“Be right there,” I call out.
I open up the paper and put it on the floor near the glass table. I tip the table over it and scrape the coke into the newspaper with the razor, drop the razor in, too, fold up the paper, and slip it under the sofa cushion. I move a couple of pillows from the other side of the sofa to the cushion that covers the paper.
The glass table still has white powder residue on it, so I brush it with the palm of my hand and lick it off. I look at the palm of my hand. No powder. I wipe the saliva on my pants and check my nose in a hallway mirror.
I open the door.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Come in.”
“I can’t right now, but thanks.”
“I have coffee.”
“Maybe another time. I took a detour on the way to the office. I just thought I’d try you at home, since I haven’t been able to get you over the phone.”
“I meant to call back, but it’s been a little crazy.”
“I can imagine. I’ve seen the news, and Ian Gregory called me. He told me everything. Damn, you really got her back.”
“And you doubted I could?”
“No, of course not, but you know this world. You know the odds.”
“Yeah…”
“You did good, Frankie. That’s all I wanted to say. And despite all the shit you recently put me through, I’m really proud of you.”
Her smile might just feel better than the drugs.
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” I say.
“You’re forgiven, but on probation.”
“I’ll take that, then, ’cause I like the idea of having you as my parole officer.”
“Don’t think that I won’t step you back if I have to.”
“I’ll do my best to be good. Can we have dinner sometime soon?”
“That would be nice,” she says.
“There are a couple of new spots I’ve been wanting to check out.”
“Me, too. Maybe the end of the week. Give me a call.”
“I will.”
She reaches up and kisses me lightly on the cheek. I want to make a turn for her lips, but don’t. It’ll just fuck up the moment.
“It’s getting cold. Winter will be here soon,” she says. “Then, before we know it, Christmas and a new year.”
She turns and walks toward her car.
I step out on the porch.
“I’ll call you at the end of the week,” I say.
She turns to me and says, “Okay.”
I watch her get into her car and drive. She makes a left on W and disappears.
The holiday season is right around the corner. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and especially New Year’s Eve are the only holidays I don’t like spending alone, and I’m thinking she doesn’t either. She’s got a family like mine—pretty much nonexistent. Maybe she threw me a hint that we’d be spending this one together, too.
So I feel damn good, and it’s not because I’m high or because of the nice stash I have tucked away. I have more than enough so I don’t have to worry for a while, but still, where’s the hope in that?