the other end of the line, he heard Zina's voice falter and then turn sniffly. "I know ... I know what you said. But it's him. It is him," she insisted poignantly to the machine. "I know it is. So I'm going to Providence tomorrow—"
Shit! He rolled away from his date and snatched up the phone. "Zee, what're you talkin ' about? Are you nuts?"
"Oh, Zack—you're home," she said, sounding less offended than relieved. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, no, nothing," he mumbled, but he grabbed a corner of the sheet and pulled it over his groin. This was Zina he was talking to: an emotional, naive, hopelessly fragile human being. The least he could do was cover up in deference to her goodness.
He tried, as gently as he knew how, to crush her plan. "Zee, I don't think that's a good idea. It would be too stressful for you."
"I'm stressed now," she said simply. "Ever since I saw the photo in the paper."
"You'd be depressed if—when—you found out it wasn't him."
"Zack, don't you understand? I'm depressed now."
"It could be embarrassing—"
"Not to me. Maybe to him."
"It could be dangerous, for crissake!"
"How? If he's Jimmy or if he isn't, the worst he could do wou ld be to brush me off. You know the way these lottery winners have to brush off charities and relatives and con artists. Who knows? Maybe he has a security guard that I won't be able to get past."
"Ah, geez..." Zack glanced at his date, sitting where she'd landed at the edge of the bed when he'd dumped her to grab the phone. Brittany was wearing a polite smile—but that was all, and she knew that he was well aware of it.
He smiled back, also politely, while he focused on the crisis at hand. "Zee, I haven't asked you for much in life, but I'm asking you now: don't do this. For me. Don't do this."
He heard her shocked intake of breath. "Zack! How can you ask me not to?"
He turned away from Brittany now and hunched over the phone with one hand slapped over his free ear, feeling like a soldier in a foxhole during a firefight. "What will you gain, Zina?" he said, forcing himself not to scream at her. "What can you possibly gain? He's moved on, wherever and whoever he is. Let it go."
After a long pause she gave him an answer, spoken softly but resolutely, that wasn't a reply to his question. "I have to see him."
He'd lost. It was a novel sensation. He felt the way he would have if she'd beaten him at arm wrestling, and for a moment he wasn't quite sure what to say. Later he realized that his ego had been smarting: he'd been her brother for thirty-four years, and yet there he was, outranked by an asshole she'd known for little more than that many weeks.
But at that moment, all Zack cared about was keeping his sister from a self-inflicted wound that he was convinced could end up being fatal.
"All right," he told her. "I won't object to hunting him down—if you agree to a compromise."
"What kind of compromise?"
"It's too complicated to get into over the phone; I'd better come over. I'm on my way."
He hung up and turned around to face the music. Beautiful, blond, naked Brittany was scrutinizing him through narrowed blue eyes.
Brittany didn't like what she was seeing, he could tell. Brittany didn't like it at all.
Chapter 4
"You can't be serious."
Wendy stood at the stove, a strip of bacon hanging from between two fingers, and stared in disbelief at her husband. He was in boxers and a T-shirt, sitting at the kitchen table with his hands wrapped around a big blue plastic glass filled with orange juice and ice. Five seconds earlier he had looked rumpled, smug, and adorable. Now he merely looked unshaven.
"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," he said, going defensive.
"Ten thousand dollars?"
"It's not like we don't have the money."
"For lottery tickets?"
"It's not a big deal, Wen. Don't make it into one.'"
Ignoring the unmistakable warning in his voice, Wendy slapped the bacon across the surface of the cast-iron griddle. "You couldn't
Shit! He rolled away from his date and snatched up the phone. "Zee, what're you talkin ' about? Are you nuts?"
"Oh, Zack—you're home," she said, sounding less offended than relieved. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, no, nothing," he mumbled, but he grabbed a corner of the sheet and pulled it over his groin. This was Zina he was talking to: an emotional, naive, hopelessly fragile human being. The least he could do was cover up in deference to her goodness.
He tried, as gently as he knew how, to crush her plan. "Zee, I don't think that's a good idea. It would be too stressful for you."
"I'm stressed now," she said simply. "Ever since I saw the photo in the paper."
"You'd be depressed if—when—you found out it wasn't him."
"Zack, don't you understand? I'm depressed now."
"It could be embarrassing—"
"Not to me. Maybe to him."
"It could be dangerous, for crissake!"
"How? If he's Jimmy or if he isn't, the worst he could do wou ld be to brush me off. You know the way these lottery winners have to brush off charities and relatives and con artists. Who knows? Maybe he has a security guard that I won't be able to get past."
"Ah, geez..." Zack glanced at his date, sitting where she'd landed at the edge of the bed when he'd dumped her to grab the phone. Brittany was wearing a polite smile—but that was all, and she knew that he was well aware of it.
He smiled back, also politely, while he focused on the crisis at hand. "Zee, I haven't asked you for much in life, but I'm asking you now: don't do this. For me. Don't do this."
He heard her shocked intake of breath. "Zack! How can you ask me not to?"
He turned away from Brittany now and hunched over the phone with one hand slapped over his free ear, feeling like a soldier in a foxhole during a firefight. "What will you gain, Zina?" he said, forcing himself not to scream at her. "What can you possibly gain? He's moved on, wherever and whoever he is. Let it go."
After a long pause she gave him an answer, spoken softly but resolutely, that wasn't a reply to his question. "I have to see him."
He'd lost. It was a novel sensation. He felt the way he would have if she'd beaten him at arm wrestling, and for a moment he wasn't quite sure what to say. Later he realized that his ego had been smarting: he'd been her brother for thirty-four years, and yet there he was, outranked by an asshole she'd known for little more than that many weeks.
But at that moment, all Zack cared about was keeping his sister from a self-inflicted wound that he was convinced could end up being fatal.
"All right," he told her. "I won't object to hunting him down—if you agree to a compromise."
"What kind of compromise?"
"It's too complicated to get into over the phone; I'd better come over. I'm on my way."
He hung up and turned around to face the music. Beautiful, blond, naked Brittany was scrutinizing him through narrowed blue eyes.
Brittany didn't like what she was seeing, he could tell. Brittany didn't like it at all.
Chapter 4
"You can't be serious."
Wendy stood at the stove, a strip of bacon hanging from between two fingers, and stared in disbelief at her husband. He was in boxers and a T-shirt, sitting at the kitchen table with his hands wrapped around a big blue plastic glass filled with orange juice and ice. Five seconds earlier he had looked rumpled, smug, and adorable. Now he merely looked unshaven.
"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," he said, going defensive.
"Ten thousand dollars?"
"It's not like we don't have the money."
"For lottery tickets?"
"It's not a big deal, Wen. Don't make it into one.'"
Ignoring the unmistakable warning in his voice, Wendy slapped the bacon across the surface of the cast-iron griddle. "You couldn't
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