As he dressed, Ben looked around the room. Every corner was packed with junk, but there seemed an order about the clutter. One small bookshelf held half a dozen bamboo rain sticks along with a djembe drum and castanets. A table in another corner displayed jars of all sizes that held buttons. Under the window were a dozen boxes stacked like a pyramid.

When he wandered into the tiny kitchen, one place setting of ten different patterns of china hung on the wall.

Jenny didn’t look up from her paper as she handed him a glass of orange juice.

He saw two paper plates with two pieces of toast on each. Jelly and butter were between them. They stood on either side of a three-foot counter and ate.

“Thank you,” he finally managed. “You didn’t have to feed me.”

For the first time she met his gaze. “I don’t do anything but what I want to do. I wanted to feed you and I wanted to sleep with you, Ben.”

Ben didn’t lower his eyes. “I wanted the same.” The night was over. Now might be a good time to get everything straight between them. “This . . . what we did . . . doesn’t go with us to the college, agreed?”

She picked up her briefcase. “Agreed. You can continue to speak to me as little as possible, if you like.”

He opened the door and held it for her. “Purely professional.”

“Purely professional.”

As she passed him, she patted him on his bottom.

Chapter 18 - Ketch

Chapter 18

Ketch

Friday

The phone rattled a shill cry in the stormy night. For a moment Ketch was back in the army, reaching for his weapon.

It took him a second before he realized where he was. No army. No fear. No shells exploding. Only faraway thunder and lightning.

He was in his apartment over the construction offices. Safe. Home. Three years out of the army.

He picked up the phone. “Kincaid here.”

The sky was dark with clouds. He hadn’t overslept. He wasn’t late for work or school. The only other person who might call him besides his boss or Dr. Monroe was Tuesday and his boss or the professor wouldn’t call this early. “What do you need, kid?” he said, a smile already spreading across his face.

“Kid! You’ve never called me that.” The familiar voice came strong and fast, not soft like Tuesday’s low tone.

“Crystal?” He sat up and tried to scrub sleep from his head.

“Did you forget me already, Ketch? We only broke up a few weeks ago.”

“I got the letter one week ago. The wound is still raw.” He didn’t feel like arguing. She’d probably written the letter two weeks ago. What did it matter?