I dropped the brush into a paint tray, climbed down off the ladder, my sweatshirt, jeans, and hands smudged with damp paint. As though I had the plague, Ben backed away from me, his hands outstretched, as if to ward off an attack. “Watch that paint, will ya? These are new shoes.”

I fisted my hands on my hips. “Since when are you and Weber bosom buddies?”

He shrugged, paused. “He’s around. I’m around. Cops talk. He says you took a pass on that drowning case. Ayers? Good. Clear case of rich-kid suicide.”

“You all came to that conclusion awful quick. Was it really that easy?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Stepped right into that one. Go back to your wall. The burning issue here is how you want me to handle Weber.”

“I know we’re close, but I don’t need you this close. My bedroom’s my business, yours is yours. Got it?”

“So you are interested,” Ben said.

I picked up the roller and brandished it in his direction, which sent him backpedaling. “One more word about Weber and I go full-on Jackson Pollock.”

He flicked his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. “I could pass him a note in study hall.”

“And I could paint your new shoes.”

“Gotta go.” He hightailed it out, slamming the door behind him. What I like to eat?

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Friday morning, I stared at the ad I’d just written for the apartment I needed to rent. It was propped up on my office desk, leaning against an old pencil box that only held ballpoint pens.

It read simply: Two bedrooms/full bath/hardwood floors/full kitchen/close to U of C campus and public transportation/no pets. It was all I had so far. I flashed on little Nate’s face as he cowered in a niche clinging to his mother, and then drew a pen out of the box and scribbled an addition: no children. I held the ad in my hand, read it over, then balled it up and threw it in the wastebasket at my feet.

I rose from my squeaky chair, restless. I’d tried sleeping on Jung’s problem, but hadn’t been able to. My thoughts kept coming back to the wounded look on his face. Why did I feel so guilty? I hardly knew him. We weren’t friends. I ordered the sandwich; he delivered the sandwich. It was a fair exchange, and I always tipped well. What did I have to prove?