'Illegal, too. I don't want anyone to know we're in the country, so that means sneaking in. Usually it can be done with a bribe, but if we get the wrong official it could be trouble. I just want you to know what you're getting yourself into.'
'Trouble? You call that trouble?' Tomlinson's head was bobbing up and down, excited. 'Misplaced papers, bad I.D.'s, sitting in tiny rooms while guys in uniforms rant and rave about insufficient data—that's been my fucking
'Just so long as you know—'
'I wouldn't miss it! Don't you see all the little karmic links? Me looking at those sharks of yours, asking one dumb question, but exactly the right question. Getting interested in Mayan history, doing all this research. It's like Lachesis and Clotho drew us a personal road map to the future; Kismet City, man.'
Ford didn't know who Lachesis and Clotho were and wasn't about to ask. Tomlinson said, 'You are officially absolved of any responsibility, as of this moment. No shit.' Said like a holy proclamation.
'You're certain?'
Tomlinson crossed his heart. 'Scout's honor. When do we leave?'
Ford hadn't even made the reservations yet. 'Tomorrow; I'm not sure what time. I'll call and find out tonight, then stop over in the morning. We might be gone for a while; keep that in mind. Maybe a week, maybe three.'
'Hell, three weeks or three months, I still only got two pairs of pants.'
That was good. Ford liked traveling with people who packed light.
He left Tomlinson's, jumping his skiff to plane, and ran through the darkness across the flats, picking up the canted wooden posts marking the channel that funneled to the mouth of the bay. Pelicans and cormorants flushed in mass off the rookery islands as Ford slid past, gray shapes ascending through the light of a waxing moon. Jessica's house seemed even smaller in darkness, its windows aglow within the shadows of the casuarina pines, and Ford could hear music coming through the screened door as he tied off his skiff. People singing in Italian, a tenor crying to a lofty soprano; some kind of opera.
'Anybody home?' Ford could see Jessica working in the next room. Concentrating before the easel, chewing at the end of her brush, she wore jeans and dark blue T-shirt, hair woven in a tight braid down to the middle of her back. 'HELLO?'
She started, turned and focused, then smiled. 'Hey, get in here. I'm pissed at you,' talking as if she were kidding, but with an edge to her voice, as she found the stereo and turned down the music, then came and gave Ford a strong hug but no kiss. 'You could have at least stopped this afternoon and said hello. Or asked me to go out collecting with you.'
Ford said, 'I thought you would be packing.'
'Right. I throw a few things into a bag, and I'm packed. A New York auction doesn't require a fashion statement. And I'm only going to be gone a few days.' She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek, then let it fall as if sensing his mood. 'Hey, what's going on here, Ford? You mad about something?'
Ford followed her across the room as she motioned for him to join her, saying 'I came to say good-bye' as they sat on the couch.
'I wish I didn't have to go.'
'Me, too. I'm leaving for Masagua tomorrow. I'm going to try and get my friend's son back.'
She said, 'Oh,' not liking the sound of it, and began to pick at the paint that stained her fingers, not looking at him. 'Why do you have to do it? Why can't you just call the police and let them take care of it?'
'We already talked about that.'
'I don't want you getting involved in all this. I was hoping you were upset about what happened Saturday night.'
'About us being together? Why would I be upset about that?'
'Not us.' She turned, studying his eyes. 'I mean you and the woman who stayed with you. The blond woman. After you left me.'
That was a surprise, and Ford didn't try to hide it. 'News travels fast around this bay. '
Jessica said, 'No, I was out for a ride on my bike yesterday morning and saw her leaving. Very pretty, Ford. I hoped that's why you felt bad.' When Ford did not respond, she asked: 'Do you?'
'No.'
'Would you have told me?'
'Not unless you asked.'
'Are you in love with her?'
'No.'
She said, 'Oh. Well, I guess we didn't make any commitments, did we.' Getting icier and icier.
'No, we didn't.'
'I don't want to be a bitch about this, Ford. I'm no priss. But it hurt. I thought Saturday was special.' She had been sitting close to him, her shoulder touching his, but now she moved it away.
'It was very nice.'
Jessica said, 'Well, at least we've always been honest with each other.'
And Ford said quickly, 'Have we?' holding her eyes until she finally looked away.
She said, 'I don't think this is a good night for either one of us. Maybe we should talk about it when we get back.'
Ford said, 'Just one question: That marketing firm you worked for in New York—are you still associated with those people?'
In a small voice, she said, 'No.'
'But your friend Benny is, isn't he? Benjamin Rouchard; one of the stockholders.'
'You checked up on me, too, huh? Did I pass? Or is this just midterm?'
Ford didn't react to the anger in that. 'I came out to tell you it's a bad time to be involved with them, that's all. I'm not prying. I don't want you to get hurt.'
She was quiet for a moment, as if allowing the anger to fade. 'I'd rather not go into something when neither of us has a lot of time. It would be one thing if you could stay the night—' Throwing that out like an invitation. When Ford made no move to accept, she added, 'But you won't, will you?'
Ford said. 'I haven't even made reservations yet. And I have to pack. '
'Then I'll walk you to your boat,' as if calling his bluff, and Ford followed her out of the house. But at the dock she stopped him once more. 'Doc?'
'Yeah, Jess?'
'Doc. . . .' She held the end of her braided hair in one hand, fidgeting with it, not looking at him. 'Doc, why do you come out here? Why did you like seeing me—before Saturday night, I mean?'
'Companionship, I guess. We have fun together.'
'I know, but what else?'
Ford thought for a moment and then tried to answer as honestly as he could. 'I like the way you look; I like the way your mind works. I like coming into your house at night when you're playing classical music, and you have candles burning. It's nice.'
She smiled slightly, still not looking at him. 'Doc, when we were together I almost told you that I was falling in love with you.'
Ford waited, saying nothing, then touched his finger to her chin, tilting her head. He kissed her gently, held her in his arms for a moment, then stepped onto his skiff, immediately disturbed by the sense of relief he felt, the feeling of freedom that small distancing created in him: her on the dock, him behind the wheel, already touching the key. He said, 'Be careful in New York, Jessi.'
Ford and Tomlinson caught a commuter flight from Fort Myers to Miami, then flew LACSA into San Jose, the course taking them in just close enough to the Mosquito Coast so that Ford could see the dark haze of what was probably the eastern shore of Masagua. His cheek against the cool Plexiglas window, Ford played the child's game of wishing he had superpowers, X-ray vision, so he could peer through the miles and find a frightened little boy . . . and Pilar Balserio, too.
Then they were dropping down through the clouds to see this great glittering city surrounded by mountains; a city that, from fifteen thousand feet, looked a little bit like Atlanta, but without the Yuppie housing. Ford began to pick out the familiar landmarks of San Jose: the National Theatre, the lines of cars on Calle Central, all the nice
