of a choice in the matter? She wasn't all that sure that she did, and that was what frightened her—in a thrilling, exhilarating sort of way.
"Yeah, me, too."
"Wanna talk about it?"
She smiled. Good old Vinnie. "When have you known me not to talk, Vinnie?"
"Well," he began as he changed lanes and headed onto the freeway, "there was that time you had your wisdom teeth pulled and they put you under...."
Liz laughed in pure delight.
By the time they returned from the concert later that evening, she had told Vinnie all about Griff and Casie. Vinnie had counseled her to go slowly in this, but then, Vinnie always told her that she was too eager to help out.
"That's your whole problem, you know." He slouched against the open doorjamb. "You think that you can save everyone and make them happy."
"I seem to recall saving a skinny little boy who turned out pretty well," she reminded him.
Vinnie drew himself up and squared his thin shoulders. "Not everyone turns out as sterling as I did."
"That's what I love most about you, Vinnie, your deep humility. Go home and write your reviews,'' she urged, her hands on his chest as she pretended to push him toward his car. "Good night, Vinnie."
"Uh-huh."
He turned and she knew he didn't even hear her. He was already composing the review that would run in the paper next Tuesday. She let out a contented sigh and closed the door. It had been a very full day and she was more than willing to put it and herself to bed.
With the light in the living room off, the signal on her answering machine blinked at her urgently from its place on the bookcase, like the bloodshot eye of a drunken sailor trying to flirt. Liz slipped out of her shoes and picked them up. It was nearly one o'clock and she wasn't in the mood to call anyone back. She passed the machine and walked into her bedroom, intending to leave the messages until morning.
Curiosity got the better of her.
Liz crossed back to the machine. Pressing the right combination of buttons, she waited to hear her first message. Suddenly, Griff's voice filled the air. It was stiff and uncomfortable and there was another note in it she couldn't quite put a name to.
"This is Griff. Give me a call when you can. I need to talk to you."
Need, now there was an unusual word for him to use, she thought. She was about to discontinue the other two messages and play them back later, but before she could flip the switch, Griff's voice came at her again. This time, he sounded more impatient.
"This is Griff. Where are you? There's something wrong with Casie. Call me."
Concern. That was the note she had detected in the first message. The angry concern in his voice was something new. While it gratified her that she hadn't been wrong about the man's feelings toward Casie, she didn't have time to dwell on it. He needed her and she'd better call back—
The third message clicked in. This time, he was fairly shouting at her. "Damn it, where the hell are you? It's twelve-thirty. If you don't call by one, I'm taking Casie to the emergency room."
God, this was serious.
She looked at her watch. Ten to one. Instead of wasting time and calling, she decided to drive straight over. He might be on his way out and not bother to answer the phone. It would only take her five minutes to get to his house. She hurried out, threw her purse and shoes into the car and got in behind the steering wheel.
She barreled into his driveway in three minutes instead of five.
Coming to a screeching halt next to his car, she jumped out of hers just as he was about to get into his. Casie was already inside the car. Liz could hear her crying even though all the doors were closed.
Anger, fear and frustration warred within Griff. He didn't like any of the emotions. He didn't like emotions at all. But he gave in to anger. She had left him to cope with this, knowing that he couldn't, while she went running around town, doing who-knew-what with whom. And dressed fit to kill,
"Where the hell
"Yeah, me, too."
"Wanna talk about it?"
She smiled. Good old Vinnie. "When have you known me not to talk, Vinnie?"
"Well," he began as he changed lanes and headed onto the freeway, "there was that time you had your wisdom teeth pulled and they put you under...."
Liz laughed in pure delight.
By the time they returned from the concert later that evening, she had told Vinnie all about Griff and Casie. Vinnie had counseled her to go slowly in this, but then, Vinnie always told her that she was too eager to help out.
"That's your whole problem, you know." He slouched against the open doorjamb. "You think that you can save everyone and make them happy."
"I seem to recall saving a skinny little boy who turned out pretty well," she reminded him.
Vinnie drew himself up and squared his thin shoulders. "Not everyone turns out as sterling as I did."
"That's what I love most about you, Vinnie, your deep humility. Go home and write your reviews,'' she urged, her hands on his chest as she pretended to push him toward his car. "Good night, Vinnie."
"Uh-huh."
He turned and she knew he didn't even hear her. He was already composing the review that would run in the paper next Tuesday. She let out a contented sigh and closed the door. It had been a very full day and she was more than willing to put it and herself to bed.
With the light in the living room off, the signal on her answering machine blinked at her urgently from its place on the bookcase, like the bloodshot eye of a drunken sailor trying to flirt. Liz slipped out of her shoes and picked them up. It was nearly one o'clock and she wasn't in the mood to call anyone back. She passed the machine and walked into her bedroom, intending to leave the messages until morning.
Curiosity got the better of her.
Liz crossed back to the machine. Pressing the right combination of buttons, she waited to hear her first message. Suddenly, Griff's voice filled the air. It was stiff and uncomfortable and there was another note in it she couldn't quite put a name to.
"This is Griff. Give me a call when you can. I need to talk to you."
Need, now there was an unusual word for him to use, she thought. She was about to discontinue the other two messages and play them back later, but before she could flip the switch, Griff's voice came at her again. This time, he sounded more impatient.
"This is Griff. Where are you? There's something wrong with Casie. Call me."
Concern. That was the note she had detected in the first message. The angry concern in his voice was something new. While it gratified her that she hadn't been wrong about the man's feelings toward Casie, she didn't have time to dwell on it. He needed her and she'd better call back—
The third message clicked in. This time, he was fairly shouting at her. "Damn it, where the hell are you? It's twelve-thirty. If you don't call by one, I'm taking Casie to the emergency room."
God, this was serious.
She looked at her watch. Ten to one. Instead of wasting time and calling, she decided to drive straight over. He might be on his way out and not bother to answer the phone. It would only take her five minutes to get to his house. She hurried out, threw her purse and shoes into the car and got in behind the steering wheel.
She barreled into his driveway in three minutes instead of five.
Coming to a screeching halt next to his car, she jumped out of hers just as he was about to get into his. Casie was already inside the car. Liz could hear her crying even though all the doors were closed.
Anger, fear and frustration warred within Griff. He didn't like any of the emotions. He didn't like emotions at all. But he gave in to anger. She had left him to cope with this, knowing that he couldn't, while she went running around town, doing who-knew-what with whom. And dressed fit to kill,
"Where the hell
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