The Night Bird

52

Frost found Lucy awake in her hospital bed.

Her parents sat on either side, each holding one of her hands like protective parents. They didn’t look happy to see him. He was the one who’d put their girl in jeopardy. He was a symbol of everything perilous about the city. Here she was, wounded twice, hooked to an IV, skin almost white. They shot him daggers and wished he would go away.

“It’s okay,” Lucy told her parents when they lingered and refused to leave. Her voice was weak but firm. “Go get some coffee or something. I want to talk to Frost.”

They stood up reluctantly, as if nothing good could happen if they left her alone with him.

“Ten minutes,” her father said. “No more.”

They passed Frost without shaking hands. Lucy’s mother closed the door behind them. The room was warm, and the silence was punctuated by the electronic blips that tracked Lucy’s heart rate, oxygen, and blood pressure. Frost had a big box in his arms, and he sat down in a chair beside her bed with the box in his lap.

Lucy gave him a puzzled smile. “Flowers?”

“A secret visitor,” Frost said. He put his index finger over his lips. “Shhh.”

He undid one of the flaps on the box, and a black-and-white head popped over the side.

“Shack!” Lucy exclaimed happily. The cat looked happy to see her, too. He squeaked with excitement.

Frost scooped him out of the box. He held the cat close to Lucy’s face, and Shack licked her cheek with his sandpaper tongue, making her giggle. She rubbed his head and scratched under his chin and nuzzled him with her nose. He could hear Shack’s loud purr. He let her fuss over him silently for several minutes, and then he slipped the cat back inside the box.

They stared at each other, and it was awkward between them. He didn’t know how to measure the water that had gone under the bridge.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, you. Thanks for coming. Thanks for bringing Shack. You both cheer me up.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Frost said.

“That’s what they tell me. It’s going to take a while, I guess. Inside and out.”

“Yeah.”

More silence took over. Shack scratched at the box.

“You didn’t do it, Lucy,” Frost told her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d heard. It wasn’t you. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I know. My parents talked to your lieutenant. She said Dr. Stein gave a statement. The guy admitted it.”

Frost nodded. “Do you remember anything?”

“No. It’s like I lost everything from the last couple days. I guess that’s good, huh? The last thing I remember—”

He waited.

“The last thing I remember is you and me,” she said. “On the hillside. You holding me. You made me feel safe.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel that way again. Not here. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Lucy—” he began, but she jumped in to stop him. She had more to say.

“So I’m moving back to Modesto when I get out of here. My parents think I should live with them for a while. You know, while I get back on my feet. I figured it was a pretty good idea. I thought you should know.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Frost said. “If that’s what you want.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m not made for the city, like you.”

“Well, the city will miss you. So will Shack. So will I.”

“Yeah, me, too. It’s pretty far away, but there are no bridges out there. I need some time without any bridges, you know?”

“I know.”

There wasn’t much more to say than that. He’d come here to say good-bye, and she’d already done that for him. He stood up and put the box on the floor. He took her hand and squeezed it, and she squeezed back, and then he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. She closed her eyes, as if she were trying to memorize how it felt. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, too.

“Bye, Lucy.”

“Bye.”

He carried Shack’s box out of the room. Lucy’s parents were there, and they looked relieved to see him go.

Outside the hospital, Frost drove through the darkness back to his Russian Hill house. The hill always felt like it was on top of the world, as if he could roll a marble down and watch it bounce all the way to the bay. He was tired, and he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was lonely. He was often alone, but rarely lonely. But tonight was one of those nights. When he stared at the house, it felt big and empty, not like home at all.

He carried Shack inside, but when he opened the door, he smelled the spicy aroma of chicken parmigiana, and he heard male voices from the living room. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had family.

His brother was there.

Herb was there, too.

“Sierra Nevada?” Herb called, hoisting a wet bottle from a cooler on the floor.

“You read my mind,” Frost said. He was suddenly wide awake.

His brother stood up and grabbed bowls of hummus and olives. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Duane said. “Come on, let’s sit outside.”

The three of them headed for the patio. Herb brought the cooler. Shack jumped on the glass table and closed his eyes against the breeze. Down the hill, San Francisco spread out in a million lights below them, and fog clung to the distance. They clinked bottles, they drank, and Herb began telling old stories from his days in the Summer of Love. Soon they forgot all about dinner, and they hung around on the wrought-iron chairs with their feet propped on the railing, laughing and getting very loud until the night was mostly gone.