t, and he filled in a few more blanks.

When he was finished, she said, “Thank you,” and then she hesitated, looked very uncomfortable.

“Is there something else?” Justin asked.

“He was with that woman,” Marge said. “At Harper’s. He was having lunch with that woman.”

Justin closed his eyes for a second, tried to come up with a name. Something clicked in his brain and he had it. “Carolyn Helms.”

“That rich woman. The divorced one.”

“Right.”

“Was he cheating on me?” Marge Leggett asked.

Justin cocked his head. “Marge,” he said, “is that what you wanted to know? Is that what this was all about?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s all I can think about, Jay. All this other stuff, it’s horrible, I know, but-”

“But what you really wanted to know was if Jimmy was cheating on you.”

“Yeah.”

Justin took a last sip of the tea, which was now lukewarm. “No,” he said. “He wasn’t.”

“How do you know?” Marge asked.

“I knew Jimmy,” he said. “He was an honest guy. And I’m good at my job. You asked me to find out and I did. He was just having lunch.”

“You talked to people? You know that for sure?”

“I know it for sure,” Justin said.

Marge Leggett kissed him on the cheek and said, “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Justin said.

At St. Joseph’s Hospital, Justin stood in the doorway and looked in at the little girl lying in her bed.

“I’m doing one more skin graft,” Dr. Graham said. “That should be the last surgical procedure.”

“Painful?” Justin asked.

“Extremely,” the surgeon said. “But she’s strong. She’s very strong.”

Justin nodded, as if her strength was no surprise to him.

“So is it over?” Dr. Graham asked.

“Excuse me?”

“When you were here before, you said you’d talk to her when it was over. Is it over?”

“Yes,” Justin said. “It’s over.”

The surgeon gave him a pat on the back-a half pat, half gentle shove into the room. Justin walked over to the bed, pulled up a chair and sat. He took the girl’s hand, the one not covered in bandages, and held it.

Hannah Cooke shifted her head so she could look in his direction.

“I remember you,” she said.

“I’m glad.”

Her eyes closed. And her head relaxed again on the pillow. But she didn’t attempt to pull her hand back. He could feel it soften in his grasp.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

“I can’t stay long,” Justin told her. “But I can come again if you’d like me to. I can come and visit and we can talk.”

Hannah didn’t say anything. For a long time, she didn’t move. But then Justin thought she smiled.

He wasn’t positive, so he just waited, her hand in his.

And then he saw it again. This time he was sure.

Definitely a smile.