“You’ve got a lot of trophies,” she remarked.

Brazil shrugged, moving closer to crowded shelves he paid no mind to anymore. He pointed out especially significant awards and explained what they were. He gave her a few highlights of dramatic matches, and for a while they sat on his bed as he reminisced about days from his youth that he had lived with no audience, really, but strangers. He told her about his father, and she gave him her own vague recollection of Drew Brazil.

“I only knew who he was, that was about it,” she said. “Back then I was pretty green, too, just a beat cop hoping to make sergeant. I remember all the women thought he was good-looking.” She smiled. “There was a lot of talk about that, and that he seemed nice.”

“He was nice,” Brazil told her. “I guess in some ways he was old-fashioned, but that was the time he lived in.” He picked at his fingernails, his head bent. “He was crazy about my mother. But she’s always been spoiled. She grew up that way. I’ve always thought the biggest reason she couldn’t deal with his death is she lost the person who doted on her the most and took care of her.”

“You don’t think she loved him?” West was curious, and she was very aware of how close they were sitting on his bed. She was glad the door was partially open, the knob off.

“My mother doesn’t know how to love anybody, including herself.”

Brazil was watching her. She could feel his eyes like heat. Thunder and lightning played war outside the window as rain came down hard. She looked at him, too, and wondered if life would ruin his sweetness as he got older. She felt sure it would, and got up from the bed.

“What you’ve got to do is call the phone company first thing in the morning,” she advised him. “Tell them you want Caller I.D. This little box won’t do you a bit of good until they give you that service, okay?”

He watched her, saying nothing at first. Then it occurred to him, “Is it expensive?”

“You can manage it. Who’s been hitting on you at work?” she wanted to know as she moved closer to the door.

“Axel, a couple women back in composing.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, don’t notice.” He shrugged again.

“Anybody able to get into your computer basket?” she said as more thunder cracked.

“I don’t see how.”

West looked at his PC.

“I’m going to move that to my apartment. I didn’t have room in my car the other day,” he volunteered.

“Maybe you could write your next story on it,” she said.

Brazil continued to watch her. He lay back on the bed, hands behind his head. “Wouldn’t do any good,” he said. “Still has to go into the newspaper computer one way or another.”

“What if you changed your password?” she asked, slipping her hands in her pockets and leaning against the wall.