‘And I take more than most people can,’ he said. ‘In part, because you do.’
‘Yes, it works both ways.’
I stepped closer to him from behind and slipped my arms around the slick red nylon covering his waist.
‘You know damn well it does,’ he said.
I hugged him tight and dug my chin into his back.
‘One of your neighbors is watching,’ he said. ‘I can see him through sliding glass. Did you know you have a peeper in this ritzy white-bread place?’
He placed his hands over mine, then lifted one finger at a time with nothing special in mind.
‘Of course, if I lived here, I would peep at you too,’ he added with a smile in his tone.
‘You do live here.’
‘Naw. I just sleep here.’
‘Let’s talk about the morning. As usual, they’ll pick me up at the Eye Institute around five,’ I told him. ‘So I guess if I get up by four . . .’ I sighed, wondering if life would always be like this. ‘You should stay the night.’
‘I’m not getting up at four,’ he said.
2
THE NEXT MORNING came unkindly on a field that was flat and barely blue with first light. I had gotten up at four, and Wesley had gotten up, too, deciding he would rather leave when I did. We had kissed briefly and barely looked at each other as we had headed to our cars, for brevity at goodbyes was always easier than lingering. But as I had followed West Cary Street to the Huguenot Bridge, a heaviness seemed to spread through every inch of me and I was suddenly unnerved and sad.
I knew from weary experience that it was unlikely I would be seeing Wesley this week, and there would be no rest or reading or late mornings to sleep. Fire scenes were never easy, and if nothing else, a case involving an important personage in a wealthy bedroom community of D.C. would tie me up in politics and paperwork. The more attention a death caused, the more public pressure I was promised.
There were no lights on at the Eye Institute, which was not a place of medical research nor called such in honor of some benefactor or important personage named Eye. Several times a year I came here to have glasses adjusted or my vision checked, and it always seemed strange to park near fields where I was often lifted into the air, headed toward chaos. I opened my car door as the familiar distant sound moved over dark waves of trees, and I imagined burned bones and teeth scattered through black watery debris. I imagined Sparkes’s sharp suits and strong face, and shock chilled me like fog.
The tadpole silhouette flew beneath an imperfect moon as I gathered water repellent duffle bags, and the scratched silver Halliburton aluminum flight case that stored my various medical examiner instruments and needs, including photography equipment. Two cars and a pickup truck began slowing on Huguenot Road, the city’s twilight travelers unable to resist a helicopter low and about to land. The curious turned into the parking lot and got out to stare at blades slicing air in a slow sweep for power lines, puddles and muck, or sand and dirt that might boil up.
‘Must be the governor coming in,’ said an old man who had arrived in a rusting heap of a Plymouth.
‘Could be someone delivering an organ,’ said the driver of the pickup truck as he briefly turned his gaze on me.
Their words scattered like dry leaves as the black Bell LongRanger thundered in at a measured pitch and perfectly flared and gently descended. My niece Lucy, its pilot, hovered in a storm of fresh-mown grass flooded white by landing lights, and settled sweetly. I gathered my belongings and headed into beating wind. Plexiglas was tinted dark enough that I could not see through it as I pulled open the back door, but I recognized the big arm that reached down to grab my baggage. I climbed up as more traffic slowed to watch the aliens, and threads of gold bled through the tops of trees.
‘I was wondering where you were.’ I raised my voice above rotors chopping as I latched my door.