Gun Games by Faye Kellerman

you’re overloaded with assets. You should lend a few out to those less fortunate. What time are you coming home?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe Paul and I will go out to dinner. I suppose it depends on how well he performs.”
    “Call and leave a message on the machine. Not that I have to worry about a big independent guy like you, but I’m a mother and I’ll fret if I don’t know where you are.”
    “That’s okay. It’s nice to get a little mothering every now and then.”
    The room went quiet. Rina studied his face. “She contacted you again?”
    “Yeah.” Gabe plunked the spoon in his cereal and pushed the bowl away. “I found out that my sister’s name is Juleen.”
    “Pretty name.” Silence. “What else did she say?”
    “Nothing much. I told her that Chris knows about the baby and she shouldn’t worry too much about him.”
    “Is that true?”
    “Mostly. I mean he still likes her. He’s told me that he’d take her back, baby and all. But he certainly isn’t chasing her down. I think he likes being a martyr for a change. After all the misery he put her through, he’s happy with the role of the aggrieved spouse.”
    “I’ve got an aunt and uncle; they’re about ninety now. For forty years, they lived in two separate houses and got together only on Shabbat. People used to ask, are they separated, are they divorced? Nope. Just didn’t want to live together all the time. For them, it worked.”
    “As long as they’re okay, I’m okay.” He wiped his glasses on his T-shirt. “I think she wants me to come to India.”
    “That would be an interesting trip.”
    “Yeah, maybe in the future.” When I’m fucking ready, which isn’t now . Gabe put his glasses back on. “I should get started. What’d you make for lunch?”
    “Corned beef and turkey.”
    “Oh man!” He made a face. “Please save me some.”
    “I will take some aside and hide it in the refrigerator where no one will find it.” Rina kissed the top of his head. “Thank you for the compliment.”
    Gabe stood up and spontaneously gave her a small hug, then pulled away self-consciously. His face was warm, and he knew he was blushing. “Thanks, Rina. Not only did I land in the home of two of the nicest people in the world, you cook better than anyone I know.”
    “You’d better believe it.”
    He gave a small laugh and headed for the garage, the one place where he felt totally at ease—his piano, his music, his solace. Once in a while, when no one was home, he sat in the driver’s seat of Peter’s Porsche, his hand gripping the clutch, his eyes looking out the windshield and imagining an open road that led to anyone’s guess.
    A rriving at the bus stop at ten to one, but Yasmine was nowhere in sight.
    Oh well.
    He sat down on the bench and opened his composition book, playing his piece in his head, correcting and editing until the bus pulled up at five after. He stood and when the doors swung open, he stepped up, his brain still focused on his music. In the background, he heard a scream.
    “Waaaaaiiiittt.”
    He held up his hand to the driver, stepped down, and saw her running toward the bus. She was a block away with her hair flying like a stallion’s mane. His heart leapt out of his chest. To the driver, he said, “Could you hold on a minute? My friend’s coming.”
    “I got a schedule and a route to do.”
    Gabe took out a ten. “Please?”
    The driver pushed the money away. “I still got a schedule. I’m gonna count to ten.”
    Stepping back out, he waved her on. On the count of eight, she had made it, completely winded and doubled over. Gabe paid for their tickets, the door closed behind them, and the bus jerked forward. She pitched backward and Gabe caught her before she fell. Her face was bathed in sweat. It didn’t help that she was wearing a quilted pink puffy jacket. At least her attire—jeans and flats—was more appropriate than last time.
    She was panting . . . gripping her side. Gabe led her to an