After placing their order, they sat in silence, continuing to admire the view. Finally, Dan said, “So, where did you grow up?”
“New England. My father was a captain in the Connecticut State Police. When I was fifteen, he was killed by a young kid with a shotgun who was trying to rob a bank. Dad was only forty-three and had a wife and three children. The kid got five to twenty and was back on the street in seven years. I hadn’t even graduated from college yet, and he was out, doing his thing again. He was killed two years later in a drug deal-ironically, by a shotgun wielded by one of his partners.”
Dan listened quietly. Following her explanation, Nicole unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap. Reaching across the table, Dan gently placed his hand over Nicole’s, and she turned her palm up, underneath his hand, clasping his fingers as she offered a small smile. With their fingers interlocking, Dan briefly remembered that despite his wife’s death-a fact he felt Nicole’s background check must have disclosed-one outward symbol of his previous life remained: his wedding band was still on his finger. They sat for a moment, each looking at their clasped hands, until they were interrupted by three waiters, a particular affectation to the Empress of China, which made their establishment present a restaurant of first order.
Dan spoke. “Have you eaten here before?”
“I’ve had several Chinese dinners in town, but not here.”
“Well, then, Nicole Bentley, this will go into your journal, if you keep one. You’re about to experience the finest Chinese food in San Francisco. . in my humble opinion, of course.”
“Great-I’m starved,” Nicole said.
Dan was pleased to see that Nicole ate with good appetite. When she was finished, she pushed her plate away, emitting a small exhale to represent satisfaction with her meal. Surveying the mostly empty serving platters, she said, “Well, I made short work of that. Did you eat anything, Dan? I didn’t notice.” She laughed.
He grinned and patted his stomach. “I’ll say I did.”
Smiling, she stared into Dan’s eyes, holding his gaze longer than was comfortable for him. When she saw him become nervous, she began to laugh.
“What?” he finally asked.
“What, indeed. What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon, Counselor. You’ve got my
Nicole continued to look softly into Dan’s eyes, her face framed by her dark hair and highlighted by the reflection of the candle on the table.
Dan looked out the window at the Golden Gate Bridge, remaining quiet for several long moments. Not once since the accident had he confided to anyone the details, or even the generalities, of Susan’s death-especially not to a woman he was dating. But the memories were always there, close to the surface, and even after two years, still painful. The awful scene flashed through his mind-the bright-green ski jacket, the red hair flying as she danced through the moguls, the sudden veering off into the stand of trees-and the hideous aftermath.
“We married after I finished law school,” Dan said softly, “and I took a job as deputy county attorney in Susanville, up in the mountains close to Nevada, because Susan loved to ski, and she still had dreams of making the Olympic team. We were married for about a year and a half when she was killed in a skiing accident,” he said.
Now it was Nicole’s turn to reach for Dan’s hand across the table. “I’m sorry, Dan,” she said tenderly.
“It’s been over two years, but. .”
“I understand,” she responded softly.
The train ride home was filled with quiet, continuing conversation about jobs, families, and California’s secessionist movement. Neither of them felt up to any further in-depth conversation about the tragedies in their lives.
“When you called, you mentioned that today held a high and a low point,” Nicole said.
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Dan responded. “I thought it was a high-until tonight, that is.”
“Oh, Mr. Rawlings.” She laughed, turning her head toward the roof of the train car and rolling her eyes. “Methinks thou serves it up well.”
Dan laughed out loud, prompting the only other passenger, a black woman in a nurse’s uniform, to glance up briefly to see what caused the commotion.
“Well said, Nicole, well said. The low,” he began, “came early this morning when three of the county supervisors visited me to determine for themselves where I stood on the secession issue. They were none too subtle, and I got the point. Roger Dahlgren, Woodland’s city manager, has been talking to many of the businessmen in town about standing up for Senator Turner and his secession mania. Rumor has it, Roger’s also a captain in the Shasta Brigade. But then, you probably know that already. Anyway, it was clear that Roger put these board members up to the visit. They intimated that my job could be in jeopardy if I didn’t take a public stand in support of secession.”
“I take it, then, that you’re against it?” Nicole queried.
Dan looked out the window of the train as they surfaced near Oakland. “Nicole, my family has been in California for over a hundred and thirty years, but we’ve been in America nearly four hundred.”
“That puts your family in New England with the early colonists,” Nicole said.
“1630 in Fairfield, Connecticut.”
“Hey, that’s my old stomping grounds, although a bit before my time,” she laughed.
“Anyway, my grandfather, Jack Rumsey, is a grandson to the first family member to come west-the one who settled Rumsey Valley right after the Civil War. Jack’s as much as told me that my ancestors, to use his words, ‘would rise up and stomp me, if’n I ever forget that I’m an American.’”
“Sounds like a great guy.” Nicole chuckled.
“Usually,” Dan said with a laugh, “but the jury is still out among most of Yolo’s residents, and he’s lived there over eighty years.”
“
“It’s going to be impossible not to, I think. As I said, I’m an American, and if that requires that I oppose some of my lifetime neighbors. . well, so be it. It’s a choice we’re all going to have to make, isn’t it?”
“I can see it’s not an easy decision either way. I’ve been looking at it from a visitor to California’s perspective-sort of an ‘I-was-there-during-the-earthquake’ frame of mind. I haven’t thought of it as a decision to be made. I’ve lived somewhere else all my life. So, what will you do?”
“I know where I stand, but I haven’t yet decided what I’ll do about it.”
“And the high?” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“The other end of your day. . excluding this evening’s dinner, of course,” she teased. “You said there was a ‘high’ to your day.”
Nicole had a radiant smile, and Dan had been fascinated all evening by the woman behind the FBI agent. It was as if two personalities existed within the same body.
“Right,” Dan laughed again. “You know, you’ve allowed me to laugh quite a bit tonight, and there hasn’t been much cause for that for awhile. The high, you say? Well, I received a call from my literary agent in New York this morning. She’s sold my first novel to Simon amp; Schuster.”
“No! You’re a writer? What genre?”
“Historical fiction, following an American family through multiple generations.”
“Any
Dan nodded. “Guilty. I read somewhere that most first novels are largely biographical.” He smiled. “This family might bear some
They located Dan’s car in the train station parking lot, and the short drive to her apartment went quickly. Dan parked and walked Nicole to her door.
“Thanks for accepting on such short notice. You know, if you haven’t had the chance to see much of rural California, I’d love to show you the hills around Rumsey Valley. The upcoming season is beautiful, but the valley is especially beautiful during the Almond Festival in February when all the orchards are in bloom. I’d love to show you my home grounds over the next few weeks. That is, if you’re not otherwise committed.”
