She’d kept up, her heels clacking and her hand clasped tightly in his, but the groove between her ginger brows was more pronounced.
“Was it something I said?” she asked, a note of irritation underscoring the soft words.
“What?” He frowned. “We ate. You said you wanted to eat.”
“That wasn’t a meal. It was a hog and jog. An eat and run. A chow and plow.”
He chuckled quietly, in spite of himself. He hadn’t heard some of those.
“Yeah. Well. I was hungry.”
“Do I embarrass you, Michael?” she asked.
He stopped walking. “What?”
He thought he saw someone dart his head around the corner and pull it back. He shifted Dani to his other side, scanned the sidewalks and the shadows, and started walking again, his pace more measured and his ears peeled for footfalls behind them. It was late, and he just wanted to get Dani back to the car, doors locked, downtown Cleveland in his rearview.
She let him thread her hand through the crook of his arm, and tug her close to his side, but she was quiet for the rest of the way.
When they reached his car, it was the only vehicle still hugging the curb in front of city hall. A couple of coppers stood at the corner having a smoke and talking in comfortable tones, and a man dug through the trash about a block down. His breathing eased. The towering complex was dark against a moonlit sky, and the streetlamps burned faithfully, casting a mellow glow that reflected off his black shoes and the hood of his car. He dug out his keys and opened Dani’s door. She hesitated before climbing in and looked up into his face, mere inches away.
“Do I embarrass you?” she asked again, and he realized he’d never answered.
“Why in the world would you think that?” Night had leached the color from her face, making one iris silver, the other black.
“I don’t look like the women on Short Vincent.”
“Oh, you noticed that too, huh?” His voice was dry, and he meant it only as a compliment, but her shoulders drooped.
“I like being with you, Michael. I could have eaten eggs and toast in that booth all night. Nothing would have made me happier. And you couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Ah, Dani. It has nothing to do with that.”
“No?” she challenged.
“No. There isn’t anything about that world—or those places—that I like. Except maybe the jelly toast. I’ve seen too much. I know the underbelly. They make my neck itch and my palms sweat. I got spooked. And I wanted to get you out of there.”
She searched his eyes, like she wasn’t sure she believed him.
“All right,” she whispered.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Okay.” But she didn’t move.
He leaned down, not allowing himself to think about it too long, and touched his lips to hers. “Now get in the car, kid.”
Her lips parted in surprise and her lids were at half-staff, but she immediately obeyed, and he closed the door securely behind her.
“Don’t do it, Malone,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t do it.” But it was already done.
21
Malone asked if he could attend Mass with them on Sunday, which pleased Lenka and irritated Zuzana, though Dani noted Zuzana didn’t refuse the ride or the ice cream he bought them afterward. The only other time he’d attended, Lenka and Zuzana had sat between them, and he’d gone alone after that. When they entered the sanctuary at Our Lady of Lourdes, and Lenka began positioning herself to force them together and Zuzana attempted to keep them apart, Malone put his hand on Dani’s elbow and guided her into the end of a full row with enough room for only the two of them. The aunts had to move two rows down.
Malone sat through Mass with the same expressionless concentration with which he seemed to approach everything, his eyes heavy lidded and his hands clasped in his lap, but for the first time in Dani’s life, Mass was a heady experience. Things she hadn’t particularly enjoyed before became pleasurable. Repeating the prayers and hearing his voice rumble the words. Bowing her head and seeing her skirt against his thigh. Breathing deeply and smelling the soap on his skin and the mint on his tongue.
Sitting quietly with nothing to occupy her hands had always been a challenge, but it occurred to her that it was not lack of focus or a tendency to fidget that had always beset her. It was the constant, nagging worry that she wouldn’t get it all done or, even worse, that there would be no work to do. But in the church, with the drone of Father Kovak’s homily and Malone at her side, she felt nothing but a mellow hum and a blissfully empty head. He didn’t reach for her hand or run his arm along the back of the bench, but his presence was a balm beside her.