I didn’t answer. I slowly leaned back into her embrace. Warm and alive and not in immediate pain seemed to be all that I could offer her.

“Of course, that backed up all the rest of my patients. Then I had to go to the police and give a statement. God, it’s been a long day.”

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing. ‘All the king’s horses and all the king’s men…’” She trailed off.

Can’t put broken lives together again, I thought as I tightened my arms around her. We sat that way, silently, for a while.

“Have you had anything to eat lately?” I asked at last, wanting to get back to the small things, the ones I could do something about.

“No, I don’t guess I have. Not since breakfast.”

“Let me see what I can find in the kitchen,” I said, starting to get up.

“You’re not my cook.” It came out as a reprimand. Cordelia added in a softer voice, “Why don’t we just order something?”

“Well, then, order whatever you want. I don’t have much money.”

“Look, Micky, I’m not comfortable with you serving me. You’re always the one who cooks or goes to the grocery store. Sometimes you even do my laundry.”

“And I’m not comfortable with you spending money on me.”

“Money’s just paper. Time is the equalizer. We all have only twenty-four hours a day. Money’s not the same. Some people have a lot, some very little. Luck, that’s all.”

“What about hard work and the American dream?” We were heading for an argument. I could see it coming, but I could see no way to stop it, like a stone falling off a ledge, no way to push it back.

“Sure, some people have money because they’ve worked hard. But there are some people who’ve worked just as hard and have nothing, not even the bare necessities. My money doesn’t equal your time. I don’t care to pretend that it does.”

I watched Cordelia as she spoke. She believed what she said, but if I gave in to her wishes, then the power became hers and I would have to trust that she would not use it.

“I should just take your money and get over it?” I retorted.

Cordelia massaged her forehead for a moment, then replied, “Yes, why not?”

“Because I’m not that kind of person and, if I were, you wouldn’t be with me,” I shot back.

“I’m not talking about buying your soul. Or a house, or car, or even a goddamned jacket. I’m talking about spending somewhere in the vicinity of ten dollars on buying us a pizza or po-boy. It’s not worth the kind of argument we’re having.”

“It’s not the amount, it’s the idea. As long as it’s your money, it buys what you want. I’ll never have…”

“Control? Is that what’s bothering you?”

“If you were in my position, wouldn’t it bother you?”

Cordelia was at least honest enough to reply, “Yes, I suppose it would. Where does that leave us?”

“Let me see if I can find something quick and simple to fix and, if not, you can order out?” I turned to go to the kitchen.

“All right,” Cordelia replied. “But let me help.”

I turned and led the way to the kitchen.

“And,” Cordelia said from behind me, “I promise not to sneak up on you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I shouted, wheeling on her. As I lost control, I realized how fragile it had been in the first place.

“Micky,” Cordelia said, halting abruptly at my anger, holding in the archway to the kitchen. “I think we need to talk about this.”

“Don’t sneak up behind someone. That’s common courtesy. That’s all there is to it.”

“Your reaction when I tried to put my arms around you had nothing to do with manners. I’m not a shrink and I don’t play games well.”

“I’m not playing. This is my fucking life that you think should be open to you at will. What if I don’t think we need to talk about this?”

“What do you intend to do? Keep repressing your anger and letting it spew out in all directions when you can’t keep it in any longer?”

“I thought you said you weren’t a shrink.”

“I can see what’s obvious. And you’re obviously very touchy and angry about—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. What the fucking hell do I have to do to get that through your head?” I snarled at her, my voice ugly and threatening.

For a moment, Cordelia was taken aback, but then she said, “Can’t you see it’s gone beyond whether you want to talk about it or not? It doesn’t have to be me—”

“Maybe your friend Lindsey?” I cut in.

“Maybe,” Cordelia replied evenly. “Or someone else. I won’t be ambushed by this kind of anger. It’s not me. At least have the courage to fight those who deserve it.”

“I guess I’m leaving, then,” I said, brushing past her. She didn’t try to stop me.

“Micky,” Cordelia called out as I reached the door. “I do love you.”

“What’s love got to do with any of this?” I mocked.

“Not much. But it’s the only weapon I have.”

“I just need to…be alone. I’ll call you sometime.” But I wasn’t sure if I meant it.

“Good night, Micky.”

“Goodbye,” I replied, then closed the door behind me.