Michael brought water in clear plastic bottles. He handed her one, the plastic fogged and perspiring with cold. Kathleen took it and held it, not wanting to disturb her perfect posture. She was reclining in the chair, hands crossed at waist level, face titled toward the sky but at an angle where she could slide her eyes toward him. Her legs were stretched out, her stockings and shoes discarded - privately in the cabin below - to make maneuvering the slick deck easier.
''
So, what do you think about the suit thing?'' Michael kept his eyes on the sea, his hands on the steering wheel that guided the craft he had named Gentle Reminder.
Kathleen didn't move. Contentment had paralyzed her. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined a day quite so perfect. She wouldn't spoil it for anything. ''I'm not sure I should think anything about it. Sometimes people feel like dressing up. Or is that just a female thing?''
''
It's been known to happen in our ranks, too,'' Michael chuckled. Kathleen laughed lazily. He reached down and pulled a lever or pushed a button, the conversation never breaking stride. ''It is unusual at a place like Tysco, though. Especially in a department like auditing. We don't do the big meetings. Lionel reported to me. I report to those above me. It's very cut and dry and I've never required anyone to dress when they meet with me. What's really strange is that he died in another part of the complex. He really had no business being there. You know that's always bothered me. Who in the heck was he going to see? Now add the suit and you've really got a mystery.''
''
Maybe he was dressing up for someone. You know, like a lover. Do you think Lionel Booker could have been having an affair?'' Kathleen put her hand to her hair. Each strand was sticky and tipped with a drop of salty water. She fluffed her hair and let it blow as free as her thought associations.
''
That would be a case of still waters running more than deep,'' Michael laughed, and she knew he was looking at her from behind those black glasses. His gaze lingered, his voice softened. ''Besides, he was already dealing with two women. That's more than enough for any man.''
''
Could he have been going over to another Tysco division to look for another position? I mean can't people move around within the company?''
''
His wife would have said something. If they were such soul mates he wouldn't keep plans like that from her.''
''
Maybe he was in another area so no one would recognize him and ask what he was doing because he truly was an addict.'' That didn't sound right even to Kathleen, but Michael played along.
''
What about the suit, then?''
''
True.'' She licked her lips. They tasted like salt. Her lipstick was long gone. That gave her pause but Lionel Booker was a more interesting subject to consider. ''Okay, how about this. He dressed up to kill himself. People do that, right? They have some big statement they want to make and they want to do it right. So Lionel got dressed up because he wanted to be found in his Sunday best?'' Kathleen's fingers drummed on the back of the chair. ''But what kind of statement was he making? This particular day was important to him. He was going to try to escape some dissatisfaction by taking to drugs and the suit signified the transition. . .''
Michael snorted but it was an elegant expression of disbelief rather than off-putting. ''Never happen. Drugs are a thing of the moment. People don't plan to become a junkie like they plan to go out to dinner. It just happens. Lionel had to have tried it once before, then he had to want to do it again. It's not like you can decide to take up drugs the same way you take up smoking. You can't buy crack at a corner drug store. He would go back to whoever turned him on in the first place, buy the stuff, get the syringe, pick a time, worry about being caught.''
''
Unless he did want to kill himself, then he wouldn't worry about being caught.''
''
Then he'd be near his normal department. I mean whose feelings would he be trying to save by doing it a few floors down? Harold? Naw, he wouldn't worry that he was dressed right to make a buy if he didn't worry about what he wore to work everyday.''
''
Okay. Bear with me. I'm just throwing things out. If Harold thought the suit was so unusual then there had to be an unusual reason for it. Obviously nobody bothered to look into what Lionel was trying to say by dressing so out of character. His statement was lost because. . . because. . .'' Kathleen searched for the logical conclusion to her argument. Michael stood up and looked out to sea then back to her.
''
You are really something.'' Michael abandoned his station. Going past her, he settled himself in the middle of a padded bench that did double duty as storage. ''Do you always think the best of people?''
Kathleen raised a shoulder. ''I suppose. Why not?''
''
Because, for the most part, there is no universal 'best' in people. Most people aren't concerned with what's right or wrong but with what's expedient, easy and self serving. You want to know why nobody wondered why Lionel Booker was dressed to kill - excuse the expression. Nobody cared what kind of statement a man like Lionel Booker wanted to make. They wanted to push it under the rug. If there had been a note, it probably would have made the six o'clock news. Since there wasn't a 'statement' his suicide meant nothing.''
''
That's pretty cynical,'' Kathleen complained, vexed to find this handsome, rather personable, obviously intelligent man was so mean spirited, so small hearted.
''
Not at all. That's just the way things are,'' he answered evenly.
''
Didn't anyone ever teach you generalizations are dangerous? Don't you know that there's an exception to every rule?'' she shot back, surprised at her own intensity.
''
Are you the exception? Would you have thought to wonder why Lionel Booker was wearing a suit?''
''
I might have.'' He rolled his eyes. She sat up straight and leaned forward. ''I just might have.''
''
And if you had, and if you'd found out that Lionel Booker was making a statement about being so unhappy with his life that he dressed up and purposefully took it, your whole case would be blown right out of the water.'' Michael sat back and the boat bobbed.
''
You've forgotten one thing. I'd at least know the truth.'' Kathleen tapped the middle of her hand with one finger.
''
But you'd have to find some way around that truth if you're going to do your job,'' Michael countered. Something had changed. The edge in his voice sharpened, his words felt dangerous. Kathleen sat up and paid close attention.
''
You're assuming I would continue with this case if I knew that to be true.''
''
But that's what lawyer's do if they find a truth that doesn't suit them. They rearrange it.'' His superior attitude was more infuriating because it was presented with such maddening confidence.
''
Boy, you sure know how to ruin a perfectly nice day.'' Kathleen threw up her hands. ''You're full of assumptions. What makes you think that I don't care about the truth, or that all lawyers do the most expedient thing? You are an incredibly negative person. Look at the life you live. You have a safe and excellent job that pays for a boat like this. You haven't got a worry in the world, nor do you have to prove yourself in a public forum. You don't have to make decisions every day of your life that involve other people's welfare. You live in a safe little cocoon between that office of yours and this boat. You have nothing to be afraid of, but maybe Lionel Booker did. If he did, I want to know.''
A speedboat passed. The swell it created caused the boat to tip. Kathleen slid forward in her chair and Michael Crawford moved quickly. He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her so she didn't end up sprawled at his feet. He looked into her eyes; she could just see his own through the smoky lenses of his glasses. When he spoke, his voice was low and flat.
''
I'm not cynical, I'm realistic. I'm not afraid, I'm cautious. And, there are other forums besides the public one in which you operate.'' He set her back on her chair, bent over, let his elbows rest on his knees and took off his sunglasses.
His eyes were beautiful, but they had no depth. They were hard and honest and Kathleen knew she had made a big mistake in challenging him. She waited for him to speak but he had obviously changed his mind. He put his glasses on and went back to the wheel. The engine came to life. Michael threw the wheel. The boat responded, kicking up a question mark of a wake as it headed to shore.
Kathleen was alone, looking back at the horizon toward which they had been headed. She didn't want to go back to shore, back to her apartment or back to the office. She stood up and then stood beside Michael Crawford.
''
I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice of me. I shouldn't make assumptions.'' Silence. A sigh. She tried again. ''When I came here I had the crazy idea that my uncle was still the handsome, successful attorney he'd been when I was a kid. I was mad when he wasn't. When Louise Booker told me about her law suit, I assumed she didn't have a leg to stand on, but I found a way around the other side's arguments. I guess I made assumptions about you, too. I don't know which - if not all - are wrong, but I'd like you to set me straight. When I meet the real Michael Crawford then I'll apologize to him.'' Kathleen waited a beat. ''If it would be appropriate.'' Another beat. ''Is that fair?'' A gull cried. Kathleen asked. ''Michael?''
He'd started talking when they passed the breakwater. It took twenty minutes to maneuver the boat back to its slip. In that time she found out that Michael was an army brat. Ten schools by the time he was fifteen. High school was spent in Germany. He loved Germany. He loved the chance to learn and do anything new. The world was just full of opportunities no one took advantage of. His father was a desk jockey, his mother a housewife. His parents had an extraordinary marriage, especially considering they were a military couple. There had been a brother, Michael's twin. His name was Charlie and he'd been killed in Vietnam.
Kathleen helped secure the boat while Michael analyzed the differences between his brother and him. Charlie was more outgoing and adventurous, Michael more intellectual. Michael was a thinker who sought out experiences; Charlie took them as they came. Charlie was a ladies man; Michael liked a commitment. He had been engaged once but never married. He couldn't really explain why. Perhaps they hadn't been right for one another; perhaps he had waited too long and analyzed the situation too fully. Marriage was an important step, but maybe he should have tried it out instead of letting it die on the examining table. He wanted it to last forever. His caution perhaps made his intended feel like the courtship would last forever. He couldn't blame her. There was also the risk factor. His posting in Vietnam with the Special Forces wasn't an idyllic one. Even Kathleen understood the implication of that piece of news. Michael Crawford was the best of the best, the most courageous of men in America, a man of impeccable credentials. And she, a woman from the desert who had lived her whole mundane life on the cautious edge, had accused him of taking the easy way out.
Michael stopped long enough to let her get back into her shoes and stockings before he leaped onto the dock where he held his arms out for her. She had gone into them without a second thought and, in a movie moment, the sun seared red and gold as it sunk behind the horizon before he put her down. They walked toward the marina and a small Mexican food restaurant. There they found cold Margaritas, hot salsa and a back booth.
''
My parents are still living. They're retired in Palm Springs.''
''
I spent my life in Banning, not too far from there,'' Kathleen said.
''
I know where it is.'' Michael nodded and had the decency not to comment further.
''
Do you see them often?'' Kathleen asked.
''
I confess to being the perfect son. I see them as often as their schedule allows. They're pretty active. I think the happiest day of my dad's life was retiring from the service.''
''
What about you? I would have thought that the service for someone in the Special Forces would be an ideal life.'' Kathleen rested her arms on the open menu. The waitress had been over twice and had finally figured out they probably wouldn't be ordering any time soon.
''
I really loved the military. I went in with my eyes open and I served well, but I was ready for something different. I wanted to live like the rest of the world. Heck, maybe I just wanted to see how I looked with longer hair.'' Michael shook his head back like a fashion model and Kathleen laughed.
''
Fine.''
''
What?''
''
You look fine with longer hair. More than fine.'' Kathleen took a chip and too much salsa. Thankfully the spice brought tears to her eyes. When she looked back she couldn't see him clearly. It would have been awful to find her compliment wasn't welcome.
''
Thanks.'' There was a scarlet tinge to his skin that could have been a trick of the light or a blush of pleasure. ''Anyway, Tysco was there waiting in the wings. I was snapped up and put in the computerized weaponry division, international contracts. My business card was pretty neat.'' He chuckled and she knew it was at himself for being so impressed by something like that. Kathleen looked at the table. They shared a failing. She didn't think he ever failed.
''
I bet you wore a suit and everything.''
''
Very astute.'' Michael dipped into the salsa, but it dripped back, his chip forgotten as he continued. ''I was on that fast track, Kathleen. I was interfacing with the military, making huge bucks -''