"You need help?"
"No, but you can keep me company if you like. There's something satisfying about going after these things. Ugly-looking little buggers, aren't they?"
"Disgusting. I thought you got rid of all the nutgrass this spring."
"Ongoing process. You never really win." He sat back on his heels briefly, then shifted so he could tackle the next section.
I kicked off my tennis shoes and settled in the grass, letting the sunshine wash across my legs. Henry's dark mood had lifted, and while he was still subdued, he seemed almost himself again.
"I see you had company last night," he remarked, without looking at me.
I laughed, feeling the blush begin to mount in my cheeks. "That was Cheney Phillips. STPD. He's a friend of Lieutenant Dolan's," I said, as though that were relevant.
"Nice?"
"Very. We've known each other for years."
"I thought it must be something of the sort. I've never known you to be impulsive."
"Actually, I am. It just sometimes takes me a while to work up to it."
There was a companionable quiet, broken only by the sound of Henry's trowel chunking in the ground.
Finally, I said, "Is Lewis still in town?"
"He flies home tomorrow. I feel better about him, in case you're wondering. I don't want to see him just yet, but we'll work it out in due course."
"What about Mattie?"
"Oh, that's probably for the best. I never expected the relationship to turn into anything serious."
"But it might have."
"'Might' doesn't count for much. I generally find it wiser to deal with what is than with what might have been. Having made it to the ripe old age of eighty-seven without a long-term romance, there's no reason to suppose I'm even capable of such a thing."
"Couldn't you at least call?"
"I could, though I'm not sure what that would accomplish. She made her feelings clear. I have nothing else to offer and nothing much to add."
"What if she called you?"
"That's up to her," he said. "I don't mean to sound like a sad sack. I'm really fine."
"Well, of course you're fine, Henry. It's not like you're crushed because you've dated her for years. On the other hand, I thought you were great together and I'm sorry things didn't work out."
"You were picturing… what?… a little trip down the aisle?"
"William got married at eighty-seven, why not you?"
"He's impetuous by nature. I'm a stick-in-the-mud."
I threw a handful of grass at him. "You are not."
Reba called at 5:00, interrupting what I realized in retrospect was an award-winning nap. I'd stretched out on the bed with my favorite John le Carre spy novel. The light was soft. The temperature was mild and the sheet I'd thrown over me was the perfect weight. Outside I could hear the dim buzz of a lawn mower, followed by the pft-pft-pfi of Henry's Rain Bird, firing jets of water across the newly trimmed grass. Thanks to my sleep deprivation of the past two nights, I sank out of consciousness like a flat stone settling lazily to the bottom of a lake. I don't know how long I might have gone on like that if the phone hadn't rung. I put the handset to my ear and said, "Uh-huh."
"This is Reba. Did I wake you?"
"I greatly fear you did. What's the time?"
"Five minutes after five."
I checked the skylight, squinting in an attempt to determine if the sun was coming up or going down. "A.M. or P.M.?"
"It's Friday afternoon. I was just wondering what you'd heard from your guys."
"Nothing so far. Cheney's currently on surveillance, but I know he's trying to reach his contact in Washington, D.C. It may take a few days to set up the meeting. With so many agencies involved, the protocol's tricky to negotiate."
"I wish they'd get on with it. Beck's back Sunday night. I don't want to have to deal with him if I'm doing this."
"I can appreciate that. Unfortunately, Cheney's dependent on other people and he can only push so hard. Doesn't help we have a weekend coming up."
"I guess. You want to go someplace later? We could have dinner."
"That sounds good. What time?"
"Soon or right away, whichever one comes first."
"What'd you have in mind? You want to meet me somewhere?"
"You decide. All I know is I gotta get out before I lose my mind." I could hear her pause to light a cigarette.
"What's making you so itchy," I said.
"I don't know. I've been feeling anxious all day. Like maybe there's a drink or a poker parlor coming up real soon."
"You don't want to do that."
"Easy for you to say. I'm already back to smoking a pack a day."
"I could have told you not to start."
"I couldn't help myself."
"So you said. Personally, I don't buy it. You either take charge of your life or you might as well give up."
"I know, but I've been feeling so bad. I know Beck's a shit, but I really love the guy -"
"You love the guy?"
"Well, not now, but I did. Doesn't that count for something?"
"Not in my opinion."
"Also, you know, as odd as it sounds, I kind of miss being locked up."
"You're kidding."
"I'm not," she said. "In prison, I didn't have to make all these decisions, so that limited my chances of screwing up. Out here, what's the incentive to behave?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose in despair. "Where are you now, at your dad's?"
"Yeah, and you'll never guess who came waltzing in for a visit with him."
"Who?"
"Lucinda."
"That woman who hoped to marry him?"
"The very one," she said. "She'd love to see me violate parole. I get tossed in the can again, she'll whip back into Pop's life before the doors slam shut."
"Then you better pull yourself together."
"That'd be easier to do if I could have a drink. Or maybe I could drop in at the Double Down and just watch. No harm in that."
"Would you cut the crap? You can do anything you want, but don't kid yourself. You're just looking for an excuse to self-destruct."
"Yeah, it might be a relief."
"Look, why don't I hop in the car and come get you?"
"I don't know. Now that I think about it, maybe that's not such a hot idea. If I leave Lucinda alone with him, she'll find a way to make trouble."
"Oh, come on. What can she do? Your father told me he was done with her."
"She'll manage somehow. I've seen her do it before. Pop's like me, weak-willed and indecisive, only not as hell-bent. Besides, if he's so done with her, how come she's sitting in the other room?"
"Would you quit obsessing about her? She's the least of your worries. Look, give me a minute to throw on some clothes and I'll be up."
"Are you sure you want to go out?"
"Sure I'm sure. Why don't you start walking down the drive, and I'll meet you at the gate."
In the car on the way over, I tried to assess the situation. Reba was on the verge of coming unglued. Since the moment she'd fired up that first cigarette, I'd been waiting for signs of emotional decompression. After two years at CIW, she was unaccustomed to real-world conflicts and real-world consequences. Prison, while loathsome, apparently provided a form of containment that must have made her feel safe. Now there was too much to deal with and no way for her to assimilate the impact. Bad enough to find out Beck had hoodwinked her into taking the fall for him, worse still to discover he'd launched into an affair with the woman she'd thought of as her best friend. She was tough enough to acknowledge his deception, but perhaps not tough enough to make the break. I could see her ambivalence; she'd been dependent on him for years. What worried me was the fact she had so little tolerance for stress. If the meeting with Vince Turner had been scheduled right away, she might have sailed right on through, spilling everything she knew. With the delay of even three days, she was in danger of losing control. And while she wasn't my responsibility, I was party to the push that had her teetering on the brink.