Goodbye Sister Disco by James Patrick Hunt Read Free Book Online Page A

contrast between her blouse and her neck. “This is my fault. I’m dumping my domestic squabbles on you.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault. Forget it.” She smiled. “I’m glad to see you.” Saying it and meaning it.
    â€œI’m glad to see you too.”
    â€œYou’ve been up all night, haven’t you?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Carol shook her head. “Shit,” she said, feeling bad now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œOh, George. It’s a homicide?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œOh, shit. I’m sorry.”
    â€œWhat are you sorry for?”
    â€œYou’ve been up all night and you take time out to see me and then I give you heat about … I’m sorry.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it.”
    â€œYou should’ve just come straight over this morning. We could have at least made love.”
    â€œBut you were already out of the shower when I called.”
    She smiled almost sadly and gave a small shrug. “Maybe tonight,” she said.
    â€œThat’d be nice.” He said, “When do you leave for Chicago?” She was spending Christmas there with a sister.
    â€œThe day after tomorrow. My sister’s first Christmas with her second husband. It should be interesting.”
    â€œYeah,” Hastings said, “I imagine it will be.”
    And he left it at that.
    It could be weird, this business of dating. There was as much focus placed on what was not said as what was said. Hastings had never told Carol that he loved her. Nor had she said such a thing to him. He liked her very much and knew that she was not wily or adolescent in her dealings with him. He knew that when she had brought up her sister’s second marriage, she had not been angling for a marriage proposal herself. They never discussed marriage. Never had an occasion to. But she was a perceptive woman, and after she had let out the reference to her sister’s second husband, she was well aware of the effect it had. They were both of them cautious, always cautious. As if sensing the discomfort she had caused, Carol McGuire said, “I’ll miss you.”
    Hastings said, “I’ll miss you too.”
    â€œBut we’ll see each other before that. Tonight?”
    â€œTonight sounds great.”
    *   *   *
    Matt Lauer was standing next to a young black man wearing baggy pants and thick black shoes, cap worn backward. Matt in a suit, the other guy in his uniform. Matt asking him a question about his refusal to change his shoes for the television show where celebrities waltzed around with professional dancers, the guy responding that his refusal to change his shoes somehow put him on the same level as Rosa Parks.
    The interview was drowned out as a woman in her late thirties turned on the kitchen sink and rinsed milk and orange juice out of cups. She set the cups upside down on a towel, close to the small television set.
    The woman was wearing sweats and a white T-shirt. She had blond hair, cut short, and she had an athletic build. Her name was Terry McGregor.
    Outside, a Jaguar XJ6 rumbled to a stop. The rumbling cut off and Hastings got out. He walked to the front door of the house and knocked.
    He was holding a bag of coffee. Terry McGregor came to the door and let him in.
    â€œHi,” Hastings said. “I brought this for you.”
    â€œOh,” Terry said. “You didn’t need to do that.”
    â€œWell, I appreciated you taking Amy in. Especially on such short notice.”
    â€œForget about it. Anytime you need to drop her off, she’s welcome. Come on in and have a cup of coffee. The girls are upstairs getting ready.”
    He followed her back to the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
    Terry said, “You take anything in it?”
    â€œA little milk.”
    She poured enough milk in the bottom of his cup to cover the bottom. Then poured the coffee