Free Manhattan Lullaby by Olivia De Grove Page B

friendly arm around her waist, but she pushed him away. “Where’s the happy couple?”
    Lavinia pursed her mouth, thought the better of what she was about to say and answered the question. “The bride is asleep on your chair in the den and the groom is curled up in his basket.”
    â€œWell,” said Janie, taking the opportunity of Lavinia’s intervention as her signal to leave, “I certainly hope you both enjoyed the wedding.” And she swiveled her hips sideways out of the chair to avoid coming into any closer contact with Steve and Lavinia. “Thank you for the champagne.”
    â€œHey, wait a minute, I’ll walk you to the door,” said Steve, lurching off the arm of the chair, still clutching the empty champagne bottle.
    Lavinia put a restraining hand on his forearm, but he brushed it off. “I said I’m walking her to the door,” he slurred firmly, and Lavinia released her grip and anxiously watched him go.
    Having put the champagne bottle down somewhere on the way to the front hall, Steve held out Janie’s coat for her.
    â€œSorry if I bent your ear off tonight. I don’t usually drink this much.”
    Pulling her scarf around her neck, Janie said, “That’s O.K. We all need to bend a few ears from time to time. Just think of it as part of the service.” She put out her hand. “Well, good night, Steve.”
    Steve shook her hand. “G’night.” He opened the door for her and watched her walk down the hall toward the elevators. He waited until one arrived. And then, just as she was getting on, he called after her, “You sure you’re getting married on Saturday?”
    â€œI’m sure,” she said, and the doors closed on her smile.

Chapter Seven
    â€œJoyce?” Harry tapped lightly on the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”
    â€œUuuuuuurghhh!” came the moan from within, followed by the sound of retching.
    â€œCan I get you anything?”
    There was no reply. Whatever Joyce had picked up in China, she was having a really hard time with it. A moment later he heard the toilet flushing. And a few seconds after that the pale ghost of the former Joyce opened the door and tottered unsteadily into the hallway.
    â€œGod, I feel awful,” was all she said as she brushed past him and headed straight for the bedroom. Not knowing what else to do, Harry followed. He was worried and he felt helpless. He had no idea how to deal with a sick woman. Maxine had never been sick a day in the twenty-five years they had been married. Or if she had, she had kept it to herself. Thank God.
    But ever since Joyce had come back from China she had been like this. And he was fast running out of ideas on how to care for her. He offered Aspirin; she refused. He made chicken soup; she said the smell of chicken soup made her want to vomit. He brought her washcloth and her toothbrush into the bedroom so she could clean herself up a bit and feel better, and she complained that her gums bled every time she tried to brush her teeth. All she had done other than that was alternate between bouts of crying and sleeping. And, when he had finally urged her to go to a doctor, she said she was too sick to go to a doctor and begged him to just get the hell out of the apartment and leave her alone to suffer in peace. Which, grateful there was at least something he could do, he had done.
    Unfortunately, while his absence may have provided some peace for Joyce, it had caused him nothing but aggravation. His little sortie to the Rainbow Room, for instance, had turned out to be a very bad idea. There had been too many ghosts up there in spite of the renovations. He had let himself get carried away and Maxine had ended up calling him an emotional bigamist. And while he didn’t think she was right, he wasn’t sure she was totally wrong either. In fact, there weren’t too many things he was sure about anymore, except that he