haunches to look for lunch possibilities. They were limited.
'There are a couple of boneless chicken breasts in the freezer,' Susan said.
I found them on top of the ice trays. The ice trays were full. Normally Susan kept them in there empty. I put some extra virgin olive oil in a fry pan, took the foil off the chicken breasts, put the two small rocklike portions in the fry pan, poured some of the vermouth over them, covered the pan, and put it on the gas stove to simmer.
Susan was down two thirds in her martini.
I found a bottle of Laphroig single malt Scotch in her cupboard, beside a box of sugar cubes and in back of some all-natural peanut butter. I took it down, broke some ice cubes out of one of the plastic trays, and made a large Scotch-on-the-rocks.
'You were right, you know,' Susan said.
'Probably,' I said. 'About what?'
Susan drank the rest of her martini and motioned with her glass. I poured her a second one and didn't even point out to her that I'd mixed without measuring and come out two glasses to the rim.
'About not letting me deal with Felton alone.'
'It wasn't even right or wrong,' I said. 'I couldn't leave you alone.'
'Just like you can't now,' she said.
'Yes.'
'Even though Hawk is following Felton, and Quirk and Belson will join him.'
'Yes.'
'Even though you told me Felton couldn't get away from Hawk.'
'Yes.'
'Why is that?' she said. She pulled the olive jar toward her and put two olives into her martini, which made it too full. She sipped some and put in another olive.
'I lost you for a couple of years back there,' I said. 'I found out that I could live without you. And I found out also that I didn't want to.'
'Because?'
'Because I love you,' I said. 'Because you are in my life like the music at the edge of silence.'
'The music what?'
'I never quite got it either,' I said. 'I read it somewhere.'
I drank some of the Scotch. Susan drank some of the martini. The chicken breasts simmered, defrosting as they went. I mused through the refrigerator again, looking for inspiration. There was broccoli, and one carrot. Under the sink I found an onion, the last survivor in its mesh bag. I got the vegetables lined up and began to search for a knife.
'Let me try it another way,' I said. 'It is not only that I love you.
It is that you complete my every shortfall.' Susan smiled and ate an olive.
'But do you respect me?' she said.
'I respect you like hell,' I said. It was one of our thousand catch phrases, remembered from an old Nichols and May routine we'd each seen years before we knew each other. I found a paring knife and began to peel the onion.
'And,' I said, 'I complete yours. Our strengths and weaknesses interlock so perfectly that together we are more than the sum of our parts.'
Susan smiled and ate another olive. Her martini was almost gone. Susan said, 'Make some more martini.'
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows and mixed up another batch.
'Thank you,' Susan said when I filled her glass.
I drank some more of my Laphroig. If it was going to be like that, I didn't want to fall behind.
'It is one of the special ironies of love,' Susan said. Her voice had a crystalline sound to it, as if it were coming through a clear filter.
'All the received truths of popular culture presume that successful love is rooted in shared interests. Dating services computerize preference, hobbies, vacations, and such so that they can match like with like.'
I had the onion peeled and was looking for a cutting board. I found it behind the toaster, a small fiberglass thing that looked as if it had never been cut on.
'And,' Susan said, 'in fact, of course, love frequently flourishes most successfully when ying meets yang.'
'Ying meets yang?'
'Never mind,' Susan said. 'And just keep your ying to yourself.'
I chopped the onion fine, and scraped the carrot and chopped it. I cut the broccoli into its component florets.
'It's why I was able to let you stay,' Susan said.
She was sitting now with her chin in the palm of her hand. She took another olive from her martini and bit half of it off and chewed it while she looked at the other half.
