I open a drawer, looking for the corkscr
e
w. So
m
e
thing catches and the drawer sticks halfway open. I pull on the handle with
one hand and push against the clutter with the other. A sharp pain slices
across my fingers as I brush a
g
ainst a wire cheese grat
e
r
. Blood drips into the drawer and on
the counter. Mark is at
m
y s
i
de in an instant, holding a roll of paper towels.
“Let
m
e,” he says, starting to blot the blood.
I pull
m
y hand away. I don’t want him
to touch
m
e.
“Back in a
m
i
nute,” I say and go upstairs.
I can barely get the band-aid out of its wrapper to lay over the cut. The rusty s
m
ell of blood sticks in
m
y nose and I feel nauseated. I splash c
o
ld water on
m
y
face. The wo
m
an looking back at
m
e in the
m
irror is tense and frightened. I tell
her to calm
down. I re
m
i
nd her
what this e
v
ening is ab
o
ut, that she is a grown woman, not a love-sick gra
d
uate student, that for all his char
m
s, Mark will be no
m
atch for Marsha Hudson, prof
e
ssional conduct i
n
vesti
g
ator. I do a short visualization, Mark, on his knees, begging the d
i
sdainful Marsha Hudson for
m
ercy. It is both cheering and instructive.
By the ti
m
e I co
m
e downstairs, Mark h
a
s opened both bottles and fixed the stuck drawer. He inspects
m
y hand, pronounces
m
e fit
and gives
m
e a glass of wine.
“You like pinot noir. I think you’ll love t
h
is one.” He raises his glass
to
m
i
ne. “I want us to be friends, Dot. And colleagues. I even have so
m
e hope that one day we could write another book together.
W
e were a good tea
m
.
W
e helped
a lot of people.”
He clinks his glass against
m
ine. “I hurt you
and I t
h
ink I n
e
ver un
d
erstood until rece
n
tly h
o
w deeply.”
He swirls the wine in his glass, sniffs at
it, takes a sip, and swishes it in his
m
outh, closing his eyes as he s
w
allows and savors.
“Primo,” he says and looks at
m
e, his eyes intent and serious. “
W
e needed to go our separate ways and I took the plunge. I wish I had done it differently, but at
least I saved you from
having to be the one to pull the plug.”
I s
m
ile at t
h
is cre
a
tive r
e
ndering of our history. “I have a so
m
ewhat different recollection,
Mark. I reme
m
ber that we split up when I found out about your affair with Melinda.”
“
Touché
. I deserve that.” He takes anoth
e
r sip of wine. “The thing is, Melin
d
a
m
i
ght have been a passing attraction, an infat
u
ation. I wanted to be
sure
of
m
y
feelings before I told you about her.”
“How is the lovely Melinda, by the way?
I’m
curious. Did she ask why I was in your office last week?
I know she
saw
m
e. What did you tell her
?
”
“That you wanted to consult abo
u
t an officer I had screened.”
I open the oven to check on the chicken.
“God, that s
m
ells delicious,” he says. “I’m
starving.”
I take the salad out of the ref
r
igerator and he takes it
out of
m
y hands.
“I
m
ake great salad dressing, re
m
e
m
be
r
?
Oil and
vinegar, a bowl and a whisk. Mustard, too, if you have it.” He starts op
e
ning cabinet doors. “Feels like old ti
m
es, doesn’t it, drinking wine and cooking together
?
”
I w
a
nt to stab him
with the sharpest kitchen knife I own. He looks so pleased with
hi
m
self, s
m
iling, happy in
the
m
o
m
en
t
. The
m
o
m
e
nt is all that
m
atters to him. The past is open to revision and the future d
o
esn’t cou
n
t because it i
s
n’t here yet.
We carry the food to the dining table and sit do
w
n. Mark refills our glasses. I’m already a little lightheaded.
“
Bon appétit
,” he
says and
m
ak
e
s a show of bending over his plate and inhaling Fran’s fragrant gravy.
”I want to talk about Ben
Go
m
ez. I still
n
eed his
f
ile.”
Mark’s eye
b
rows knit t
o
gether in di
s
approval. ”Later. Let’s enjoy our
m
eal and talk abo
u
t s
o
m
ething e
l
se, so
m
ething pleasant.”
“Okay. Does Melinda know you’re here
?
”
He purses his lips. “No.”
“
W
here does she think you are
?
”
“
W
orking late. She gets tired and goes ho
m
e early these days.”
“
W
hat if she needs yo
u
?”
“She calls my cell.
W
hy?”
“Last week you were afraid to upset h
e
r.”
He sighs. I know that sound. I’m trying his patience He wants to have fun, and I’m
being serious.
“I told you. She’s had trouble with the pregnancy. I’m
trying to protect her from unnecessary stress.” He butters two
rolls and puts one on
m
y plate.
“She’s goi
n
g to be pretty stressed
o
ut when she finds out that you acce
p
ted
m
oney from
Belle Patcher to falsify Ben Go
m
ez’ p
s
ych assess
m
ent. That’s a
g
ai
n
st the law.”
His fork clatters again
s
t the
p
late.
“
W
ho told you that?”
“Belle P
a
tc
h
er.”
“The wo
m
an’s a borderline. A drama queen. She
m
akes things up. She showed up at
m
y office one day, out of the blue, hyste
r
ic
a
l,
b
abbling that Ben had gotten her daughter pregnant and her husband wouldn’t l
e
t them
get
m
a
r
r
ied unless he got a police job. Begged
m
e to recommend h
i
m
.
I thought I’d never get her to leave.” He stabs at a piece of chicken with his fork and dips it in the
g
r
avy.
”Have you
m
et Vinnie Patcher?” I ask. “Diagno
s
tically,
I’d say he is
an inter
m
ittent explosi
v
e disorder. Gets extre
m
ely angry. He actually
b
roke in here and trashed the
pl
ace, stuck a knife though the heart of
one of
m
y swea
t
ers. Not t
e
rribly subtle. Watch out for hi
m
. He’s dangerous.” I take a sip of wine. “So, what
m
ade you take the money? G
a
m
bling debts?
Cocaine?
Back ordered for stresso
m
eters?”
Mark grips his knife and fork so tightly
his knuckles are bloodless. “How long have you known
m
e?
Outside of a little pot
a
nd an affinity for fine wine, I don’t use drugs. Never have. And I don’t ga
m
ble.”
“Supporting a
m
i
stress
?
”
“For Christ
sakes.”
“You cheated on
m
e, why not Meli
n
da?”
“She’s pregnant.”
“So was I once. Re
m
e
mber?“
He looks shocked, though no more than I am
at the old rage that rushes out of
m
e.
“
W
hat
were you doing while I was having the abortion? Skiing, sailing?
Presenting a pap
e
r?
Screwing another wo
m
a
n
?
”
“Godd
a
m
n it, you told
m
e not to stay. You said you could handle it. That it was no worse than having your wisdom
t
eeth extracted.”
“I lied.” I slam
my glass on the table.
W
i
ne splatters over
m
y food, staining the rice cri
m
son. “I was terrified of losing you.
Turns out, you were even
m
ore terrified of being tied down. I guess things have changed.”
“
W
e were on a roll.
W
o
r
king, writing, buil
d
ing the practice. It took two of us, Dot. I couldn’t do it alone. It wasn’t the right ti
m
e to share you with a child. And then it got too late
.
” He sits
s
t
ill as a
s
t
one, his li
p
s dra
w
n into a tight crea
s
e acr
os
s his face. “I think I should leave.”