He was clearly uncomfortable talking about it so she let the topic drop. It was probablyMatchbook Collecting Monthly,or something really lame. She respected his right not to have to tell her everything he wrote for money. “How’s the novel coming?” she asked to guide the conversation onto saferground.
“It’s great. Now I’ve got it mapped out and the characters are clear in my head, it’s as if they keep talking to me. I think I’m going insane myself. There are voices in my head. I kid younot.”
“What do they say?” She was mildly amused, but also fascinated. She’d never known anyone who’d written a novel before. Well, except for her brother, Sam, who used to write the adventures of SuperSam as a kid, complete with hand-drawncartoons.
“They don’t talk to me. They talk to each other. It’s kind of spooky, but cool. This morning the psychiatrist told the hero she wouldn’t marry him. Of course, I pretty much knew she’d refuse, but she did it right when the poor guy was hurting. He needed to be strong and her rejection weakened him. Now the killer’s closingin.”
She shivered at the intense expression on his face. She could tell Luke had disappeared into his story world. It was fascinating. “Will she change her mind?” she askedsoftly.
“Hmm?Who?”
“The woman. The psychiatrist. Will she change her mind and marry him in the end? That’s the kind of book I like. I’m a sucker for a happyending.”
He shook his head and in the flickering candlelight she saw his lip curl in derision. “No. She won’t make thatmistake.”
“Mistake? But he needs her.” She leaned forward, feeling, from what Luke had told her about the book, as though she half knew these people. “She helps him stay strong. Without her, he’s toovulnerable.”
“You’re a romantic,Shari. People have to be strong on their own. It’s the only way to get throughlife.”
“Well, I admit to being a romantic,” she said, a little stung at his easy dismissal of marriage. “But it’s better than being acynic.”
“Cynics don’t lose theirillusions.”
She thought of her friend Therese. “Most cynics I know are romantics who have lost their illusions. Is that what happened to you,Luke?”
The sound the metal legs of his chair made when they scratched against the cement-floored balcony was like that of a match being lit. “We’re talking about characters in abook.”
“That cynical-loner attitude seems to be coming fromyou.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair to stare at the curving glitter of moon and the few scattered stars. “Marriage isn’t for me. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for somepeople.”
Sadness trickled through her. His words were matter-of-fact, but she sensed his seeming nonchalance blocked a heap of pain. Somebody had hurt him, and hurt himbad.
“Ready for coffee anddessert?”
She hesitated. It was barely ten. She couldn’t leave now. “I’m too full for dessert. I’ll do the dishes while you make thecoffee.”
“Deal.”
She rinsed and put the plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, realizing that Luke was a much neater cook than she was. Once the coffee had brewed, she hesitated about going back outside. But that couch brought back memories that gave her a hot combination of embarrassment anddesire.
He took the decision away from her by saying, “Come on. I want to show yousomething.”
Taking her hand, he led her toward a door. Since their apartments were identical, she knew what was behindit.
“That’s yourbedroom.”
“I know. It’s where I keep my computer. I was hoping you’d read the passage in my book that I told you about. Let me know if the psychiatrist’s dialogue sounds like something a woman wouldsay.”
This was either the cheesiest excuse she’d ever heard to get a woman into his bedroom or he actually wanted her to read a bit of his novel, which was fascinating, and possibly a window into how Luke felt aboutwomen.
But did she really want to go into hisbedroom?
