by Sue Grafton
“What are you doing here? I thought you left.”
“I got as far as Santa Maria and had to come back. I was halfway down the street and I missed you like crazy. I don’t want us leaving each other on a bad note.”
I felt a pain in my chest, something fragile and sharp that made me take a deep breath. “I don’t see a way to resolve our basic differences.”
“We can be friends without resolution. I mean, can’t we?”
“How do I know?” I tried to shut down, but I couldn’t quite manage it. I had an inexplicable urge to weep about something. Usually good-byes do that, tender partings in movies accompanied by music guaranteed to rip your heart out. The silence between us was just as painful to me.
“Have you had dinner?”
“I hadn’t decided about that yet. I just had drinks with the Maleks,” I said faintly. The words sounded odd and I wanted to pat myself on the chest as a way of consoling myself. I could have handled the situation if only he hadn’t come back. The day had been hard, but I’d survived it.
“You want to talk?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“Then what? You decide. I’ll do anything you want.”
I looked away from him, thinking about the fearful risks of intimacy, the potential for loss, the tender pain implicit in any bond between two creatures ��� human or beast, what difference did it make? In me, the instinct for survival and the need for love had been at war for years. My caution was like a wall I’d built to keep me safe. But safety is an illusion and the danger of feeling too much is no worse than the danger of being numb. I looked back at him and saw my pain mirrored in his eyes.
He said, “Come here.” He made a gesture with his hand, coaxing me to move closer.
I crossed the room. Dietz leaned into me like a ladder left behind by a thief.
Chapter 9
*
Dietz’s knee was so swollen and painful he couldn’t make it up the stairs, so we unfolded the sofa bed. I brought the duvet down from the loft. We turned off the lamp and crawled naked beneath the comforter’s downy weight like polar bears in a cave. We made love in the puffy igloo of the quilt while around us streetlights streamed through the porthole window like moonlight on snow. For a long time, I simply drank in the musky scent of him, hair and skin, feeling my way blindly across all his textured surfaces. The heat from his body thawed my cold limbs. I felt like a snake curling up in a patch of sunlight, warmed to the depths after a long unforgiving winter. I remembered his ways from our three months together ��� the look on his face, the hapless sounds he made. What I’d forgotten was the smoldering response he awakened in me.
There was a brief time in my youth when my behavior was both reckless and promiscuous. Those were the days when there seemed to be no consequence to sex that wasn’t easily cured. In the current marketplace, you’d have to be a fool ��� or suicidal ��� to risk the casual encounter without a lot of straight talk and doctors’ certificates changing hands. For my purposes, celibacy is my habitual state. I suppose it’s a lot like living in times of famine. Without hope of satiation, hunger diminishes and the appetite fades. With Dietz, I could feel all my physical senses quicken, the yearning for contact overcoming my natural reticence. Dietz’s injury required patience and ingenuity, but somehow we managed. The process entailed considerable laughter at our contortions and quiet concentration during the moments between.
Finally, at ten, I flung the covers aside, exposing our sweaty bodies to the arctic temperatures surrounding us. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I said. “If we don’t stop and eat soon, I’ll be dead before morning.”
Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, we found ourselves sitting up at Rosie’s in my favorite booth. She and William were both working, he behind the bar and Rosie out waiting tables. Ordinarily, the kitchen closed down at ten, and I could see she was just on the verge of saying as much when she noticed the whisker burn that had set my cheeks aflame. I put my chin in my palm, but not before she caught sight of my sex rash. The woman may be close to seventy, but she’s not unperceptive. She seemed to take in at a glance both the source of our satisfaction and our avid interest in food. I thought the application of my makeup had successfully disguised my chafed flesh, but she was visibly smirking as she recited the meal she intended to prepare for us. With Rosie, there’s no point in even pretending to order. You eat what she decides will be perfect for the occasion. In honor of Dietz’s return, I noticed her English was marginally improved.
She parked herself sideways to the table, wiggling slightly in place, refusing to look directly at either of us after that first sly glance. “Now. Here’s what you gonna get and don’t make with the usual face ��� like this ��� while I’m telling you.” She pulled her mouth down, eyes rolling, to show Dietz my usual enthusiasm for her choices. “I’m fixing Korhelyleves, is also called Souse’s Soup. Is taking couple pounds of sauerkraut, paprika, smoked sausage, and some sour cream. Is guaranteed to perk up tired senses of which you look like you got a lot. Then, I’m roasting you little cheeken that I’m serve with mushroom pudding ��� is very good ��� and for efter, is hazelnut torte, but no coffee. You need sleep. I’m bringing wine in a minute. Don’t go way.”
We didn’t leave until midnight. We didn’t sleep until one, wound together on the narrow width of the sofa bed. I’m not accustomed to sleeping with someone else and I can’t say it netted me any restful results. Because of his knee, Dietz was forced to lie on his back with a pillow supporting his left leg. This gave me two choices: I could lie pressed against him with my head resting on his chest, or flat on my back with our bodies touching along their lengths.
I tried one and then the other, tossing relentlessly as the hours ticked away. Half the time, I could feel the sofa’s metal mechanism cut across my back, but if I switched to the other position with my head on his chest, I suffered from heatstroke, a dead arm, and a canned left ear. Sometimes I could feel the exhalation of his breath on my cheek and the effect drove me mad. I found myself counting as he breathed, in and out, in and out. In moments, the rhythm changed and there’d be a long pause in which I wondered if he were in the process of dropping dead. Dietz slept like a soldier under combat conditions. His snores were gentle snuffles, just loud enough to keep me on sentry duty, but not quite loud enough to draw enemy fire.
I slept finally ��� amazingly ��� and woke at seven energized. Dietz had made coffee and he was reading the paper, dressed, his hair damp, a pair of half-glasses sitting low on his nose. I watched him for a few minutes until his gaze came up to mine.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“I was too vain before this. The minute you were out the door, I put ‘em on,” he said with that crooked smile of his.
I turned on my side, folding my right arm under my cheek. “What time will the boys be expecting you?”
“Early afternoon. I have motel reservations at a place close by. If they want to spend the night, I’ll have room.”
“I’ll bet you look forward to seeing them.”
“Yes, but I’m nervous about it, too. I haven’t seen them for two years ��� since I left for Germany. I’m never quite sure what to talk about with them.”
“What do you talk to anyone about? Mostly bullshit.”
“Even bullshit requires a context. It gets awkward for them, too. Sometimes we end up going to the movies just to have something to talk about later. I’m not exactly a fount of paternal advice. Once I quiz them about girlfriends and classes, I’m about out of conversation.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“I hope. What about you? What’s your day looking like?”
“I don’t know. This is Saturday, so I don’t have to work. I’ll probably nap. Starting soon.”
“You want company?”
“Dietz,” I said, outraged, “if you get in this bed again, I won’t be able to walk.”
“I am. I’m not used to this stuff.”
“How about some coffee?”
“Let me brush my teeth first.”
After breakfast, we went down to the beach. The day was cloudy, the marine layer holding in the heat like foam insulation. The temperature was close to seventy and the air soft and fruity, with a tropical scent. Santa Teresa winters are filled with such contradictions. One day will feel icy while the next day feels mild. The ocean had a slick sheen, reflecting the uniform white of the sky. We took off our shoes and carried them, scuffling along the water’s edge with the frothy play of waves rolling across our bare feet. Seagulls hovered overhead, screeching, while two dogs leaped in unison, snapping at the birds as if they were low-flying Frisbees.
Dietz took off at nine, holding me crushed against him before he got in the car. I leaned on the hood and we kissed for a while. Finally, he pulled back and studied my face. “If I come back in a couple of weeks, will you be here?”
“Where else would I go?”
“I’ll see you then,” he said.
“Don’t worry about me. Any old day will do,” I remarked, waving, as his car receded down the block. Dietz hated to be specific about dates because it made him feel trapped. Of course, the effect of his vagueness was to keep me feeling hooked. I shook my head to myself as I returned to my place. How did I end up with a man like him?
I spent the rest of the morning getting my apartment tidied up. It didn’t really take much work, but it was satisfying nonetheless. This time I wasn’t really feeling depressed. I knew Dietz would be coming back, so my virtuous activity had more to do with reestablishing my boundaries than warding off the blues. Since he’d done the grocery shopping, my cupboard was full and my refrigerator stocked, a state that always contributes to my sense of security. As long as you have sufficient toilet paper, how far wrong can life go?
At lunchtime I spotted Henry sitting in the backyard at a little round picnic table he’d picked up in a garage sale the previous fall. He’d spread out some graph paper, his reference books, and a crossword key. As a pastime, Henry constructs and sells crossword puzzles for those wee yellow books sold near grocery store checkout lanes. I made a peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwich and joined him in the sunshine.
“You want one?” I asked, holding out my plate.
“Thanks, but I just had lunch,” he said. “Where’d Dietz disappear to? I thought he intended to stick around.”
I filled him in on the “romance” and we chatted idly while I ate my sandwich. The texture of the peanut butter was a sublime contrast to the crunch of the bread-and-butter pickles. The diagonal cut exposed more filling than a vertical cut would and I savored the ratio of saltiness to tart. This ranked right up there with sex without taking off any clothes. I made a sort of low moan, nearly swooning with pleasure, and Henry glanced up at me. “Give me a bite of that.”
I let him have the plump center portion, keeping my fingers positioned so he couldn’t take too much.
He chewed for a moment, clearly relishing the intense blend of flavors. “Very weird, but not bad.” This is what he always says when he samples this culinary marvel.
I tried another bite myself, pointing to the puzzle he was working on. “How’s this one coming? You’ve never really told me how you go about your business.” Henry was a crossword fanatic, subscribing to the New York Times so he could do the daily puzzle, which he completed in ink. Sometimes, to amuse himself, he left every other letter blank, or filled in the outer borders first in a spiral moving toward the center. The puzzles he wrote himself seemed very difficult to me, though he claimed they were easy. I’d watched him construct dozens without understanding the strategy.
“I’ve actually upgraded my technique. My approach used to be haphazard. I’m better organized these days. This is a small one, only fifteen by fifteen. This is the pattern I’m using,” he said, indicating a template with the grid work of black squares already laid in.
“You don’t devise the format as well?”
“Usually not. I’ve used this one several times and it suits my purposes. They’re all symmetrical and if you’ll notice, no area is closed off. The rules say the black squares can’t exceed more than one sixth of the total number. There are a few other rules tossed in. For example, you can’t use any words of fewer than three letters, stuff like that. The good ones have a theme around which the answers are organized.”
I picked up one of his reference books and turned it over in my hand. “What’s this?”
“That book lists words in alphabetical order from three through fifteen letters. And that one’s a crossword finisher that lists words in a complicated alphabetical order up through seven letters.”
I smiled at the enthusiasm that had crept into his voice. “How’d you get into this?”
He waved dismissively. “Do enough of ‘em and you can’t help it. You have to have a go at it yourself, just to see what it’s like. They even have crossword championships, which started in 1980. You ought to see those puppies go. The puzzles are projected on an overhead screen. A real whiz can answer sixty-four questions in under eight minutes.”
“Are you ever tempted to enter?”
He shook his head, penciling in a clue. “I’m too slow and much too easily rattled. Besides, it’s a serious business, like bridge tournaments.” His head came up. “That’s your phone,” he said.
“It is? Your hearing must be better than mine.” I hopped up from the table and made a beeline for my place, picking up the receiver just as my answering machine did. I reached for the Off button as my voice completed its request for messages. “Hello, hello. It’s me. I’m really home,” I sang.
“Hey,” a man’s voice said mildly. “This is Guy. Hope you don’t mind my calling on a weekend.”
“Not at all. What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” he said. “Donovan called me at the church. I guess last night the three of them ��� him and Bennet and Jack ��� had a meeting. He says they want me to come down for a few days so we can talk about the will.”
I felt my whole body go quiet. “Really. That’s interesting. You going to do it?”
“I think so. I might, but I’m not really sure. I had a long talk with Peter and Winnie. Peter thinks it’s time to open up a dialogue. He’s got a prayer meeting in Santa Teresa tomorrow, so it works out pretty good. They can bring me down after church, but he thought it’d be smart to talk to you about it first.”
I was silent for a moment. “You want the truth?”
“Well, yeah. That’s why I called.”
“I wouldn’t do it if I were you. I was over there last night and it all seems very tense. It’s nothing you’d want to be exposed to.”
“How so?”
“Feelings are running high and your showing up at this point is only going to make things worse.”
“That was my first reaction, but then I got to thinking. I mean, Donovan called me. I didn’t call him,” he said. “Seems to me if the three of them are offering a truce, I should at least be willing to meet ‘em halfway. It can’t hurt.”
I suppressed an urge to start shrieking at him. Shrieking, I’ve discovered, is really not a sound method for persuading other people to your point of view. I’d seen his brothers in action and Guy was no match. I wouldn’t trust those three under any circumstances. Given Guy’s emotional state, I could see why he’d be tempted, but he’d be a fool to go into that house without counsel. “Maybe it’s a truce and maybe not. Bader’s death has brought up all kinds of issues,” I said. “You go in unprepared and you’ll end up taking on a whole raft of shit. You’d be walking into a nightmare.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Not to criticize your brothers, but these are not nice fellows, at least where you’re concerned. There’s a lot of friction between them and your appearance is only going to add fuel to the fire. I mean, honestly. You can
’t imagine the dynamic.” I noticed the pitch and volume of my voice going up.
“I have to try,” he said.
“Maybe so, but not that way.”
“Meaning what?”
“You’re going to find yourself in exactly the same position you were in when you left. You’ll be the fall guy, the scapegoat for all their hostility.”
I could hear him shrug. He said, “Maybe we need to talk about that then. Get it out in the open and deal with it.”
“It’s out in the open. Those three aren’t shy about anything. The conflicts are all right out there in front of God and everyone and believe me, you don’t want their venom directed at you.”
“Donovan doesn’t seem to bear me any ill will and from what he says, Bennet and Jack don’t either. The truth is, I’ve changed and they need to see that. How else can I persuade ‘em if it isn’t face-to-face?”
I could feel my eyes cross while I tried controlling my impatience. I knew I’d be smarter to keep my mouth shut, but I’ve never been good at keeping my opinions to myself. “Look, Guy, I don’t want to stand here and try to tell you your business, but this isn’t about you. This is about their relationship to each other. It’s about your, father and whatever’s been going on in the years since you left. You’ll end up being the target for all the anger they’ve stored up. And why put yourself through that?”
“Because I want to be connected again. I screwed up. I admit that and I want to make it up to them. Peter says there can’t be any healing unless we sit down together.”
“That’s all well and good, but there’s a lot more at stake. What if the subject of the money comes up?”
“I don’t care about the money.”
“Bullshit. That’s bull. Do you have any idea how much money we’re talking about?”
