Page 40 of A River Red With Blood
“Who’s Lucy Bernstein?”
“She sat in the front row of my biology class at Scarborough High.”
“And you still think about her?”
“No, but I saw her yesterday at the Shaw’s.She really is kind of hot.Still.”
Macy kicked my shin under the table, but since she was barefoot, it hurt her more than it hurt me.She pushed the notebook back to me.She was aware that I was working on behalf of Ward Vose, but beyond that, we hadn’t discussed thecase.It was an agreement to which we tried to adhere, because my role as a private investigator might lead to ethical or professional conflicts with hers as an officer of the Portland Police Department.Unless asked, she would not involve herself in my work and I would not involve myself in hers, otherwise our relationship risked falling apart, and we did not want that.Nevertheless, it was a loose agreement, since neither of us could completely ignore the other’s vocation or the similarities between us.
“What do you see so far?”she asked.
I ran my finger over names and places.
“Unconnected dots.”
“And if you join them?”
“A squiggle.”
“But?”
“There are irregularities, and I don’t like irregularity.”
“That’s unfortunate, given how much of it you live with.”
Macy knew a great deal about me.She knew that I sometimes saw my dead child.She knew that my dead wife, too, used to seek me out, but mercifully no longer.None of this she doubted.Her experiences as a rookie on Sanctuary had taught her that this world lay alongside another and the boundaries between them were permeable.On that Maine island, Macy had learned uncomfortable truths about the universe.
I hadn’t yet shared with her what Angel and I had spoken of on the journey to Rockland, and in the restaurant after.Now I did.I told her all of it, including Angel’s premonition that an end was coming.When I was done, she said: “Angel is a pessimist trapped in a pessimist’s body.”
“What about Louis?Because he feels the same way.”
“I can’t say what Louis is, beyond being an enigma trapped in a pessimist’s body.”She finished her tea and boiled the water afresh to make more.“Do you think they’re right?”
“I hope not.”
“So do I.”
We didn’t speak for a while.We were good with silence.It came with the trade.
When her second cup of tea was ready, Macy sat at the table again.
“What do we do?”
“We live our lives,” I said.“What else can we do?”
“It’s like breakfast with Samuel Beckett.”
“Who said an education was wasted on you as police?”
“I think they said that about my looks.”
“Mine too.”
She laughed.
“Let’s go back to bed.”
“Yes,” I said.“Let’s.”
