Size 14 Is Not Fat Either Part 18

I look down at the plate. He has arranged the eggs so that they are like eyes, and the bacon is a smiling mouth, just like he used to do when I was a kid.

Suddenly I am overwhelmed by an urge to cry.

d.a.m.n him. How can he do this to me?

"They're fine, thanks," I mutter, and sit down at the kitchen table.

"Well," Cooper says, finally lowering the paper, "now that that's settled, Heather, your dad is going to be staying with us for a while, until he figures out what his next move is going to be. Which is good, because I can use the help. I have more work than I can handle on my own, and your dad has just the kind of qualities I need in an a.s.sistant."

"The ability to blend," I say, chomping on a strip of bacon. Which is, by the way, delicious. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Lucy, whom Dad lets back in after she scratched on the door, is enjoying a strip I snuck her, as well.

"Correct," Cooper says. "An ability which should never be underestimated when you are in the private investigative field."

The phone rings. Dad says, "I'll get that," and leaves the kitchen to do so.

The second he's gone, Cooper says, in a different tone, "Look, if it's really a problem, I'll get him a room somewhere. I didn't realize things were so...unsettled...between you two. I thought it might be good for you."

I stare at him. "Good for me? How is having my ex-con dad live with me good for me?"

"Well, I don't know," Cooper says, looking uncomfortable. "It's just that...you don't have anyone."

"As I believe we have discussed before," I say acidly, "neither do you."

"But I don't need anyone," he points out.

"Neither do I," I say.

"Heather," he says, flatly. "You do. No one died, left you their townhouse, and made you independently wealthy. And, no offense, twenty-three thousand dollars a year, in Manhattan, is a joke. You need all the friends and family you can get."

"Including jailbirds?" I demand.

"Look," Cooper says. "Your dad's an extremely intelligent man. I'm sure he's going to land on his feet. And I think you're going to want to be around when that happens, if only to inflict enough guilt on him to get him to throw some money your way. He owes you college tuition, at least."

"I don't need tuition money," I say. "I get to go free because I work there, remember?"

"Yes," Cooper says, with obviously forced patience. "But you wouldn't have to work there if your dad would agree to pay your tuition."

I blink at him. "You mean...quit my job?"

"To go to school full-time, if getting a degree is really your goal?" He sips his coffee. "Yes."

It's funny, but though what he's saying makes sense, I can't imagine what it would be like not to work at Fischer Hall. I've only been doing it for a little over half a year, but it feels like I've been doing it all my life. The idea of not going there every day seems strange.

Is this how everybody who works in an office feels? Or is it just that I actually like my job?

"Well," I say, miserably, staring at my plate. My empty plate. "I guess you're right. I just...I feel like I take enough advantage of your hospitality. I don't want my family sponging off you now, too."

"Why don't you let me worry about protecting myself from spongers," Cooper says wryly. "I can take care of myself. And besides, you don't take advantage. My accounts have never been so well organized. The bills actually go out on time for a change, and they're all accurate. That's why I can't believe they're making you take remedial math, you do such a great job-"

I gasp at the words remedial math, suddenly remembering something. "Oh, no!"

Cooper looks startled. "What?"

"Last night was my first cla.s.s," I say, dropping my head into my hands. "And I s.p.a.ced it! My first cla.s.s...my first course for college credit...and I missed it!"

"I'm sure your professor will understand, Heather," Cooper says. "Especially if he's been reading the paper lately."

Dad comes back into the kitchen, holding the cordless phone from the front hallway. "It's for you, Heather," he says. "Your boss, Tom. What a charming young man he is. We had a nice chat about last night's game. Really, for a Division Three team, your boys put on quite a show."

I take the phone from him, rolling my eyes. If I have to hear one more thing about basketball, I'm going to scream.

And what am I going to do about what Kimberly said last night? Was there something going on between Coach Andrews and Lindsay Combs? And if so...why would he kill her over it?

"I know the school's closed," I say to Tom. "But I'm still coming in." Because, considering my newest housemate, a monsoon couldn't keep me away, let alone a little old nor'easter.

"Of course you are," Tom says. Clearly, the idea that I might do what all the other New Yorkers are doing today-staying in-never even occurred to him. "That's why I'm glad I caught you before you left. Dr. Jessup called-"

I groan. This is not a good sign.

"Yeah," Tom says. "He called from his house in Westchester, or wherever it is he lives. He wants to make sure a representative from Housing shows up at the hospital to visit Manuel today. To show we care. Also to bring flowers, since there are no florist shops open, thanks to the storm. He says if you buy something from the hospital gift shop, I can reimburse you from petty cash...."

"Oh," I say. I'm confused. This is a sort of a high-profile a.s.signment. I mean, Dr. Jessup doesn't usually ask his a.s.sistant hall directors to step in as representatives of the department. Not that he doesn't trust us. Just that...well, I personally haven't been the most popular person on staff since I dropped the Wa.s.ser Hall a.s.sistant hall director during that trust game. "Are you sure I'm the one he wants to go?"

"Well," Tom says, "he really didn't specify. But he wants someone from the Housing Department to go, to make it look like we care-"

"We do care," I remind him.

"Well, of course we care," Tom says. "But I think he meant we as in the Housing Department, not we as in the people who actually know Manuel. I just figured since you and Manuel have a previously existing relationship, and you're the one who, in effect, saved his life, and-"

"And I'm two blocks closer to St. Vincent's than anyone else at Fischer Hall right now," I finish for him. It's all becoming clear now.

"Something like that," Tom says. "So. Will you do it? Swing over there before coming here? You can take a cab there and back-if you can find one-and Dr. Jessup says he'll reimburse you if you bring back the receipt...."

"You know I'm happy to do it," I say. Anytime I get to spend money and charge it to the department is a happy day for me. "How are you doing, though?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, even though the answer is vitally important to my future happiness. There's no telling what kind of heinous boss I might get a.s.signed if Tom left. Possibly someone like Dr. Kilgore.... "Are you still thinking...I mean, the other day you mentioned wanting to go back to Texas-"

"I'm just trying to take this one day at a time, Heather," Tom says, with a sigh. "Murder and a.s.sault were never covered in any of my student personnel cla.s.ses, you know."

"Right," I say. "But, you know, in Texas they don't have fun blizzards. At least, not very often."

"That's true," he says. Still, Tom doesn't sound convinced of New York's superiority over Texas. "Anyway, I'll see you in a bit. Stay warm."

"Thanks," I say. And I hang up......to find Cooper looking at me strangely over his coffee.

"Going to St. Vincent's to visit Manuel?" he asks lightly. Too lightly.

"Yes," I say, averting my gaze. I know what he's thinking. And nothing could be further from the truth. Well, maybe not nothing.... "I doubt I'll find a cab, so I better go bundle up-"

"You're just going to give Manuel get-well wishes," Cooper says, "and then head back to work, right? You wouldn't, say, hang around and try to question him about who attacked him last night and why, would you?"

I laugh heartily at that. "Cooper!" I cry. "G.o.d, you're so funny! Of course I wouldn't do that. I mean, the poor guy was brutally stabbed. He was in surgery all night. He probably won't even be awake. I'll just sneak in, leave the flowers-and balloons-and go."

"Right," Cooper says. "Because Detective Canavan told you to stay out of the investigation into Lindsay's murder."

"Totally," I say.

Dad, who has been watching our exchange with the same kind of intensity he watched the basketball game the night before, looks confused. "Why would Heather interfere with the investigation into that poor girl's death?"

"Oh," Cooper says, "let's just say that your daughter has a tendency to get a little overinvolved in the lives of her residents. And their deaths."

Dad looks at me gravely. "Now, honey," he says, "you really ought to leave that sort of thing to the police. You don't want to be getting hurt, now, do you?"

I look from Dad to Cooper and then back again. Suddenly it hits me: I'm outnumbered. There's two of them now, and only one of me.

I let out a frustrated scream and stomp out of the room.

17.

This town ain't just steel and concrete This town ain't just millions of stories Teeth knocked out, but I'm still smiling A street-smart fighter sayin', "Come on and try me."

"Street Fighter"

Written by Heather Wells

The gift shop is open, thank G.o.d. The flowers aren't exactly very fresh-looking, though-no delivery that morning, on account of the road conditions, which are so bad I not only couldn't get a cab, but had to walk in pretty much the center of the street in order to avoid drifts up to my knees.

Still, they have balloons of every size and description, and the helium tank is working, so I have fun making an enormous balloon bouquet. Then I have them throw in a GET WELL SOON bear for good measure, after first making sure the GET WELL SOON banner comes off, so Manuel can regift the bear to a girlfriend or niece. You have to think about these things when you're giving stuffed toys to a man.

I make my way up to ICU, which is where Manuel is being held, to find him awake, but groggy, with a lot of tubes coming in and out of him. There are a lot of people in his room, including a woman who appears to be his mother, who is slumped exhaustedly in a chair near Julio, who is also dozing. While I see two cops-one posted at either entrance to the intensive care unit-I don't see Detective Canavan anywhere. He either hasn't made it into the city yet, or was already here and left.

There are two law enforcementy-looking guys leaning against the wall by the door to Manuel's room, both in suits that are damp up to the knees from their walks through the snowdrifts outside. They're holding Styrofoam cups of coffee. One is saying, as I approach, "Canavan get anything out of 'im?"

"Nothing he could make any sense of." The younger man is wearing a tie in a festive tropical print. "Asked him if he knew why he'd been stabbed. All he did was groan."

"Canavan ask him about the key?"

"Yep. Got about the same response. Nothing."

"What about the girl?"

"Nothing."

"Maybe we should get the kid's uncle to ask him," the older one says, nodding at a dozing Julio. "Might be he'll respond better to a face he recognizes."

"The kid's completely out of it," his colleague says with a shrug. "We're not getting s.h.i.t out of him."

Both men notice me at the same time. I'm kind of hard to miss, with my enormous balloon bouquet. Also, I'm clearly eavesdropping.

"Can we help you, miss?" the younger one asks, sounding bored.

"Oh, hi," I say. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm here to see Manuel Juarez? I'm from the Housing Department, over at New York College, where Manuel works. They sent me to see how he's doing."

"You got ID?" the older detective, or whatever he is, asks, in as bored a voice as his colleague has used.

I fumble for my staff ID. I have to have the younger one hold the balloons while I do so.

"Nice bear," he comments dryly.

"Thanks," I say. "I thought so."

They check the ID. Then the older one hands it back and says, "Knock yourself out," while nodding toward Manuel's room.

I take back my balloons and, with some difficulty, maneuver them through the door, then quietly approach Manuel's side. He watches me the whole time, without making a sound. The only noise I can hear, as a matter of fact, is the steady breathing of his uncle and a woman I a.s.sume is his mother. And the clicking of all the machines next to his bed, doing whatever they're doing to him.

"Well, hey, there, Manuel," I say with a smile, showing him the balloons. "These are for you, from all of us over at Fischer Hall. We hope you feel better soon. Sorry about the bear, I know it's a bit, you know. But they were out of flowers."

Manuel manages a slight smile. Encouraged, I go on, "You aren't feeling so hot, are you? I'm so sorry those guys did this to you, Manuel. It really stinks."

Manuel opens his mouth to say something, but the only thing that comes out is a grunting noise. I see his gaze go to the brown pitcher on the table by his bed. There are some paper cups next to it.

"You want some water?" I ask. "Did anybody tell you that you weren't supposed to have any? Because sometimes they don't want you to drink, if you're going to have more surgery or something."

Manuel shakes his head. So, after letting the balloons drift to the ceiling so I don't have to hang on to them anymore, I pour some of the water into a paper cup.

"Here you go," I say, and hold the cup out to him.

He's too weak to lift his hands, though-they're weighted down by all the tubes going into them anyway-so I put the cup to his lips. He drinks thirstily.

When he finishes the first cup, he looks pointedly at the pitcher, so, figuring he wants a refill, I pour him another one. He drinks that one, too, only slower. When he's done with that one, I ask if he wants more. Manuel shakes his head, and is finally able to speak.

"I was so thirsty," Manuel said. "I tried to tell those guys-" He nods at the two detectives in the hallway. "But they didn't understand me. I couldn't talk, my throat was so dry. Thank you."

"Oh," I say. "No problem."