by Lee Schultz
"Can I buy you a drink?" It came out of nowhere.
I jerked back to the moment. "Huh? Oh, um, er, ah sure. What have you got in mind?"
"I thought maybe we’d go to the Bierling and sample some of their microbrew. You like beer? They have other stuff, too."
Oh. My. God. Bierling brews are some of the best you can find in this area, probably the whole midwest. "Sure, I like their brews. I tend to like heavier, darker beers and stay away from that pisswater they call Lite." Scintillating conversation, Molly. Way to go.
He stood up. "Your car or mine?" He didn’t even wiggle his eyebrows.
I said, "How about we go in mine, that way if you start the third-degree, I can just leave." I grinned at him, and he grinned back.
"I’ll try to behave." And he opened my car door for me, then closed it gently after making sure none of me was in danger of getting closed in the door.
35
Toivo was at the bar in Channing drinking a Stroh's and watch the Packers on the television when a big tall rancher from Texas came strolling in. The Texan started drinking and bragging to Toivo about how much money he made and how many head of cattle he owned. He said to Toivo in a loud voice, "I can drive all day and never reach the end of my property!". Toivo replied, "Yah, I got a pickup like dat too, mister."
We talked about everything. He would steer the conversation around until he got me talking about myself, and I realized he was fishing for information. In return I steered the conversation back to him, and we ping-ponged for a couple of hours before he said, "Well, it’s a work day tomorrow, so I’d better be heading home." We played "me" "no, me" with the bill, and I finally conceded.
When I pulled up next to his car, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get out, so we finished the thread of conversation. Then he said, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll make something up."
"I’m still a little fuzzy about everything that happened when you dragged me out of the woods. I remember the bit where the medics were working on me, but I keep having the damnedest memory of waking up naked with you next to me. Was I hallucinating?"
I looked down at my hands. I’m not easily embarrassed - lawyers gotta have really thick skins - but right then I was getting there. "No, you weren’t. The power was off, you were one heartbeat away from dead, and I knew that was one of the best ways to get some warmth to you." I looked up. "Do you also remember that the dog was on your other side?"
He smiled broadly. "I didn’t remember that at all. Maybe because it wasn’t nearly as nice as having a naked lady in my bed."
I snorted. "A, I ain’t no lady, I’m a lawyer. And B, it wasn’t a bed, it was on the floor. I couldn’t have lifted you into my bed to save my life, and it was too far away from the fire to do any good.." I pointed a finger at him. "Don’t forget, Agent, you were icy cold, your skin made you look like a wax dummy, and your lips were blue, which meant you weren’t getting enough oxygen. I’m just glad I read so much, because that’s where I learned that getting naked is the best way to transfer body heat." I poked myself in the stomach. "I think I’ve still got leftover frostbite from warming you up."
"Hey, I’m not complaining," he said, "I just wanted to know if it was for real or if I was just having some nice dreams. It’s been a long time since I woke up with anybody but my cat next to me."
Relieved to have the chance to change the subject, I said "You’re a cat person? "
"Yeah, I like cats because if I have to be gone for any length of time, I can just leave out lots of dry food and water and an extra catbox, and she doesn’t even know I’m gone. Well, at least she only gives me the cold shoulder for a few minutes."
After a moment, he said "I’ve really enjoyed your company. Can I see you again while you’re up here? This trial is supposed to be all week." I had told him I was spending the entire week in Marquette, distancing myself from what was happening at home.
I looked at him steadily a moment before answering. "Is this part of your investigation technique?" Without answering he leaned over, put his hand on the side of my face and kissed me. On the mouth. I was still trying to catch my breath when he left my car, got into his, and drove away.
36
It doesn’t take much imagination to guess that I didn’t sleep too well that night. When I got up in the morning I felt like I hadn’t slept in a month. I kept trying to tell myself to just let it go, that I was blowing it all out of proportion, that just because he had an aura of pheromones that set off all my alarm bells was no reason to think it was anything to lose sleep about. Yeah, right. I even tried some wee-hours-of-the-morning yoga and meditation. Didn’t work.
Although the second day of the murder trial promised some good entertainment - they had finished jury selection the day before, and the prosecutor was ready to put on her case - I couldn’t concentrate on the proceedings. I perked up a bit when the defense lawyer did his best to pick apart the amateur assassin’s story because he’d got a deal on his own charges, but even so, my mind kept wandering like a lovesick thirteen-year-old. I gave up on the self-lectures since they did about as much good as forbidding your teenage daughter to see a particular boy.
The trial adjourned for lunch, and I wandered out in the hall looking for my friend. She spotted me first. "Hey, Molly, I didn’t know you were here? How the heck are you!" We moved out of the stream of people and hugged each other. "It’s been years since I’ve seen you! What have you been doing since law school?"
I told her about my old life in my downstate law firm, The Knifing, my two-year-plus odyssey, and my settling down in the U.P. She brought me up to date on her own life. Right out of law school she went to work as counsel for one of the tribes in the UP. When she got tired of having the tribal councils completely ignore her advice, she took a job as assistant prosecutor in the Marquette County Prosecutor’s Office. When her boss retired, she was appointed to fill the remainder of his term, and has been reelected every four years since then. As we caught each other up on our lives, we had walked out of the courthouse and to the parking lot. At her suggestion, we drove to Pat’s Bar where, she assured me, they had really great salads.
Our meals had just been set before us when a familiar voice said "Hey, Beth, how’s the trial going?"
Elizabeth smiled broadly. "Nate, how are you? I haven’t seen you for ages! This is my old law school friend, Molly Meagher. Molly, Nate Walters. He’s FBI."
Nate smiled warmly and said "We’ve met. Hi, Molly." Beth waved a hand at a chair and he joined us at our table.
I don’t really remember much of what was said at lunch. Beth and Nate talked shop a little, we talked about the weather - de rigeur in the U.P., since it can change in the blink of an eye - and discussed the merits of the various dessert choices.
Beth glanced at her watch and stood up suddenly. "I gotta go - I have to meet with my next witness before she goes on the stand." She hurried out, leaving a twenty on the table on top of her bill.
Nate and I just looked at each other for an awkward - for me, anyway - moment. Then he said "You up for a drink tonight? Maybe dinner first?" He didn’t look at all tense or nervous, but sat loosely in his chair, his left arm draped over the back, looking like he had everything under control. I couldn’t help noticing yet again how easy he was on the eyes. And what he was doing to my long-dormant libido. It wasn’t fair.
We agreed that he would pick me up at my motel at six and we would go to an out-of-the-way eatery he was particularly fond of. I went back to the trial and he went , well, wherever FBI agents go after lunch.
Bessie’s Diner was every bit as good as Nate had promised. Their chicken Caesar salad came with crunchy home made rolls and I had to really put the brakes on to not make a pig of myself. Once again, we talked trivia. Until the Death By Chocolate cake arrived. As I was swooning in ecstasy at the first taste, Nate leaned forward. "Tell me about Molly - who are you, what do you like
to do, where do you come from, are you married, you know, the whole thing."
"Okay," I said, "but it goes both ways."
He nodded. I told. The Readers Digest Condensed version, of course, but occasionally he would deftly make me expand on a particular area, like my law career, my get-it-together road trip, why I ended up in the U.P. That’s one thing everyone who moves to the U.P. gets asked - what brought you here? As if nobody in their right mind would want to live here. Or maybe since we’re so far north of everywhere nobody has ever heard of us. Something like that.
I finally said "Okay, this chocolate is calling my name, so I’m going to eat it while you tell me all about Nate Walters."
He was 52, currently single, which explains why he was on intimate terms with so many of the local eateries. He had married young, had two sons, each of whom now had their own pre-teenage sons and lived in Seattle. He had gone to law school, and after he graduated cum laude was offered a job with a prestigious law firm. His wife was ecstatic at the thought, but he had other ideas. He wanted to work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The marriage had already been on shaky ground, and this was its death knell. His wife was an ambitious social climber and had anticipated living the lifestyle of a wealthy lawyer’s wife. She was not a happy camper at the thought of remaining married to a cop, even a Federal cop.
After the divorce and his initial training at Quantico, he had been posted to various locales over the years. Five years ago he had been reassigned to the U.P., which was considered the last stop before oblivion by the Bureau. During one of his investigations, the daughter of a powerful politician was implicated and despite being warned off by his supervisors, he had persisted in his investigation of her. The Senator made a few phone calls, including to the chairman of the committee which oversaw funding for Federal law enforcement agencies, and within a few days, Nate was taken off the case and reassigned.
I said "Wow, that must have felt good."
He grimaced. "At first I was angry at the whole thing, but then as I started taking in this area, I got to thinking maybe this was the Universe’s way of telling me I needed less stress in my life. Everything is so different here from the cities, from the population to the individual people. The air is clean, the lakes are magnificent, even the drivers on the road are less angry and confrontational. I feel like this is my home now. My sons and grandsons like it because they can come up here for hunting and fishing. And every year or so I go out there and they take me out on their boat. Nice change of pace. I don’t do vacations very well." He smiled ruefully. "But I’m getting better at it."
"So, do you ever hear from your ex-wife?"
"I see her every once in awhile when I visit my kids. She moved out West when they were still living with her, and she and her husband live in Bellevue, near Seattle. We’ve managed to forge a sort of friendship centered on the kids and grandkids, and she sends me a card at Christmas."
I smiled. "You send her one too?"
"Nah. I haven’t send Christmas cards in years. Seems like I always get involved in something late in the year and never have time. I keep in touch with people I care about by email and telephone, so nobody gets offended when they don’t hear from me at Christmas."
"Me too," I said. "I haven’t communicated with my old partners since I left the firm. When I walked away, I never looked back. My life is so drastically different I don’t think my partners would even recognize me anymore. And my blood pressure’s lots better since I settled here, despite the increase in my waistline." I leaned back and patted my belly contentedly. "Chocolate is my drug of choice, and it’s a loyal friend - it never leaves me."
He grinned. "Is this where I’m supposed to say "that makes more of you to love?"
I took a deep breath. "I wouldn’t expect you to be so smarmy."
"Okay, then, I won’t say it. But I’ve got more questions."
"Jeez, just like a cop. Always interrogating."
"So what about relationships in your life? You briefly mentioned two marriages, and I must say I’m impressed that you didn’t badmouth either of them. That’s not something you find very often with divorces. Usually one or both partners wastes a lot of energy blaming the ex for every bad thing that ever happened to them. So how about relationships since you left your law firm?"
"Do I have to?" I mock-whined.
He nodded sternly. "You have to."
"Well, it’ll take all of about five seconds. I haven’t had any. Except I have a very loose friendship-plus thing with a guy in Crystal Falls. You know, dinner, a movie, the occasional - you know. " I didn’t want to talk about Cal just now. "And I left out the third marriage and divorce." He raised his eyebrows and I plunged on before he could comment. "So how about you? Somehow I can’t see somebody who looks like you staying alone for long."
He smiled wryly. "Wrongola. I’ve never remarried, and I’ve not had any truly serious relationships. I confess to a few casual ones, but I’ve had no interest in anything permanent. And moving around the way I have, every four or five years, it would have been hard on anyone who had her own career, or wanted kids. You know the bit about rolling stones."
I nodded.. I didn’t know what else to say. The silence stretched out until the waiter stopped by to see if we wanted drinks. We didn’t so he laid the bill on the table, exactly in the middle. Smart kid. I said "My turn," and grabbed it before he could. "I’m a firm believer in carrying my own weight, and believe me, sometimes it’s work." When I’m nervous I always make jokes about myself. Maybe I’m doing it so no one else has the chance? I dunno. My therapists have had fun with that one.
We walked out into the night. It was cold. The air almost crackled, and I could feel my nose hairs turning to icicles, a definite change from the sun and relative warmth earlier in the day. The sky was black and moonless, dotted with bright stars. . As we walked up the street to Nate’s car, our breath making clouds, he casually put his arm across my shoulders, and I fell into step with his long legs, no small achievement until he slowed his pace a bit. Ever gentlemanly, he opened the car door for me and waited until I had fastened my seatbelt before closing the door. Somehow I had moved past the jitters and into something of a comfort zone. I felt warm and happy, and the events of the past week or so receded into the distance. Although I have been a professed feminist since the early Seventies, it really felt good to be treated like a lady. It’d been a long time since anyone last opened a car door for me. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
Back at the motel, he went into cop mode and entered the room first. "You never know if the people who’ve been harassing you have followed you here. Better safe than sorry." He checked the bathroom and the closet, and pronounced it safe to enter the room.
I raised my eyebrows and gave him a sidelong glance. "You sure that wasn’t just a ploy to get invited in?"
He put his arms around me. "I don’t need a way to fake it. I figure you’ll invite me in if and when you really want to." It felt good, safe, warm. I could get used to this. Then I pushed away.
"I’ll be honest. Part of me wants to, and part of me is screaming Red Alert. It’s been so long since I had to deal with anything like this, I’ve forgotten what you do after you shake hands." There go the jokes again.
He pulled me back against him. "Hey, don’t worry about it. We’re both grownups and I don’t think we have to play games with each other. I will be honest with you, and will assume you’re being honest with me. No expectations, no obligations. Don’t say anything unless we really mean it. Okay?"
I looked up at him and nodded. "Okay."
"Then I’ll say goodnight, and pick you up for lunch tomorrow." He bent down and kissed me. It was like I had stuck a finger into a light socket. I swear my hair stood on end. I got goose bumps all over, my knees went limp, all the things romance writers drool over. I think my eyes even crossed. I wanted nothing more than to frog-walk him over to the bed and tear his clothes off. Good thing one of us had s
ome sense. Who says sex is only for youngsters!
He stepped back. "Whew! I think it’s time I left, don’t you?" When I didn’t speak, he squeezed my hand and walked out the door. He turned. "Good night, Molly." Then he turned his back and walked to his car. I stood in the doorway freezing my nose off watching as he left the parking area, wanting like crazy to call him back.
37
You might be a Yooper if you can drive 65mph through 2 feet of snow during a blizzard without flinching
Hoo, boy. Was I in deep trouble. My nicely ordered life was being attacked from all sides and it was scary. I wasn’t sure which was the more frightening – the attacks on me and my property, or Agent Walters’ assault on the walls I had carefully constructed around my sexuality.
Getting to sleep that night was like riding a roller coaster. I would just sink down into that floaty, warm feeling you get just before you drop off, thinking about possibilities, then I would pop back up into awareness of all the obstacles and treacherous footing if I went down that path. Did I want to embark on a new journey of discovery, or did I really want to just stay in my well-furnished, low-stress rut? Did I really think I was too old to start a relationship, or was that just a convenient excuse covering up my fears? Rejection? Looking foolish? What people might think? What my kids might say? Jeezo Petes, I was feeling like I did when I was fourteen and had the mad hots for a Bad Boy of eighteen, afraid my mother would find out and forbid me to see him (although I wasn’t really "seeing" him since he didn’t know I was alive at that point) or tell me that boys don’t like girls who bite their fingernails.
Like my kids would even care if I took up with an escaped felon. They long ago made it clear that my life was MY life, they had their own to live and had no intentions of interfering with mine. Although they did express some concerns when I bagged my law firm and took up the gypsy life, but the concerns were just that I would be safe and not come to more harm. I was going to be far enough away from them that if I did something embarrassing, they were not going to get any flak about it.
