Second Glance: A Novel Read online

  As Shelby examined the crystal candy bowl for hairline fractures, Eli collected the books, which had splayed open on the carpet. One was a coffee table pictorial of Vermont. The other was a scrapbook. Curious, Eli flipped through the pages. "What's this?"

  Shelby read over his shoulder, her cheeks pink with embarrassment as Eli skimmed the stories she went back to time and time again. On the page he'd opened, there was an article about a six-year-old boy bitten by a shark off the coast of Florida. His leg had been severed and successfully reattached, but the blood loss had put him into a coma. After weeks of assuming the boy was brain-dead, he'd awakened just as good as new.

  The most recent article involved a Canadian toddler who'd wandered out of his house and had fallen asleep in a six-foot drift of snow. "I remember this one," Eli said. "He was pronounced dead, and brought to the hospital--"

  "And the doctors gradually warmed him up and he came back to life." Shelby took the scrapbook from him. "It's stupid, I know, but I keep track. I clip stories where death turns out to not be . . . well, so final. Maybe one day someone will clip a story about Ethan for the same reason."

  Suddenly Ross came pounding down the stairs, his hair still wet from a shower. "I thought I heard your voice," he said to Eli, as Watson did his best to leap into his arms. "How'd it go with Pike?"

  But Eli was still riveted by the story of the Canadian toddler. "The doctor's from McGill," he said. "That's right over the border in Montreal. The family must be nearby. Shelby, come with me?"

  She did not consider Ethan, or her job, or her brother. She didn't consider the logistics of staying overnight with a man she'd gone out with only once. And she didn't wonder why, spontaneously, Eli seemed as interested in near-death experiences as she was. All Shelby knew was that when you are given the chance to meet a miracle, you do not think twice.

  From the Burlington Free Press:

  Burlington, VT -- Dr. Thomas Smalley, president of the University of Vermont, announced plans to rename the Beaumont Biology Library and the Pike Museum of Anthropological History. "The University of Vermont wants to make clear that the ideas espoused by these professors during Vermont's eugenics studies were theirs alone, and did not represent the views of the university community as a whole," said Smalley, in a written statement. Potential new names for these buildings are under review by the Alumni Committee.

  When Eli was a boy, he had been certain that state boundaries and the equator were lines drawn on the ground, just like on a map. "The first time my mother took me to Canada, I asked her to pull over so I could see it," he told Shelby.

  "You must have been disappointed."

  "Nope." He grinned, thinking back. "She took a piece of chalk out of the glove compartment, and started drawing. Said that all the car tires on the highway must have rubbed it right off."

  "And you believed her?"

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "I think people believe what they need to, don't you?"

  "I suppose you can't be a cop unless you're cynical."

  "Not true. We continue to be amazed every day."

  He pulled the truck into a highway motel, one just over the city line of Montreal, according to the map. Avec HBO, promised a billboard.

  They had made it to Canada in record time. However, it was nearly 8 P.M.--which meant that Eli would not be seeing Dr. Holessandro until the following day. "Sorry it's not the Ritz," Eli apologized. "But the Ritz doesn't take dogs."

  "I hope you were referring to Watson. And don't worry on my account. I'd be just as happy camping out in the flatbed."

  The thought of Shelby pressed against him from toe to shoulder in the rear of his truck was enough to make Eli suddenly as hard as a rock. He got out of the rig, turned away, and adjusted his jeans. Shelby followed him into the office of the motel, where a boy with a green mohawk was playing Scrabble against himself. "Do you speak French?" she asked Eli.

  "Nothing to worry about." As Eli walked up to the desk, the boy made no effort to even look at him. "Hello." He rolled his eyes. "Bonjour."

  "Bonjour," the boy said, smirking at Eli and Shelby--and their lack of luggage. "Vous desirez une chambre?"

  Shelby opened her mouth and stepped forward. "I'll take care of this," Eli said. "Oui, deux chambres, s'il vous plait."

  The boy looked at Shelby, and then back at Eli. "Deux? Vous-etes sur?"

  "Oui," Eli said.

  The boy raised a brow. "Et Madame? Elle est sure aussi?"

  "Bon, d'accord. Avez-vous des chambres ou non?"

  "Oui, oui . . . ne vous fachez pas. D'abord, j'ai besoin d'une carte de credit . . ." Eli slapped his MasterCard on the counter. "Voila les clefs pour les chambres 40 and 42."

  "Merci."

  "Ou, preferez-vous plus de distance entre les chambres? Deux etages differents peut-etre . . . ?"

  "Non, ca va comme ca." Eli grabbed Shelby by the arm and pulled her toward the front door. "Bonne nuit, alors . . ." the clerk called after them, laughing.

  Outside, Eli made a beeline for his truck. If his dick had been hard before they'd gone into the motel, by now he could be the body double for a jackhammer. "Eli--"

  "I want to get the dog. You know what they say about leaving animals in cars . . ."

  "Eli!" Shelby planted her hands on her hips in the middle of the parking lot. "Goddammit, listen to me!"

  He turned slowly, exhaling heavily. "What."

  "The reason I asked you if you speak French in there . . . was because I do, and I could have checked us in. Would you prefer more distance between the rooms?" she translated, mocking the clerk. "Two different floors, maybe?"

  Mortified, Eli swore. "Shelby, it's not like you think . . ."

  "You have no idea what I'm thinking," she countered, then added quietly, "I was thinking that he was right. You could have gotten one room."

  Eli took a few steps forward, until he was standing just inches away from Shelby. "No, I couldn't have," he said.

  He watched the light go out of her eyes, and realized she had misunderstood him. In that moment, he wished for her facility for words. He wished for a lot of things. "You know how sometimes when you're reading a really great book or watching a really great video you stop, just to make it last longer? There is nothing I want more than to, uh, oscillate with you. But that's gonna lead to more than that . . . pretty damn quick. What I feel right now--what we feel--it's eviscerant enough. We can't get that back, once it's gone." He kissed her on the forehead. "I don't want to go slow, but I'm gonna make myself do it."

  "Evanescent?" Shelby smiled slowly. "Osculate?"

  Eli winked. "You're not the only one who can read a dictionary." And over her shoulder what had been just a crack in the pavement, a line of trees, and a picket fence suddenly reconfigured into a city boundary line, clear as day.

  The hospital was a little too clean and a little too quiet, swimming with so much false cheer that it made the tiled floor shine. As Lucy climbed on the bed, she concentrated on not making any sound--not only because her mom and great-grandma were sleeping but because the crinkly covers and plastic sheets were already covered with people who Lucy could see, even if no one else seemed to be able to.

  She didn't like touching them, didn't like the way their arms and legs moved right through her and made her so cold inside that her bones ached. She didn't like the way they stared at her, as if they were jealous that she was someone who could walk into a room and be noticed without even trying. So Lucy curled herself into as small a ball as possible, and watched her great-grandmother rest.

  Her mother had told her that Granny Ruby's heart was broken, and it made Lucy think of a vase she'd knocked over once and tried to glue back together. Every time she saw it, now, she knew it wasn't as good as it had been.

  Lucy felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as a girl beside her with long black braids and a funny striped apron poked at her with one long finger. She looked to be about sixteen, and sickly, her cheeks nearly blue. "Ma poule," the g