AROUND SEVEN THIRTY, Patel and I finally got up to go. As we did, though, she turned away from the door and toward me. The sudden look in her eyes was all but unmistakable — and it was scary in a whole other way.

“Have you ever had homemade chana masala?” she asked.

Still, I didn’t want to be too presumptuous. “Homemade? Never.”

“Because I’m a pretty good cook, despite appearances.” She gestured at her nondescript gray slacks and white blouse. “I think everyone here assumes I’m just some wonk who goes home to her seven cats and a Lean Cuisine every night.”

“I doubt that,” I said. Patel had always struck me as a classic diamond in the rough. She was the kind of woman who arrived at the office Christmas party all done up and dropped every jaw in the room.

“So, my car’s in the shop,” she went on. “I was thinking if you could save me the cab fare home, I’d pay you back with dinner.” Then she really threw me. Patel reached over and put her hand on top of mine. “Maybe even dessert,” she said. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re full of surprises,” I said, and we both laughed, a little nervously. “Listen, Anjali —”

“Oh God.” Her hand fell away. “It’s never good when they start with your name.”

“I’m in a relationship. We’re getting married.”

She nodded and started gathering up her stuff. “You know what they say about all the good men, right? Taken or gay. In fact, that’s going to be the title of my memoir. Think it will sell?”

This time we laughed for real. It cut right through the tension, which I think was nice for both of us.

“I appreciate the invitation,” I said, and meant it. If this were some other time in my life, I definitely would have been eating chana masala that night. Maybe dessert, too. “And I can still give you that ride if you want.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She tucked her laptop under her arm and held the conference room door for me. “If I’m not cooking, I’m going to stick around here and get some more work done. Meanwhile, if you wouldn’t mind forgetting we ever had this conversation —”

“What conversation?” I gave her my best wide-eyed innocent face on the way out. “I can’t remember a thing.”

Chapter 53

AFTER SOME REHEATED supper that night, and long after the kids had gone to bed, I got a call from Christine.

The second her name came up on the caller ID, I felt torn in a big way. I couldn’t just ignore her, but the last thing I wanted right now was more talk. The only reason I picked up in the end was to keep her from possibly coming over to the house again.

“What is it, Christine?”

Right away, I could hear she was crying. “It was wrong, what you did today, Alex. You didn’t have to push me away like that.”

I was already walking from the bedroom up to my office, and waited until I’d closed the door behind me to go on.

“I kind of did,” I said. “You showed up out of the blue and, even worse, you lied. More than once.”

“I only lied because I thought our son deserved to see his family together!”

It was as if we’d started fighting in record time, which was saying something for us. The whole thing made me feel exhausted. It brought back the terribleness I’d felt during the court case over Ali.

“Ali sees his family together every day,” I said. “Just not his mother.”

She sobbed again. “How can you say a thing like that?”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Christine. I’m just telling it like it is.” My patience, meanwhile, was hanging at the other end of a very thin thread. Christine had brought this on herself with her terrible inconsistency as a mother.

“Well, don’t worry, because you got your wish. I’m at the airport.”

“My wish is that we could all be happy with the choices we’ve made,” I said.

“Just as long as you’re happy first, isn’t that right, Alex? Isn’t that how it’s always been?”

And then my thread snapped.

Tags: James Patterson Alex Cross Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net