Out of the lawyer’s vision, Robin smiled and winked at me.
I told him I appreciated it, but no. I would have my hands full teaching at ASU. I hoped so: I kept waiting to get the final sign-on. Things moved so slowly in academia. Or maybe we would sell the house and move to Washington-I had offered that to Lindsey and she had said no. That was another example where she calmly made a hard pronouncement and ended the conversation, another reason to lie awake. Was she really trying out this job for a few months, as we had discussed? Now the round brown face in front of me kept talking.
“He’d be willing to pay five thousand dollars.”
“I can’t. But thanks for stopping by. I’m sorry I gave you a scare. We’ve had some trouble in the neighborhood lately.”
“Ah.” He stood and shook my hand. “I totally understand. I don’t even know anyone who would live down here.”
I kept my neighborhood pride tamped down. I didn’t tell him you couldn’t pay me enough to live in his gated property or mountainside mansion.
He said, “I hope you’ll keep my card in case you change your mind. If what I hear about you is correct, this story might really intrigue you.”
I walked him to the door, eager to get him out-eager, desperate really, to make drinks.
For the first time in weeks, I put on jazz. Bill Evans, Stan Getz, McCoy Tyner. Coltrane, of course. I drank two martinis and Robin had one. I was drinking too much. It was the least of my problems. Robin opened our last cans of chili, used up the box of crackers, and made me eat something.
When the music stopped, Robin said, “This isn’t your fault.” There was no question what this was. “There’s nothing you could have done differently.”
“I wonder about that every day,” I said.
“I know you do.” It wasn’t a reproach. Just a gentle commiseration. “There’s nothing anybody could have done. Nobody is to blame.”
“That may not be what Lindsey thinks.”
She didn’t respond.
Her face brightened. “If you’ll go running with me tomorrow, I’ll take you to a bookstore.”
“Will you wear the vest?”
“Hell, no.” She tried unsuccessfully to pull her hair behind her ears. It fell back, gently framing her smile.
“You are a pain in the ass.” I said it fondly.
We sat a long while in the dark living room, until she asked, “Do you want your space tonight?”
I closed my eyes, remembering the previous night, after Lindsey and I had strolled together along the Mall, the monuments grandly lit, the cold sharp. It felt important to try again to make a connection, to find my way back to her. It was a bad idea. I talked and she met me with silence. Until we came back to the Washington Monument, and then she spoke for all of ten seconds.
