"Do you have a picture of her?"

"Who?"

"Your wife. Do you carry a photo?"

I finessed that one. "No, I never got into the habit. Why?"

"I wanted to see what she looked like." Her eyes shifted away from me. "I'm told… I hear that Calvin's women tend to look like me. I was curious."

"Why don't you ask him?"

She smiled faintly. "It's not something we talk about."

"Maybe you should."

"What good would it do?" There was a tired note in her voice. "I don't know why I should tell you this, maybe because we're in the same boat together, but during the season Calvin goes to sea for eight days, and then he's home for two. Eight days of chasing every woman in sight, and two days of resting up for his next adventure. That's his routine, and it doesn't leave much time for small talk."

"Children?"

"Are you serious? Do you think I'd still be here if there weren't children? Two boys, fourteen and ten. You?"

"No, no children."

"Does she look like me? Your wife, I mean."

Another finesse. "Not really."

"Are you still in love with her?"

And another. "That's not something I talk about."

"I'm sorry, you're right, it's none of my business."

She took a tiny sip of her drink, and fell silent. Again it was time to go into her head, and again I did not want to. It would have been like marching through a rose bed in jackboots.

I asked, "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

She shook her head. "No, there's something else. It's about Calvin. I want you to leave him alone. You're not the first one to come after him, or did you know that?"

"The cop at the station told me."

"Ben… may I call you that?" I nodded. "Please leave him alone."

"It sounds as if you still care about him."

"He's a miserable son of a bitch, but I don't want him dead," she said calmly. "Marrying Calvin was the biggest mistake of my life, but my children need a father. He's betrayed me, he's humiliated me, he's tortured me with those women of his. But it's my mistake, I'm stuck with it, and he's still the father of my children." She reached across the table, and put her hand on top of mine. "Let it go, Ben. He's gone by now, he's on board the Queen, and he'll be gone for eight days. I'm asking you, please, don't be here when he gets back. I know what you must be feeling, God knows I feel the same way, but I want you to leave him alone."

"You sound as if you thought I was going to kill him."

"I don't know. I don't know what the others wanted, either. Maybe they just wanted to hit out in anger, and maybe they wanted to do more than that. But whatever it is, I'm asking you not to do it." She looked away, and in a voice so soft that I could barely hear it, she said, "There are other ways of taking revenge."

Her words hung between us. For the third time, I knew that I should go into her head, and for the third time, I backed away. I said, "Maybe you'd better spell that out."

"Do I have to?" Her chin came up. "What would you say if I suggested that we get ourselves a room here, and spend the afternoon making love?"

I tried not to smile. That explained the cheap motel, a place where she would not be known. "What would I say? I'd say that you're hurt, that you're angry, and that you don't really mean it." She stood up. "Wait here."

She walked out of the bar. She had a good walk. She was back by the time I had finished my beer. She tossed a room key on the table. "Well?" she asked.

Well, indeed. Part of me wanted her, the sticky plum was still in my throat, and another part of me knew that there was everything wrong with it. Forget that I was on the job; I had dallied on the job before. Forget that my case was her husband; he had nothing to do with the moment. Forget the time factor; I had plenty of time before the Queen sailed at five. Easy enough to forget all that, but what I could not forget was that this was a bird with a broken wing who was trying to fly in the face of a gale. I was a long way past bagging wounded birds, at least I thought I was, but the plum in my throat made me wonder. I stood up, and said, "Let's go."

The room was right on line for a sleaze motel: a waterbed, a VCR with a stack of cassettes, a mended rip in the carpet, a stain the size of a watermelon on the wallpaper, and the same pervading odor of antiseptic. She walked around the room touching things. She ran a finger over a surface, and stared at it.

Without looking at me, she said, "It's pretty bad, isn't it?"

"I've seen worse. Do you want to leave?"

"No, it doesn't make any difference. Or does it?"

"Not to me, but are you sure you want to do this?"

"Of course I do. Just give me a minute.

She went into the bathroom. She wasn't gone long, and when she came back she was naked except for a towel she had wrapped around her. The towel didn't hide much. She gave me a bright smile, and said, "You still have your clothes on."

"I'm slow that way."

"That's all right, I want another drink, anyway. How about you?"

"I’ll pass."

"Please, let's have another drink. Could you order up something from the bar?"

"Not in a place like this. I'd have to go get it."

"Would you mind terribly?" She peered at the bruise on my face. "Did the police do that?"

"Yeah."

"Because of me."

"No, because cops do things like that. Some cops."

She leaned against me, and brushed the bruise with her lips. "Poor you."

I put my arms around her, and the towel dropped away. She smelled of violets. It was like holding a warm, soft statue, but it was still a statue. She put her hands at the back of my neck, and I kissed her. She held the kiss for a moment, then twisted away. She slipped out of my arms, and covered herself again with the towel. She sat on the edge of the bed, and looked down at her folded hands. I could not see her face.

"I'm sorry," she said in a tiny voice. "I wasn't-I wasn't ready."

I took her arm, and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, get dressed. We're leaving."

"No, wait." She pulled against me. "Where are we going?"

"Anyplace. Out of here."

She planted her feet. She wouldn't move. Her face was close to mine, and her eyes were wide. "You don't want me. Is that it?"

"That's stupid, you know what you look like. I'm flattered that you thought you wanted me, but you don't, and we're leaving."

"But I do. I mean… want you." She took a breath. "I came here to make love. That's what I want." She was suddenly in my arms again. She said quickly, "I know I'm doing this all wrong, but I'll be all right, really I will. I just need something to relax me. Please, get us a drink, and I'll be ready when you come back. I promise."

I didn't think much of her promise, and I didn't get us a drink. Another drink wasn't going to change anything. Instead, I did what I should have done earlier. I trampled the rose bed, I went into her head, and it was sad in there.

I saw a time, long ago, when all of her life had been love, and warmth, and friendship, and I saw how much that had changed. I saw a time of decision back then, saw the decision made, and saw how much she later regretted it. I saw a young love lost, and never regained, saw her daydreams of what might have been. I saw her as a girl who once had been adored, and I saw her as a woman who had forgotten her beauty. I saw the man of long ago, the man she turned away. I saw her need, and I saw that I could not supply it. She needed absolution for mistakes of the past, she needed to set back the clock. She needed me to tell her that birds with broken wings can fly, that everyone gets a second chance, and that it all works out in the end. She needed to dream of a different decision, and she needed me to help her with the dream. She needed me for a lot of things, but she didn't need me for a lover.