As he parked the Olds in the crowded lot and saw a family with half a dozen kids tromp into the restaurant, Carver had misgivings about agreeing to Edwina’s choice of a place to eat. He liked kids, but he didn’t care for the idea of eating lunch within range of a two-year-old’s highchair. His own kids, Fred Jr. and Anne, had seen spoons more as launching devices than eating utensils at that age. Carver remembered thinking that was cute, but that had been Fred Jr. and Anne.
Edwina had gotten there ahead of him and had somehow secured a quiet booth near the back of the restaurant. She had on the gray tailored business suit she’d worn when Carver had first seen her, and a large blue leather briefcase was next to her leaning against the back of the seat. The attractive, modern career woman, taking time from her busy schedule to meet someone for lunch. She looked like an ad for The Wall Street Journal. What would the conversation cover today? Carver wondered. Missing lovers, the sweet agony of passion, or tax-free municipals?
“Do they serve orange juice here?” he asked, sliding into the seat across the table from her.
Edwina smiled. “And good food. And they see that adults by themselves are seated away from the kids. You shouldn’t judge things solely on the merits of their exteriors.”
“You and Burr are throwing worldly philosophy at me today too fast to comprehend,” Carver said.
She sat forward, interested. “Where did you see Burr?”
“At my place this morning. He wanted to warn me that what we’re involved in might be a big drug operation, with accompanying danger. He thinks Willis might be a low-level player in a high-stakes game.”
A large-busted young waitress in an orange uniform and wearing a hat with Mickey Mouse ears on it approached the table. A balloon twisted into the shape of some animal Carver couldn’t identify bobbed after her with helium buoyancy on the end of a long string attached to her belt. No wonder the place had tourist trade.
Edwina ordered the Dieter’s Delite. Carver asked for a hamburger, French fries, and something called an Orange Sloshy.
“I bring clients here sometimes,” Edwina said. “I’ve closed several deals at this table.”
“It’s probably the Orange Sloshy that gets them,” Carver said.
Edwina ignored his wisecrack. She was looking at him with an interest he hadn’t seen before in her gray eyes. The intensity of that look scared Carver. It suggested that they had turned a corner. Now their fates were linked. She was a little bit afraid, too, and curious about where this was all carrying them. The three of them, Carver, Edwina… Willis. Or was he gradually displacing Willis, becoming what Willis had been to Edwina? Willis the perfect, gentle lover; she’d moaned his name beneath Carver. Carver didn’t want to be Willis, not to that extent. Is that where this would end? How it would end?
“He’s a thief,” Carver said softly. She knew who he was talking about. Willis. Always Willis. “He ran out on you; he didn’t have to do that.”
“I don’t know the circumstances. You don’t, either. Maybe he had to leave. Maybe he did it for me.” She didn’t sound convinced. “I have to give him the benefit of the doubt,” she said earnestly.
“He doesn’t deserve it,” Carver said.
She sighed, toyed with the menu, then placed it back in its metal clasp at the side of the booth, near the miniature orange salt and pepper shakers. “I should have guessed it would go wrong for Willis and me,” she said. “There were signs, but I couldn’t see them, not knowing what I know now.”
“Signs involving drugs?”
“No. Nothing like that. Like the time Ernie Franks caught him going through his, Franks’s, desk. That happened right after Willis started working at Sun South. He explained to Franks that he had a customer on the line and needed some information fast on one of the new units, thought he’d find it in a hurry in one of Franks’s drawers. Franks believed him; he’s kind of a gullible sweet bastard despite the business he’s in. I wanted to believe him too. And Willis is convincing. Nobody thought much about it after a while. Then there was the time Willis disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Only for a few days, not long before he moved in with me. He stood up some customers, cost the company at least one deal. Franks was furious, but Willis, being Willis, was able to smooth things over.”
“How? What did he tell Franks?”
“I don’t know, exactly. He told me he had to go to Miami unexpectedly.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. Only that it concerned some past business. You see, Willis went to Miami before he and I… became close.”
“I thought you became lovers before he went to work at Sun South.”
“We had.” She gazed directly at Carver. “We became close later.”
The tone of her voice said it even if the words didn’t: The closeness of complete commitment was what had come later, the absorption of self. Desperate love, like in one of the old movies Desoto watched. Some women still thought that way. And men. They shouldn’t. Carver had found that out. People continued to buy into that kind of thinking, that kind of love, because they had no choice. The idea made Carver uneasy.
“Maybe when Willis disappeared he saw some people he didn’t want anyone to realize he knew,” Carver said. “People on the wrong side of the law, in the drug game.”
“ Burr would think that,” Edwina said.
The waitress brought their food. On the way back behind the counter, she paused and gave the balloon animal to a squirming preschooler at one of the tables. The kid promptly stuck it with a fork, popping it. Mom frowned. Dad thought it was funny. Family life.
Edwina was right, Carver decided. The hamburger was surprisingly good, the French fries were crisp, and the Orange Sloshy was delicious in its waxed cup.
They ate silently for a while, the way people do when they’re hungry and the food is simple and up to taste.
Carver watched Edwina across the table. Her dark hair was carefully brushed and arranged and she was wearing a minimum of makeup. She didn’t seem aware that Carver was studying her, but he knew the mask of Edwina could be unreadable. What was the mask hiding? What wasn’t she telling him?
“When will you be finished working tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Late.”
“Do you want to drive up to my cottage when you’re free?”
She didn’t hesitate; she’d thought about it before he asked, had her mind made up. “I don’t think so, Carver.”
“If you can’t forget about Willis,” he said, irritated, “can’t you at least put him aside for a while?”
“Not at my discretion.”
“I was thinking about indiscretion,” Carver said.
Edwina pushed her cottage-cheese-and-orange-segments concoction away, no longer hungry. Or maybe that was the idea of the Dieter’s Delite.
“You’re acting like a moody adolescent,” Carver told her. He was angry with Willis again, taking it out on Edwina.
“I know,” she said. She wasn’t being emotional, nowhere near tears, merely assessing herself, like someone with a fixation they’ve learned to live with because there’s no available cure. “But I need to know about Willis so I can lock my mental door on him and go on. Can’t you understand that?”
“I can understand it,” Carver said. “I can’t accept it. You’re making life too damned complicated.”
Edwina stood up, then stooped slightly and picked up her blue briefcase. “I better go,” she told Carver. She didn’t sound angry or upset. “I probably shouldn’t have taken the time to come here, anyway.”
Carver didn’t say anything. He took a huge bite of his hamburger. If she wanted to leave, let her. He could be a brooding adolescent, too. Edwina stood staring down at him.
Then she surprised him. She bent down and kissed his forehead softly, lingeringly, and turned abruptly and walked from the restaurant.
He would have called after her, but his mouth was full of hamburger. By the time he’d washed it down with a sip of Orange Sloshy, she was gone. He heard her car pull out from the parking lot.
When Carver was almost finished eating, the waitress brought the check. Edwina had let him pay for her lunch. For her, that was a gesture of intimacy. Like her unexpected kiss. Carver shook his head. Edwina’s moods
