Whenever You Call by Anna King Read Free Book Online

I said, “I was kidding. You’re not beautiful at all. I’ve been meaning to break it to you.”
    She smiled. “Thanks.”
    I finished my bagel half. “You could try therapy again.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with me except that I don’t have legs from the knees down, and I’m entirely missing feet.”
    Our eyes met and then all hell broke lose. We laughed so hard that I got the hiccups and Jen toppled sideways on the couch. I was too swamped by my own laughter to help her back up, so she lay there like a knocked over bowling pin, her hands in little fists beating at the couch pillows. By the time we stopped laughing and I’d hauled Jenny back into a sitting position, I was pretty sure we both felt like we’d been reborn.
    Jen said, “I guess I’m going on this dumb date.”
    “I have a good feeling about it,” I said, grinning.
    I cleaned up the kitchen and did a few odd jobs around Jenny’s apartment, until she ordered me to leave. I looked at her suspiciously. “Are you going to work now?”
    “No choice. We’re in court first thing Monday morning, and I’ve got a ton of material to review.”
    I shook my finger at her, and she shook hers back at me. We laughed, and I took off. I knew she was going to be all right. Her date might not actually succeed, but I could hope that it would. So I did. Hope, that is.

5
    I POWERED THROUGH THE rest of that Saturday with an unusual, and yes, excessive display of energy, especially for sluggish me. Three loads of laundry, all ironing done immediately, a five-mile run, major grocery shopping that included enough fresh fruit and vegetables to stop any cancer cells in their tracks, and the beginnings of a tomato sauce simmering on the stove. At seven o’clock in the evening, I became quite ill from the smell of the tomato sauce, an odor that I normally found intoxicating. That was when I remembered I didn’t have a date for the evening ahead, and I plunged into despair. I wandered down to my basement study and checked my e-mail. Nothing from Rabbitfish. I swung around in my chair and tried to imagine what he was doing. The only possibility that seemed at all feasible was a fabulous night out with a hot blonde babe, age thirty-five, who spoke five languages and could have had a professional singing career if she’d wanted.
    Unknowable, he’d said. Undoubtedly true.
    Back up the stairs and in my living room, I sat down on the flowered chintz couch. The two front windows were open and the early evening spring air was surprisingly chilly. I felt so tired and dispirited that I knew I had to do something to cheer myself up. I laid a fire in the fireplace, struck a match, and lit it. Then I ran upstairs, opened the windows in the kitchen so that the tomato sauce smells wouldn’t be quite so overpowering, and made myself a Tom Collins. I settled into a corner of the living room couch, with a Mozart CD playing quietly, and the lights turned off. I gazed into the fire and began to give myself a talking-to. The kind that says, Buck up, Be grateful, Quit complaining, It could always be worse, Who needs sex anyway, You have your health.
    Before I’d gotten very far, the phone rang.
    Isaac said, “Rose, am I interrupting?”
    I didn’t want him to know that I was sitting alone in my living room, drinking a Tom Collins. So I answered his question with a question. Always a good tactic. “How can I help you, Isaac?”
    “If you weren’t busy tonight, I was wondering if I could come over. I need to talk to you.”
    I swallowed. He sounded so damn serious, and this was the second time he’d asked to get together and talk. Obviously, something was up and I had this gruesome feeling that it might be serious. Maybe he was dying. How would I feel if I’d refused to listen to him when he really needed me at such a terrible moment in his life?
    “I just built a fire and I’m having a drink. You can come by, if you want.”
    “Thanks—I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
    In