I stepped toward her and put an arm behind her back and kissed her. Then I pulled her into the room and closed the door.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Almost nothing was said after that. She hit the light switch, then led me to the bed. She put her arms around my neck and pulled me down into a long, deep kiss. We fumbled with each other’s clothes and then decided wordlessly to just take off our own. It was faster.
“Do you have something?” she whispered. “You know, to use?”
Crestfallen by the consequences of my inaction earlier, I shook my head no and was about to offer to go to the drugstore, a trip that I knew would destroy the moment.
“I think I might,” she said.
She pulled her purse onto the bed and I heard the zipper of an interior pocket opening. She then pressed the plastic condom package into my palm.
“Always keep one for emergencies,” she said with a smile in her voice.
We made love after that. Slowly, smiling in the shadows of the room. I think of it now as a wonderful moment, perhaps the most erotic and passionate hour of my life. In reality, though, when I strip the gauze from the memory, I know it was a nervous hour with both of us seemingly too eager and willing to please the other and perhaps thereby robbing ourselves of some of the true enjoyment of the moment. My sense of Rachel was that she was craving the intimacy of the act, not as much the sensual pleasure as the closeness with another human being. It was that way for me as well, but I also found a deep carnal desire for her body. She had wide and dark areolas on small breasts, a lovely rounded stomach with soft hair below it. As we found each other’s rhythm her face flushed and became warm. She was beautiful and I told her so. But this seemed only to embarrass her and she pulled me down into an embrace so that I could not see her face. My face in her hair, I smelled the scent of apples.
Afterward, she rolled onto her stomach and I lightly rubbed her back.
“I want to be with you after this,” I said.
She didn’t answer but that was okay. I knew that what we had just shared was genuine. She slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position.
“What is it?”
“I can’t stay. I want to but I can’t. I should be in my own room in the morning in case Bob calls. He’ll want to talk before the meeting with the locals and he said he’d call.”
Disappointed, I wordlessly watched her dress. She moved about in the darkness skillfully, knowing her way. When she was finished, she bent down and lightly kissed me on the lips.
“Go to sleep.”
“I will. You, too.”
But after she was gone I couldn’t sleep. I felt too good. I felt reaffirmed and filled with an unexplainable joy. Every day you fight death with life and what is more vital in life than the physical act of love? My brother and all that had happened seemed far away.
I rolled to the side of the bed and picked up the phone. Full of myself, I wanted to tell her these thoughts. But after eight rings she didn’t pick up and the operator answered.
“Are you sure that was Rachel Walling’s room?”
“Yes, sir. Three twenty-one. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No, thanks.”
I sat up and turned on the light. I turned on the television with the remote and flipped back and forth for a few minutes, not really watching. I tried her number again and still no answer.
Getting dressed, I told myself I wanted a Coke. I took change off the bureau and my key and went down the hall to the alcove where the vending machines were. On my way back I stopped by 321 and listened at the door. I heard nothing. I lightly knocked and waited, knocked again. She didn’t answer.
At my door I fumbled to use the key and turn the knob while holding the can of Coke. Finally, I put the can down on the rug and was opening the door when I heard footsteps and turned to see a man coming down the hallway toward me. The hall lights were dimmed because of the hour and the bright lights from the elevator alcove cast the approaching man in silhouette. He was a large man and in his hand I saw he carried something. A bag maybe. He was ten feet away.
“Hiya, sport.”
Thorson. His voice, though recognizable, spooked me and I think he saw it in my face. I heard him chuckle as he passed by me.
“Pleasant dreams.”
I said nothing. I picked up the can and moved into my room slowly, continuing to watch Thorson move down the hall. He passed by 321 without hesitation and stopped at a room further down the hallway. As he was opening it with a key he looked back down the hall at me. Our eyes locked for a moment, then I slipped wordlessly into my room.
28
Gladden wished he had asked Darlene where the remote control was before he had killed her. It annoyed him to have to get up to switch channels. Every one of the Los Angeles television channels had picked up on the Times story. He’d had to sit right in front of the box, though, and manually change the channel to try to catch all the reports. He had seen what Detective Thomas looked like. He had been interviewed by all of the channels.
He lay on the couch, now too excited to sleep. He wanted to change the channel to CNN but didn’t want to get up again. He was on some cable channel on the nether reaches of the list. A woman with a French accent was preparing crêpes filled with yogurt. Gladden didn’t know whether it was a dessert or a breakfast but it was making him hungry and he considered opening another can of ravioli. He decided against it. He knew he had to conserve his supplies. Still four days to go.
“Where’s the fucking remote, Darlene?” he called out.
He got up and switched the channel, then turned out the lights and returned to the couch. With the monologue of the CNN anchors as a calming background, he thought about the work ahead, his plans. They knew about him now and he had to be more careful than ever.
He fell into a doze, his eyes drooping and the TV noise lulling him finally to sleep. But just as he was about to drop off, his ears picked up on a report from Phoenix about the murder of a police detective. Gladden opened his eyes.
29
In the morning Rachel called me before I was out of bed. I squinted at the clock and saw it was seven-thirty. I didn’t ask why she hadn’t answered either the phone or her door the night before. I’d already spent a good part of the night brooding about it and decided she had probably been taking a shower during the times I phoned or knocked.
“You up?”
“I am now.”
“Good. Call your sister-in-law.”
“Right. I will.”
“You want to get coffee? How long till you’re ready?”
“I have to make the call and get a shower. An hour?”
“You’re on your own then, Jack.”
“Okay, a half hour. You’ve already been up?”
“No.”
“Well, don’t you have to take a shower?”
“I don’t take an hour to get ready, even on a day off.”
“Okay, okay. A half hour.”
As I got up I found the torn condom package on the floor. I picked it up and committed the brand to memory since it obviously was the one she preferred, then threw it in the bathroom trash can.
I was almost hoping Riley wouldn’t be home because I didn’t know exactly how to ask her to let people dig up her husband’s body or how she would react. But I knew that at five till nine on a Sunday morning there wasn’t much chance that she would be anywhere else. As far as I knew, her only appearances in church in recent years were at Sean’s funeral and her wedding before that.