Ill Will Read Free

her down the stairs. In our silence we understood each other. Talking to them meant a call that could go unanswered for days because they were working on destroyed houses where there was no cell service. Or driving out to that desolate area hoping to find them there. The case should have been closed. I’d done what they asked. They’d paid me—not much, far less than it should have cost, but I couldn’t add to their money woes. This was a half a day, a day, of extra time and work.
    “Why the hell do we always have to do the right thing,” I muttered as she held the downstairs door for me. It was still daylight, an orange glimmer of sun off to the west. At least the days were getting longer. Sunlight made a difference in a city with so many places without power.
    “Because in the end it costs less,” she answered.
    “You sure about that?”
    “How’s Cordelia?”
    “Busy. There aren’t enough doctors in this town.”
    Joanne let the silence hang. I didn’t fill it. Finally she spoke, “Must be hard on you, not seeing her all the time.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Yeah, you did.”
    “I’m supposed to be at the grocery store now. She’s working near Touro Hospital. Half the city closer to the grocery store than I am. But I’m the only one who has time to go grocery shopping.”
    “Sucks to have a partner who saves people’s lives.”
    “Especially when the cupboard is bare.” I didn’t want to talk about this. “How’s Alex?”
    “Loves the job. Hates the commute.”
    After Katrina, Alex, Joanne’s partner, had been laid off, like many other city workers. No residents means no tax revenue means nothing to pay people with. She’d worked with me for a while. I was beyond busy and she was smart and good with computers. But she didn’t want to rebuild a career as a private investigator, so when a job in arts and culture had opened in the lieutenant governor’s office, she’d taken it. It just meant driving to Baton Rouge every day, a trip of about ninety miles each way. She’d talked about taking an apartment up there, but there were none to be had in anything resembling her price range. Baton Rouge, as well as the rest of the state, was bloated full with the dispossessed of New Orleans.
    I repeated to Joanne, “Must be hard on you, not seeing her all the time.”
    “Sucks to have a partner who has to bring dance companies to Louisiana.” Somehow she packed even more sarcasm into it than I had. With a glance at her watch, she said, “She won’t be home for another hour or two. Want to go play pool or something?”
    “You’re welcome to come with me to the grocery store.”
    “Went yesterday. I’m way over my quota for long lines and Uptown ladies who don’t like the little people shopping in their grocery store.”
    “I could so use a beer right about now,” I said.
    “Couldn’t we all?” She looked at me. “Sometimes I almost feel like I’m single.”
    “Sometimes I almost wish I were.” Both our statements hung in the air. Then I blurted out, “You were about to arrest me and now you’re suggesting adultery?”
    “I was not about to arrest you.” She turned and walked to her car, which was parked just in front of mine.
    I followed her. I had to get to my car, after all.
    She turned just as she got to my front fender. “If you forget what I said, I’ll forget what you said. It’s been almost two years, you’d think we’d stop going crazy by now.”
    “You saying sex with me is crazy?” I said with a smile, trying to throw some humor on this.
    “Come on, you know I’m not saying that. What I am saying—attempting to and doing it badly—is that I want what I can’t have—my life before Katrina. A partner who works here in the city, who I can meet for lunch instead of a late dinner. A partner who doesn’t just break down and cry for no reason. I got through the flood waters, but I’m not sure I can get through this.”
    I didn’t know what to say. I knew