“Chicken. What stuff?”
“Oh, you know. Got to school late, and everything fell apart after that.
You ever have one of those days?”
He goes to the stove and flips the chicken. “Yeah. Practically every day last semester, when you wouldn’t talk to me. So what happened?”
She sighs. “My beaker exploded. Third hour. Durbin. I had to go in after school to redo the experiment.”
He looks at her, tongs in hand. “The guy with the groceries?”
She nods.
“And?”
“And…I think he’s the guy we’re after. I called Captain.”
He sets the tongs down loudly on the counter. “What makes you think that?”
“He touched me. It was…weird.” She says it quickly, and then turns and goes into the bathroom.
But he’s right behind her, and she can’t get the door closed because his foot is in the way. “Where?” he shouts.
She cringes. Squeaks. She takes a breath, gathers her nerve, and gives him a furious look. “Stop it, Cabe! If you can’t handle this without getting in my face about it, I’m not going to tell you anything.”
He hears her.
His eyes grow wide.
“Oh baby,” he whispers. Steps back. Out of the doorway. His face is ashen. He walks slowly back to the kitchen. Leans over the counter.
Puts his head in his hands. His hair falls over his fingers.
The bathroom door clicks shut.
She stays in there for a long time.
He’s pulling his hair out.
Finally, frustrated, he calls Captain. “What’s going on, sir?”
There is a pause, and then he says, “She said he touched her. That’s all
I’ve gotten out of her so far.”
He nods.
Yanks his hair.
“Yes, sir.”
He listens intently.
His face changes.
“It’s what?”
Then.
“Bloody fucking fuck,” he mutters. “You’re kidding.” He closes his eyes. “Shoot me now. I didn’t know.”
He turns off the phone.
Sets it on the table.
Walks to the bathroom door.
Leans his forehead against the molding.
“Janie,” he says. “I’m sorry I yelled. I can’t stand the thought of that creep touching you. I’ll get a handle on it. I promise.”
He waits. Listens.
“Janie,” he says again.
Then gets worried.
“Janie, please let me know you’re okay in there. I’m worried. Just say something, anything, so I—”
“I’m okay in here,” she says.
“Will you come out?”
“Will you stop yelling at me?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re driving me crazy,” she says, coming out. “And you scared me.”
He nods.
“Don’t do that.”
“Okay.”
7:45 p.m.