Read Online Thin Air by George Simpson, Neal Burger - Free Book Online
Authors: George Simpson, Neal Burger
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hold her as deep sobs wracked her body. The anger fled and he found himself flattered that she still needed him. It was a small triumph.
"Jan," he said softly. Her only response was to pull him closer.
"Sorry..." she finally mumbled. "I can't help it."
He led her to the couch and made her sit down. "Do you want a drink?" She shook her head. He decided to mix one anyway. He made a vodka and tonic, just the way she used to like it "Best cure in the world for grief," he said. "Get blind drunk and stay that way for a week."
She took it, hardly noticing what it was, and drank it down. Then she slumped back on the cushions. "God, Nicky, how could it happen?"
"The coroner says heart attack, pure and simple," he said. Why complicate the situation?
"But he never had a history of heart trouble," she protested.
"He never told you he had a history," said Hammond.
"He had insurance checkups just recently. He was healthy."
"Maybe—" Hammond stopped himself. What was the use of speculating? It would only get him into things he couldn't talk about yet.
"He was a sweet man, Nicky. He married me on an impulse. There was no soul-searching, no hesitation....He" simply wanted to marry me."
It could have been you, you bumbling idiot, he told himself. He got up and refilled her drink. She was already starting to slur.
"He'd been married before," she went on. "She divorced him fifteen years ago and then died suddenly....They had a son who's grown up now and lives in Virginia." Jan paused. Her voice trembled. "We don't get along." She took another healthy swallow of the liquor and her head lolled back.
"I was good for him, Nicky. He needed me. There was no competition in our relationship. He worked and I..." She stopped and looked blearily at Hammond, perched on the chair in what she took to be a disapproving pose.
"I didn't marry him for his money," she said sharply.
"You don't have to tell me any of this, Jan."
Her eyes searched his and then looked away. He wondered what she saw. She looked around the room. "You haven't changed things much. You never got that sofa re-covered." Absently, she fondled a small jade elephant on the side table. "Haven't you found anyone, Nicky?"
To take your place? he thought. Sure, baby, hundreds of them. One a night. "I never did find it easy getting involved."
"No," she agreed. She looked at him a long time, took some more liquor, then leaned forward, supporting herself on one arm. "You don't hate me, do you, Nick?"
"No." He laughed hollowly.
"Tell me the truth."
"Water under the bridge, Jan."
She looked at the floor. "Could I stay here—just for tonight?"
He hesitated, then spread his hands. "Stay if you want. But I won't be with you." He got up. "I have to pack."
"You don't have to move out," she said. "I won't get in your way."
"I've got business," he said with a reassuring smile. "Maybe your mother could—"
"We fight. We had a big battle this morning. She decided now was the time to tell me what she thought of Harold."
Hammond whistled. "How about a friend? Call anybody you like. Have them stay here."
Jan shrugged.
"Look, I'll be back as soon as I can. There's enough food in the refrigerator so you won't have to go out."
She stood up suddenly, her eyes searching his again, terrified. "Don't leave,'' she begged.
He surveyed her darkly. This time his arms moved first and they stood quietly together, leaning on each other.
He made her another drink, intent on deadening her anguish. She fell asleep in a chair. He carried her to the bedroom, took off her suit, and tucked her under the covers. He was almost out the door when she woke up and pleaded with him to stay. He dropped into the chair by the bed and, in the dusk, watched her soft form rustle under the bedclothes.
He sat there longer than necessary—long after she was asleep—thinking about her. Three years she had spent with him—in this very apartment. And they had been good
"Jan," he said softly. Her only response was to pull him closer.
"Sorry..." she finally mumbled. "I can't help it."
He led her to the couch and made her sit down. "Do you want a drink?" She shook her head. He decided to mix one anyway. He made a vodka and tonic, just the way she used to like it "Best cure in the world for grief," he said. "Get blind drunk and stay that way for a week."
She took it, hardly noticing what it was, and drank it down. Then she slumped back on the cushions. "God, Nicky, how could it happen?"
"The coroner says heart attack, pure and simple," he said. Why complicate the situation?
"But he never had a history of heart trouble," she protested.
"He never told you he had a history," said Hammond.
"He had insurance checkups just recently. He was healthy."
"Maybe—" Hammond stopped himself. What was the use of speculating? It would only get him into things he couldn't talk about yet.
"He was a sweet man, Nicky. He married me on an impulse. There was no soul-searching, no hesitation....He" simply wanted to marry me."
It could have been you, you bumbling idiot, he told himself. He got up and refilled her drink. She was already starting to slur.
"He'd been married before," she went on. "She divorced him fifteen years ago and then died suddenly....They had a son who's grown up now and lives in Virginia." Jan paused. Her voice trembled. "We don't get along." She took another healthy swallow of the liquor and her head lolled back.
"I was good for him, Nicky. He needed me. There was no competition in our relationship. He worked and I..." She stopped and looked blearily at Hammond, perched on the chair in what she took to be a disapproving pose.
"I didn't marry him for his money," she said sharply.
"You don't have to tell me any of this, Jan."
Her eyes searched his and then looked away. He wondered what she saw. She looked around the room. "You haven't changed things much. You never got that sofa re-covered." Absently, she fondled a small jade elephant on the side table. "Haven't you found anyone, Nicky?"
To take your place? he thought. Sure, baby, hundreds of them. One a night. "I never did find it easy getting involved."
"No," she agreed. She looked at him a long time, took some more liquor, then leaned forward, supporting herself on one arm. "You don't hate me, do you, Nick?"
"No." He laughed hollowly.
"Tell me the truth."
"Water under the bridge, Jan."
She looked at the floor. "Could I stay here—just for tonight?"
He hesitated, then spread his hands. "Stay if you want. But I won't be with you." He got up. "I have to pack."
"You don't have to move out," she said. "I won't get in your way."
"I've got business," he said with a reassuring smile. "Maybe your mother could—"
"We fight. We had a big battle this morning. She decided now was the time to tell me what she thought of Harold."
Hammond whistled. "How about a friend? Call anybody you like. Have them stay here."
Jan shrugged.
"Look, I'll be back as soon as I can. There's enough food in the refrigerator so you won't have to go out."
She stood up suddenly, her eyes searching his again, terrified. "Don't leave,'' she begged.
He surveyed her darkly. This time his arms moved first and they stood quietly together, leaning on each other.
He made her another drink, intent on deadening her anguish. She fell asleep in a chair. He carried her to the bedroom, took off her suit, and tucked her under the covers. He was almost out the door when she woke up and pleaded with him to stay. He dropped into the chair by the bed and, in the dusk, watched her soft form rustle under the bedclothes.
He sat there longer than necessary—long after she was asleep—thinking about her. Three years she had spent with him—in this very apartment. And they had been good
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