that I apologize. I have to go now. Okay? I'll be back soon."
"Jack?"
He didn't reply.
"I love you," Grace said.
But the phone was dead.
Chapter 8
Space. Jack said he needed space. And that was all wrong. Never mind that "needing space" was one of those lame, cloying, namby-pamby, New Age we-are-the-world terms that was worse than meaningless--"needing space"--a terrible euphemism for "I'm soooo outta here." That would have been a clue perhaps, but this went much deeper.
Grace was home now. She had mumbled an apology to Perlmutter and Daley. Both men looked at her with pity and told her that it was all part of the job. They said that they were sorry. Grace offered up a solemn nod and headed for the door.
She had learned something crucial from the phone call.
Jack was in trouble.
She had not been overreacting. His disappearance had nothing to do with running away from her or fear of commitment. It was no accident. It had not been expected or planned. She had picked up the photograph from the store. Jack had seen it and run out.
And now he was in serious danger.
She could never explain this to the police. First off, they wouldn't believe her. They would claim that she was either delusional or nadve to the point of a learning disability. Maybe not to her face. Maybe they would humor her, which would be both a tremendous irritant and waste of time. They'd been convinced that Jack was on the run before the call. Her explanation would not change their minds.
And maybe that was best.
Grace was trying to read between the lines here. Jack had been concerned about police involvement. That was obvious. When she said that she was at the police station, the regret in his voice was real. That was no act.
Space.
That was the main clue. If he had just told her that he was leaving for a few days, blowing off steam, running off with a stripper he'd met at the Satin Dolls, okay, she might not believe him, but it would be in the realm of possibility. But Jack hadn't done that. He had been specific about his reasons for disappearing. He even repeated himself.
Jack needed space.
Marital codes. All couples have them. Most were pretty stupid. For example, there was a scene in the Billy Crystal movie Mr. Saturday Night when the comic Crystal played--Grace couldn't remember the name, barely remembered the movie--pointed at an old man with a terrible toupee and said, "Is that a toupee? I, for one, was fooled." So now, whenever she and Jack saw a man with a possible toupee, one would turn to the other and say, "I for one?" and the spouse would either agree or disagree. Grace and Jack started using "I for one" for other vanity enhancements too--nose jobs, breast implants, whatever.
The origin of "Need space" was a bit more risque.
Despite her current predicament, Grace's cheeks couldn't help but flush from the memory. Sex had always been very good with Jack, but in any long-term relationship, there are ebbs and flows. This was two years ago, during a time of, uh, great flow. A stage of more corporeal creativity, if you will. Public creativity, to be more specific.
There had been the quick nooky in the changing room at one of those upscale hair salons. There had been under-the-coat manipulation in a private balcony at a lush Broadway musical. But it was midway through a particularly daring encounter in a British-style red phone booth located, in of all places, a quiet street in Allendale, New Jersey, when Jack suddenly panted, "I need space."
Grace had looked up at him. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, literally. Back up! The phone receiver is pressing into my neck!"
They'd both laughed. Grace closed her eyes now, a faint smile on her lips. "Need space" had thus joined the ranks of their private marital language. Jack would not use that phrase haphazardly. He was sending her a message, warning her, letting her know that he was saying something he didn't mean.
Okay, so what did he mean then?
Jack couldn't speak freely for one thing. Someone