begin. John F. Kennedy Jr. and Sam Truitt.”
“Ooh, tough one,” the plump one said. “Does Truitt get a bonus for passing the bar the first time?”
“Up to you. It’s your fantasy.”
“I’ll take Sam Truitt,” Lisa broke in. “He reminds me of a cross between Harrison Ford and Jeff Bridges.”
“No, he’s more wicked,” another said. “Like Nick Nolte.”
“Yeah,” the plump one said, “and most of the profs look like Pee-Wee Herman.”
More laughter, and Lisa moved on. The day she returned home from Cambridge, she went to a trendy Georgetown salon, Curl Up and Dye, and had her hair cut into a shorter, layered “Princess Di.” She did it partly to look more professional, like a network television anchor, and partly to appeal to Sam Bam Truitt’s tastes.
If he’s attracted to me, it will be easier.
But she was also attracted to him and wondered if that would make what she had to do even more difficult.
Now Lisa finished dressing, putting on the white silk blouse, then a taupe-colored skirt, a below-the-knee number with four darts that clung to her waist and flattered her shape. She tucked the blouse under the narrow waistband of the skirt, then stepped into closed Ferragamo pumps with three inch-heels, maybe just a touch higher than necessary.
She lifted her chin and draped a double strand of South Sea pearls around her neck-a gift from Max-latching the chain carefully, then put on the matching earrings, a tasteful single pearl on a solid gold post. She slipped into the blazer and placed a silk pocket square in the breast pocket, smoothing it with her hand. She put two extra copies of her curriculum vitae in a soft-sided burgundy briefcase, imagining it stuffed with certiorari petitions, legal pads, and weighty briefs.
“I’m going to get this job,” she sang out, putting a tune to it. She was heading for the door when the phone rang.
“I need a baby-sitter,” said the male voice.
“Greg!”
“Just called to wish you luck. Today’s the day, right?”
“In twenty minutes.”
“Go get ‘em. You’re the best.”
“Thanks, kid.”
In her mind’s eye, she still saw little Greg Kingston in the Giants cap pounding his first baseman’s mitt, asking her for a game of catch because Dad was away, stationed in Germany or Florida or somewhere that sounded a million miles from Bodega Bay. She pictured the white clapboard house up the hill, gray smoke swirling from the chimney, Greg’s grandmother in the kitchen baking fruit pies.
She remembered running out of her own house one night, her drunken father diving for her legs as she flew off the porch, his calloused fisherman’s hands clawing at her. She stumbled and scraped a knee, then scampered up the hill where Greg’s grandmother took her in and dribbled iodine on the wound. For a time, at least, she’d found a haven from fear, a place where she could close her eyes without fear of what she would see upon awakening.
At twelve years old, she was Greg’s baby-sitter but soon became part of the family. Greg’s mother had long since taken off, and Tony was still on active duty, so the skinny eight-year-old boy with the hair falling in his eyes became the little brother she never had. Although he was now a handsome, lanky twenty-three-old with a mischievous grin, he would always be the kid wanting to play catch.
When she was in law school and had broken off with Max, Lisa returned home to visit Greg and found Tony there. He was nineteen years her senior, though still slightly younger than Max. She caught Tony’s look when they said hello.
No, I’m not the baby-sitter anymore.
She could still remember the feeling when their eyes locked. It was intense and immediate. Spontaneous combustion, the moment charged with electricity, and best of all, it was mutual. She recalled that first night, a full moon over the Pacific, wine and cheese on the bay in an old Boston Whaler. Sitting at anchor, the wind rippling across the water, they became lovers, their desire for each other unquenchable. Even now, with eyes closed, she could hear the anchor line stretching tight as a violin string and see the flashing channel buoy, keeping time with her heart.
The physical soon became more, and while the lust quotient never wavered, they grew together until they belonged to each other in a deep, encompassing way that she had never known. What was it about Tony that was so different? His honesty and decency, his capacity for giving more than he took. He loved to have her around, to listen to her, to share his dreams, his hopes, his fears. Their rapport was natural, their bond unbreakable.
My God, I didn’t know such a man existed!
Life, which once had been so bleak and gray, became a kaleidoscope of luscious colors. She had a family.
A man to love, a kid brother, Jesus, even a grandmom baking cherry pies. If only it could have gone on forever.
Now, Tony was gone, but the boy was still a part of her life, and she adored him. Just hearing Greg’s voice, so much like his father’s, sent waves of anguish through her.
“Where are you, Greg?” she said into the phone.
“Miami.”
Damn. When’s he going to give it up?
“I thought you were going back to school this semester.”
“I got a job driving a forklift.”
“Where?”
“Atlantica. I’m in the engine shop.”
No! You’re going to foul up everything.
“Greg. When are you going to drop this? It’s been nearly three years. A bomb brought down the plane. Your dad’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.”
There was a silence on the phone, and she recoiled at the sound of her own words. But it was true, wasn’t it? What difference did it make what caused the crash? Dead was dead.
“I’ve been drinking beer with some of the guys in maintenance,” he said, after a moment, “keeping my mouth shut but listening, picking up dirt. The incompetence around here is pretty amazing.”
“Legally, it’s irrelevant,” Lisa said. “It doesn’t matter if all the mechanics were drunks with two left thumbs-”
“It’s not just them,” he interrupted. “You ought to hear how they talk about Max Wanaker. Dad thought he was a real turd, too.”
She never told Greg that his father might have had other reasons for despising Max. “Greg, I don’t think it’s healthy for you to still be obsessed about the crash.”
“We deal with our loss differently. You can close your eyes to it, but he was my father.”
“I loved him!” Lisa shot back, “and all this does is twist a knife into the wound.”
“I’ve got to find out what really happened.”
She listened while Greg ran through a list of what he’d been investigating the past three years. They’d been through it all before.
Her mind wandered. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the kid was right. Ever since the accident, she had repressed it, trying not to think about her loss. She forced herself to forget his face, his smile, the way she felt in his strong arms. God, how she missed him! Her lover, her hero, her pilot.
What she had just said to Greg was the God’s honest truth.
Tony Kingston was the only man I ever loved.
CHAPTER 4
Scoreless in October
Sam Truitt came out of his chambers to greet her. He was wearing a blue oxford cloth buttoned-down shirt
