The wake-up

28

It was barely dawn as Thorpe closed the front gate behind him, the familiar squeak comforting, more from the implication of safety than for the suggestion that he was home. There was no home. He could see lights on in Claire's apartment. It had to be her; Claire was a runner, while Pam slept in. He hesitated, wanting to knock on her door, but didn't move. He was tired, but that wasn't what was stopping him, and it wasn't Kimberly, either. He had used her memory as an excuse long enough. She was dead. No, Thorpe's life was filled with secrets; there was no room for Claire inside. No room for anyone else.

He closed his door behind him, slid down to the floor, and held his head in his hands. He should have been happy. The Engineer hadn't shown up for Shock Waves, but Clark and Missy had bought his story. He had saved Douglas Meachum's life tonight, and probably saved Gina Meachum's, too. They would never know it, and that was fine. Let them go back to their house in a couple of weeks, flower leis draped around their necks, their vows renewed. Let them never know how close they had come to a visit from Vlad and Arturo.

In a few weeks, Gina might question where Thorpe was, ask around to see if he had bought a house. Meachum would curse Thorpe for missing their appointment, tell her that he'd never expected the man to buy anything, say Thorpe could at least have given him the courtesy of a phone call, though. Let them go on with their lives, uninterrupted. He smiled, thinking of Bishop. The bright spot in the whole fuckup. He had been so happy tonight, talking about his new life, his new plans. So rare to see change that happened for the best, not some vast unraveling or a series of missed opportunities. Bishop was going to make it. That was something.

Thorpe got up, went and started the shower. Warm, then cold, then warm again. When he was done, he changed into clean clothes, checked himself in the mirror, but not too closely. He moved quickly now, hurried out and across the courtyard, not making a sound. He knocked on Claire's door. He heard footsteps, saw the peephole darken, and then the door opened.

Claire looked him over, hands on her hips. She was wearing nylon shorts and an L.A. Marathon T-shirt. "You always manage to surprise me. That's one of your best qualities."

"I didn't know I had any others."

An hour later, Claire gazed at him from her side of the bed. She pushed back the covers, the two of them hot and steamy. "You're just one surprise after another."

"I said I was sorry about not getting back to you."

"Don't flatter yourself, Frank. I can handle a one-night stand. I just didn't think that was your style." Claire put her hand on his heart. "No, what I was surprised at is… this."

" 'This'?"

"You were so angry before that I couldn't keep up with you, didn't want to keep up… but now… you're so tender. We were together the whole time, every minute. What happened to you since the last time?"

Thorpe lightly stroked her belly, watched her eyes.

"No answer?" Claire sensed the lies; she just didn't know what the truth was, and sooner or later, that would ruin everything.

"I'm just glad I'm here," said Thorpe. He kissed her neck, slid his hand across her hips, dipping lower, his touch feathery.

She groaned, pushed him away slightly. "Don't get me started. I have to give Pam a ride to the airport in about a half hour. She's going to New Orleans with this guy she met."

"I thought she was celibate."

"He's an attorney. I think they're having fun finding loopholes."

Thorpe pulled her closer. "Tell Pam I'll pay for a cab."

"Big spender. Don't let her find out; she'll want you for herself."

Thorpe shook his head. "I'm already taken." If it was a lie, it was a lie to himself as well as to her.

Claire kissed him. "Tell Guillermo you got word that Clark is making a move on him. He'll probably give you a bonus. Try answering your phone once in a while, Danny. Love and kisses."

Thorpe hit SEND, watched his e-mail to Hathaway disappear. He glanced out the window, the courtyard empty in the soft light of evening. He had slept all day after Claire left to take Pam to the airport. Claire was working this afternoon and tonight on stuff for her Psych 101 class. They would get together tomorrow, maybe go out for breakfast, see if he could persuade her to ditch class. He could still smell her on his hands, on his face. He didn't want to wash until he saw her again.

He called the Meachums' house, waited until the machine picked up, then began talking. "Ray? It's me, Frank. Call me at 555-0609. I've got good news." He had tried the same thing earlier, without response, but he wasn't sure where the machine was located in the house, wasn't sure Bishop could hear his voice. No sense for Bishop to stick around there until the Meachums got back. Bishop had put himself on the line; he could go home now.

"Enjoying the evening, Frank?"

Thorpe stared at the instant message flashing on-screen.

"It's me, Frank."

"I know who you are."

"I missed you. Did you miss me?"

Thorpe fought back his anger, thinking of himself standing in the projection room, hoping to get a glimpse of the Engineer. Thorpe had missed him all right, but not in the way the Engineer meant it.

"Not in a talkative mood today? PMS?"

"Could be. We should get together and discuss it."

"I would like that."

"How about…" Thorpe thought of his plans to spend time with Claire, but he put them aside. "How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's not good for me. Sorry."

"Pick a date."

"You're so abrupt. I don't remember you being so curt. We only met that one time, but you seemed like a man who loved the sound of his own voice."

Thorpe checked his watch. "I'm a busy man."

"Good for you, Frank. Idle hands are the devil's workshop… or something like that."

Thorpe looked up as the gate creaked. Claire had come back, was walking toward his front door. "Let me know when you want to get together," he typed.

"Don't go. You're always in such a hurry."

Claire knocked.

"Time is money." Thorpe looked toward the door, glad he had locked it.

"Don't I know it, and never enough of either, is there?"

Claire knocked again. "Frank?"

"You're not still mad about Kimberly, are you? Because if you want to talk about it, I've been told I'm a good listener."

Thorpe watched Claire leave. Halfway across the courtyard, she turned around and stared at his window, then walked quickly to her place. She knew he was there.

"Frank? You still there? Maybe we can work out our troubles together."

Thorpe watched Claire's door close. "I don't have any troubles."

"Then I envy you, Frank. I truly do."

"Got to go."

"Let's make a date. I'm going to be out of town for the next week, but why don't we get together on the eleventh?"

Thorpe was disappointed. A week was too long. A minute was too long. "Sure."

"Wonderful. How about 1:00 p.m. at Black's Beach?"

"The nude beach?"

"You're not shy, are you, Frank? Not ashamed of the body God gave you, I hope. This way, we can be certain we're equally unarmed. Ha-ha. So, one o'clock, Black's Beach. I'll be lying on a towel, facing the large set of rocks offshore. Pelican Rock, they call it."

"I know what they call it."

"We're going to have a swell time. I think we have a lot in common."

"I don't."

"See, that's something else we can talk about. I hope-"

Thorpe shut down the computer. It was only then that he realized how fast his heart was beating. Claire's lights were on, but he stayed where he was.