Perfect Match Read Online Free PDF

bout her is the way she enters a room. Stage presence, that's what his mothe r used to call it when Nina barreled into the Ducharme kitchen, helped herse lf to an Oreo from the cookie jar, and then paused, as if to give everyone e lse a chance to catch up to her. All Patrick knows is that his back can be t o the door, and when Nina comes in, he can feel it-a tickle of energy on th e nape of his neck, a snap to attention as every eye in the place turns towa rd her.
    Today, he is sitting at the empty bar. Tequila Mockingbird is a cop hangout , which means it doesn't really get busy until dinnertime. In fact, there h ave been times that Patrick has wondered whether the establishment opens ea rly simply to accommodate himself and Nina for their standing Monday lunche s. He checks his watch, but he knows he is early-he always is. Patrick does n't want to miss the moment she walks in, the way her face turns unerringly to his, like the needle of a compass at true north.
    Stuyvesant, the bartender, flips over a tarot card from a deck. From the looks of it, he's playing solitaire. Patrick shakes his head. “That's not what they 're for, you know.”
    “Well, I don't know what the hell else to do with 'em.” He is sorting them by suit: wands, cups, swords, and pentacles. “They got left behind in the ladie s' room.” The bartender stubs out his cigarette and follows the line of Patri ck's gaze toward the door. “Jesus,” he says. "When are you going to tell her?
    "
    “Tell her what?”
    But Stuyvesant just shakes his head and pushes the pile of cards toward Pat rick. “Here. You need these more than I do.”
    “What's that supposed to mean?” Patrick asks, but at that moment Nina walks i n. The air in the room hums like a field full of crickets, and Patrick feels something light as helium filling him, until before he knows it he has gotten up from his seat.
    “Always a gentleman,” Nina says, tossing her big black purse beneath the ba r.
    “And an officer, too.” Patrick smiles at her. “Go figure.” She isn't the girl who used to live next door, hasn't been for years. Back th en she had freckles and jeans with holes at the knees and a pony-tail yanked so tight it made her eyes pull at the corners. Now, she wears pantyhose and t ailored suits; she has had the same short-bob hairstyle for five years. But w hen Patrick gets close enough, she still smells like childhood to him. Nina glances at his uniform as Stuyvesant slides a cup of coffee in front of her. “Did you run out of clean laundry?”
    “No, I had to spend the morning at an elementary school talking about Hall oween safety. The chief insisted I wear a costume, too.” He hands her two sugars for her coffee before she asks. “How was your hearing?”
    “The witness wasn't found competent.” She says this without betraying a sin gle emotion on her face, but Patrick knows her well enough to realize how m uch it's killing her. Nina stirs her coffee, then smiles up at him. “Anyway , I have a case for you. My two o'clock meeting, actually.” Patrick leans his head on his hand. When he went off to the military, Nina was at law school. She'd been his best friend then, too. Every other day th at he was serving on the USS John F. Kennedy in the Persian Gulf, he receiv ed a letter from her, and through it, the vicarious life he might have had. He learned the names of the most detested professors at U of Maine. He dis covered how terrifying it was to take the bar exam. He read about falling i n love, when Nina met Caleb Frost, walking down a brick path he'd just laid in front of the library. Where is this going to take me? she had asked. An d Caleb's answer: Where do you want it to?
    By the time Patrick's enlistment was up, Nina had gotten married. Patrick c onsidered settling down in places that rolled off the tongue: Shawnee, Poca tello, Hickory. He went so far as to rent a U-Haul truck and drive exactly one thousand miles from New York City to Riley, Kansas. But