“He got pulled in casually by his friend,” she said. “He just went along for the ride. Who knows what Danny told him? He couldn’t have known there would be a fire.” She swallowed some of her tuna sandwich and opened the notebook to the tab marked Notes.
“Oh, Paul. He wrote down some self-improvement stuff here. He tried so hard.”
“Tries.”
“Tries. Listen to this: ‘Goals: B-plus average. Get a girlfriend. Note: must like hiking. Be cool with Mom, be patient. Show Paul’ ”-Nina faltered and her voice thickened-“‘show Paul I am the best.’ ”
There was a long silence.
“You know he idealizes you,” Nina said finally. “He jumped at the chance to come down here and learn from you.”
Paul’s jaw clenched. “Give me your cell phone.” He pulled out the note he’d made with Danny’s phone number.
Danny didn’t answer, and Paul didn’t want to leave a phony message. “We’ll try again,” he said. “Let’s go over to my office. Wish might have called or stopped by.”
“Good. I want to call Community Hospital.”
“Davy’s certainly already done that.”
“Well, I’m going to do it again. Then I’ll call the morgue and see if they’re finished.”
On the way back over the hill to Carmel, Nina said, “I hadn’t been in Aunt Helen’s house for a while. The cleaners are supposed to tell me if they notice any problems.”
“Looked okay to me.”
“I meant to check the Boyz’ bedroom, see what they chucked in there when we called and said we were coming.”
Paul pulled into the passing lane. “They rent the place. It’s theirs. Leave them alone.”
Nina had another moment of shock, the same shock she had felt when Paul told her to take the organizer. He was challenging her judgment, telling her what to do about her own business. Paul did it so naturally, assuming the role as if it were his…Was it his? He seemed so strong sitting there beside her. He never questioned himself, while her whole life right now was a question.
She didn’t even have a business card. Something gave way beneath her and she slid into doubt. “I don’t like you telling me what to do,” she said. It came out sounding whiny.
“Well, I like it,” Paul said. He laughed and zoomed beyond the speed limit past Junipero toward Ocean Avenue, though the right lane was choked with tourists.
The irritation swept over her again. She was sick with worry about Wish, but this person beside her suddenly annoyed her so much! It is hopeless, she told herself, angry and pained.
Paul, oblivious, drove on, and after a while her anger turned back into confusion. Sitting next to him, she struggled again to understand what was between them.
He bent forward, looking hard ahead into the traffic like Ahab eyeballing the foamy brine for his whale, joyful in the midst of tension, his eyes bright and intent. She experienced the heavy shoulders next to her, the capable hands, the solidity of his body, and she caught his happiness at being fully engaged and out on a chase, even a chase that might lead to tragedy. If he had let his tongue hang out, panting joyfully like Hitchcock, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
He’s a big yellow Lab! she thought.
His aggressive energy, his lack of subtlety, his disdain for people who live in their heads-of course, since he lived in his legs!-she could live with that, she could love that, if she could only remember this moment, when she was finally in contact with his powerful, furry, canine essence.
Guess I just like big dogs, she thought to herself.
She leaned her head back on the seat, closed her eyes, and told herself that it could be worse. Paul, better than any man she had known, focused all this energy and wholeheartedness and bright-eyed intensity on her at night.
He had his way of loving her. He would click the dead bolt downstairs, turn off the light, and come noiselessly into the bedroom in the dim light of the seashell night-light. He would look a long time at her lying on the bed, and at those moments she knew for certain that she was the only one he wanted, knew it right down to the marrow. When he lowered himself onto her, arms supporting his weight, eyes looking into her eyes, he was fully involved, fully loving her. Simple and wholehearted, no question about how he felt.
No, it’s not hopeless, not hopeless at all, she thought, her eyes still closed, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
With this comprehension, some worries about their incompatibilities fell away. Amused now, she turned her head to the left to see him and he looked back, winked, and got back to driving. As she let her hand move to his thigh and rub it, feeling the long muscle contract as he accelerated, she thought, he’s an experience I can’t imagine ever denying myself again.
“What?” he said, catching her smile.
“I was thinking about your song. About the love monster. May I add a verse?”
“Sure.”
“It goes like this”:
I am King Kong-you’re a skyscraper
I am King Kong-you’re a skyscraper
I’ll climb up your angles, and up at the top
I’ll swing and I’ll holler, till you beg me to stop-
“I like it. You have talent. We’ll see just how much tonight.”
They entered the quaint tourist town of Carmel-by-the-Sea. Taking a right on Ocean, Paul had to slow down for traffic. The sidewalks were choked with early-season tourists from Germany and France, meandering along among the flowers and antique stores. They took another right onto Dolores Street and pulled into a secret parking area behind the Hog’s Breath Inn and the Eastwood Building, where Paul had established his office. Clint Eastwood owned this brown rustic building with the jewelry store and Indian art emporium on the first floor, and once Paul knew that, he had told Nina, he knew this was the place for him.
Paul had met Clint once, while the actor was still mayor of Carmel. They had shaken hands and Clint had moved on, but Paul always said it zinged like God making contact with a mortal on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Was it the soft-spoken, menacing persona Paul liked? The disregard of authority? The Lone Ranger roles he always played? After a recent night curled up with popcorn in front of one of the DVDs, observing Paul’s grinning admiration as Eastwood got back at the bad guys, she thought she understood.
Clint wasn’t afraid. He’d gone through a long career in movies and television without once showing fear. When the situation called for fear, Clint’s eyes would squint and his lips would get snarly and he would get royally pissed off instead. Paul wanted to take on the world like that.
So renting the office in the Eastwood Building had pleased Paul deeply. They walked up the wooden stairway to Paul’s office, and he pressed the remote to unlock the door.
Inside, Tibetan rugs, Paul’s big desk with both a PC and an Apple sitting under a window that looked down at the outside bar area of the Hog’s Breath Inn, photos of the Himalaya by Galen Rowell and Paul himself on the walls-Paul had been in the Peace Corps in Nepal, not that it made him peaceful-a black leather couch, the small conference table where Wish worked, file cabinets, and a bar fridge in the corner where Paul kept beer and sundries.
In a pinch, he could spend the weekend there.
The soul of the office, of course, was invisible-the client files, his source lists, the search programs purchased from collection companies and process servers, all behind firewalls and passwords in the computers.
Nina went to the desk and looked out the window. Morning had segued into afternoon. Down below on the flowery patio of the Hog’s Breath, the vacation deity had granted permission to stop awhile, forget earthly cares, and sit holding a glass, talking about nothing much. Chatter and clinking drifted up to them.