The Woods (Page 47)

“Yeah,” I said. “It changed things.”

“Do you want to know more about your old flame?”

I nodded.

“She went to UCLA. Majored in psychology. She got a graduate degree from USC in the same, another in English from Stanford. I don’t have her entire work history yet, but she’s currently down the road at Reston U. Started last year. She, uh, she got two DUIs when she lived in California. One in 2001. Another in 2003. Pleaded out both times. Other than that, her record is clean.”

I sat there. DUI. That didn’t sound like Lucy. Her father, Ira, the head counselor, had been a major stoner—so much so that she’d had no interest in anything that would provide a high. Now she had two DUIs. It was hard to fathom. But of course, the girl I knew was not even of legal drinking age. She had been happy and a little naive and well-adjusted, and her family had money and her father was a seemingly harmless free spirit.

All that had died that night in the woods too.

“Another thing,” Muse said. She shifted in the seat, aiming for nonchalance. “Lucy Silverstein, aka Gold, isn’t married. I haven’t done all the checking yet, but from what I see, she’s never been married either.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. It certainly had no bearing on what was going on now. But it still pierced me. She was such a lively thing, so bright and energetic and so damn easy to love. How could she have remained single all these years? And then there were those DUIs.

“What time does her class end?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll call her then. Anything else?”

“Wayne Steubens doesn’t allow visitors, except for his immediate family and lawyer. But I’m working on it. I got some other coals in the fire, but that’s about it for now.”

“Don’t spend too much time on it.”

“I’m not.”

I looked at the clock. Twenty minutes.

“I should probably go,” Muse said.

“Yeah.”

She stood. “Oh, one more thing.”

“What?”

“Do you want to see a picture of her?”

I looked up.

“Reston University has faculty pages. There are pictures of all the professors.” She held up a small piece of paper. “I got the URL right here.”

She didn’t wait for my reply. She dropped the address on the table and left me alone.

I had twenty minutes. Why not?

I brought up my default page. I use one with Yahoo where you can choose a lot of your content. I had news, my sports teams, my two favorite comic strips—Doonesbury and FoxTrot—stuff like that. I typed in the Reston University Web site page Muse had given me.

And there she was.

It wasn’t Lucy’s most flattering photograph. Her smile was tight, her expression grim. She had posed for the picture, but you could see that she really didn’t want to. The blond hair was gone. That happens with age, I know, but I had a feeling that it was intentional. The color didn’t look right on her. She was older—duh—but as I had predicted, it worked on her. Her face was thinner. The high cheekbones were more pronounced.

And damn if she didn’t still look beautiful.

Looking at her face, something long dormant came alive and started twisting in my gut. I didn’t need that now. There were enough complications in my life. I didn’t need those old feelings resurfacing. I read her short bio, learned nothing. Nowadays students rank classes and professors. You could often find that information online. I did. Lucy was clearly beloved by her students. Her rankings were incredible. I read a few of the student comments. They made the class sound life altering. I smiled and felt a strange sense of pride.

Twenty minutes passed.

I gave it another five, pictured her saying good-bye to students, talking to a few who loitered behind, packing her lessons and sundries in some beat-up faux leather bag.

I picked up my office phone. I buzzed out to Jocelyn.

“Yes?”

“No calls,” I said. “No interruptions.”

“Okay.”

I pressed for an outside line. I dialed Lucy’s cell phone. On the third ring I heard her voice say, “Hello?”

My heart leapt into my throat but I managed to say, “It’s me, Luce.”

And then, a few seconds later, I heard her start to cry.

CHAPTER 21

“LUCE?” I SAID INTO THE PHONE. “YOU OKAY?”

“I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“You always were an easy cry,” I said, regretting it the moment it came out. But she snorted a laugh.

“Not anymore,” she said.

Silence.

Then I said, “Where are you?”

“I work at Reston University. I’m walking across the commons.”

“Oh,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m sorry about leaving such a cryptic message. I don’t go by Silverstein anymore.”

I didn’t want her to know I already knew this. But I didn’t want to lie either. So again I gave a noncommittal “Oh.”

More silence. She broke it this time.

“Man, this is awkward.”

I smiled. “I know.”

“I feel like a big dope,” she said. “Like I’m sixteen again and worried about a new zit.”

“Same here,” I said.

“We never really change, do we? I mean, inside, we’re always a scared kid, wondering what we’re going to be when we grow up.”

I was still smiling, but I thought about her never being married and the DUIs. We don’t change, I guess, but our path certainly does.

“It’s good to hear your voice, Luce.”

“Yours too.”

Silence.

“I was calling because…” Lucy stopped. Then: “I don’t even know how to say this, so let me ask a question. Has anything strange happened to you lately?”

“Strange how?”

“Strange as in about-that-night strange.”

I should have expected her to say something like that—knew it was coming—but the smile still fled as if I’d been punched. “Yes.”

Silence.

“What the hell is going on, Paul?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think we need to figure it out.”

“I agree.”

“Do you want to meet?”

“Yes.”