The infirmary door opens.
“Dimitri!” Silvia hurries to my side. “Daddy said you had a breakdown!”
I lie back on the bed with an exasperated sigh. “It wasn't a—”
I don't bother explaining. A breakdown is as good of a term as any.
She pulls up a stool I hadn't noticed. “Did you get shot?”
Her tone sounds giddy with hope.
I turn my head to her. “I thought you didn't want anything to hurt your inheritance.”
“No,” she says, “I don't want anything to kill my inheritance.”
“Well, then, I stand corrected.” I stare at the ceiling. “No, not shot.”
The doctor steps closer. “Miss Walker, would you like me to bring you a chair?”
Silvia looks up at him, a twinkle on her face. “That would be lovely.”
The doctor bustles away like he's her personal servant. When he returns, he's struggling with a chair that belongs in a formal living room, not an infirmary.
Silvia accepts it, patting his hand on the arm of the chair. “Thank you, dear.”
He smiles. I know that look. He's giving her a thorough exam in his head.
“Let me know if I can get you anything else,” he says, then waits for her reply.
She waves a hand to dismiss him. He steps out of the room, and she turns back to me.
“Why don't you spend the night here?” She shakes her head. “You look horrible.”
“No, thanks,” I snap. “I'm afraid what you would do to me in my sleep.”
She giggles. “Nothing you wouldn't like.”
This is all a fuckin' joke to her.
I stand, expecting to be woozy, but the doctor has no idea what he's talking about. I squeeze around Silvia's chair to head for the door. She snags the bottom of my shirt. I brush her off and get the hell out of there before I say something I will regret.
***
Once I'm on the road back to Phoenix, I call Syd. The line rings at least a thousand times, but she finally picks up.
“Dim?” She sounds groggy. “How's work?”
“Come over,” I say, foot heavy on the gas pedal.
“Mm, okay.” She had definitely been sleeping. “Give me thirty?”
“I won't be home for a couple of hours. Please be there.”
I hang up.
I don't know what I expect her to do. Nothing, I guess. Or maybe everything. My brain is too jumbled to make sense.
I sigh. A few hours with Syd will get me back on track. We can just play checkers for all I care.
When I pull in to my carport, Syd is sitting on the edge of the porch, feet on the steps, staring down at her phone. Probably playing a game. Her purse and a large paper sack sit beside her.
She looks up and then waves as I cross the yard.
I pull her to her feet and kiss her. It's not sensual, and it's not a goodbye kiss either. It just is, and I've never been more thankful for anything.
When we break apart, she smiles at me with a mischievous glint. “I brought you a gift.”
I have nothing to say. My brain is lagging with too many thoughts that I can't sort out yet. So I unlock the door and stand aside as she enters.
“Long shift?” She steps out of her shoes. The heels are so thin, she might as well have been balancing on toothpicks.
“Yeah,” I say, dumbly.
She sits on the floor, cross-legged, facing the coffee table, and begins to pull little boxes and tins out of her purse.
I take a spot next to her, our knees touching. She produces a small blue glass hookah from the paper bag and loads it up. I don't miss that she adds a little something extra. In a few minutes, she's puffing on a hose.
Then she passes the hose to me. “You need this.”
I hesitate. If my night had been a success, I wouldn't think twice about hitting with her. But I have no idea how Karl is going to react in the next few hours. If he summons me to chit-chat about the missing safe, I will have to move fast to get Syd out the door.
Screw it. I take the hose and inhale from it. After a few minutes, I have a pleasant high. I could probably shake it off if Karl comes a-calling, but, for now, I embrace it.
Syd inhales another puff, then leans back on the floor as she breathes out the smoke. She's wearing cut-up black leggings and a short green dress. Her legs are spread un-ladylike. I crawl on top of her and lower to kiss her mouth. Her expression is mild. I suspect she had a trial run with the whacky tobacky before heading over.
I lie down next to her, and we stare at the ceiling like we're watching the stars.
“My grandma is relocating to Europe next week,” Syd says out of nowhere.
“That's nice.” I don't bother to move, not even to look at her. “Where to?”
“Italy. She tried to go to France, but I asked her not to. I hate Paris.”
I laugh, still watching the ceiling. “Who hates Paris?”
“Have you been?” Her tone is accusatory.
“No, can't say I have.”