The Lesson (29 page)

“So what about now? What do you see for your future?”

“My future? I see law school in my future. And … I’m praying that God brings me someone just as
special as Michael to replace him. I get lonely a lot.”

“So is Michael the reason you want to go to law school?”

Gina took a deep breath. “No. I don’t think that’s true.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

Gina looked up from her spaghetti and their eyes met. “Why not?”

“You hate your philosophy class and all the debate it involves. And you don’t like to play chess. You told me once that you don’t like games of strategy because they seem like work instead of play. Court cases are all about strategy, outwitting the defense or the prosecution, whichever side you’re on. If chess tires you out, you’ll hate the work involved in preparing to win a court case. And there’d be a lot more at stake than just losing your queen.”

Gina was dumbfounded. She had never thought of winning a court case as a game of strategy. Kevin must have seen the shocked look on her face because his interrogation got bolder.

“Forget about law school for the moment. What is it that you really love to do?”

“Oh that’s easy. I love to cook and I love to write. But I don’t want to be a chef. They work nights and weekends. And most writers never make enough money to call it a living. Do I look like Mark Twain?”

“I can think of a few people who are happy you don’t.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Gina grimaced. “Lawyers write a lot too, you know. And you never see them down at the welfare office waiting for a handout.”

“Yes, lawyers write a great deal,” said Kevin, “but you also don’t see anybody flocking to the bookstore to be first in line to read what they write. There should be laws against writing prose that obfuscating. But then again, if lawyers wrote such laws, they would unnecessarily obfuscate those too. For a few it may be passion, but for most lawyers I hardly believe they write because it’s what they love.”

He had a point. “Now I’ve told you my story. What about you?” said Gina.

“What do you want to know?” said Kevin.

“What’s your passion?”

“My passion? Do you want the first thing that pops into my head or should I stick to talking about careers?” His goofy smile was back.

“We’re talking careers,” said Gina, shaking her head in exasperation. “What motivates you to join the FBI, beyond sneaking around following people, I mean?”

“To me a career with the FBI is an extension of my military service. Service to my country. I like the Navy. I hope I like the FBI. I’ve read that agents don’t have cookie-cutter work days. Something new and different to investigate all the time. That appeals to me.”

They chatted a long while, mostly about things they wanted to do in life and countries they would like to visit. Their conversation was as natural as the sun coming up in the morning. Gina forgot about the discomfort of his mad pursuit of her and was having a good time. After a while the waiter returned to their table and cleared their plates. The sun had disappeared completely into the Pacific now, and the stars were twinkling prettily outside Alioto’s windows in the still blackness, a silent floor show of lights no human director could ever pull off. Gina tried to memorize the beauty outside the window to enjoy it later.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so exquisite in all my life,”
she said as she gazed at the boat lights twinkling on the water.

Kevin reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

When she felt his hand on hers she turned from the window toward him. He was staring intently at her, those same adoring eyes that had made her squirm with discomfort many times in the last few months. He wasn’t keeping his end of their agreement. This time she drew back her hand.

“You said you just wanted pretty company for dinner. We’ll leave it at that.”

Neither of them had room for dessert, so Kevin took his leftover abalone in a doggy bag, and after he had paid the bill they left the restaurant. In the car Gina took the abalone and set it in the glove compartment next to her thread and needle. An hour later Kevin’s beetle pulled up in front of Gina’s apartment. It was only nine fifteen.

“I think I have room for a scoop of ice cream now,” said Gina. “Want to come in a while? I’ve got rocky road.”

“I never turn down ice cream.”

Once inside her apartment Gina hung up her wrap and then went to the kitchen to scoop ice cream into custard cups. Kevin settled himself on the couch in the living room in front of the TV.

“You don’t have many stations to choose from,” he said, getting up to turn the knob on the set.

“No. But it doesn’t matter much on Saturday nights anymore. Since ‘All in the Family’ moved to Monday nights there’s nothing left that I want to watch,” she said from the kitchen. “I always watch ‘The Waltons’ on Thursdays, but that’s about it. I’m too busy with homework in the evenings anyway. And if I don’t have homework, there’s always a good book.”

“Ah, books. They’re your best friends when you’re out at sea for weeks at a time,” said Kevin. He gave up trying to find something to watch on television and walked into the kitchen. Three bouquets of wilted brown roses sat in a large vase on the center of the kitchen table.

“Who gave you the flowers?” said Kevin.

“What makes you think someone gave them to me? I could have bought them at the grocery store.”

She was bluffing, of course. It still irked her that the giver had not left a card or called. And the more time that passed without acknowledgment from Michael, the more she had to accept that likely
he was not the one who had delivered them. She would never call him to inquire, because if he hadn’t left them, she would play the fool. After all, he had been the one to break things off. But she could hope, and because she still wasn’t certain who had left them, she might as well get some mileage out of them.

“You never spend money on yourself,” said Kevin, “especially not on something as frilly as flowers. And if you did, you’d buy one bouquet, not three.”

In the back of her mind it struck Gina in a flash of insight as quick and bright as a lightning bolt that Kevin was giving the flowers undue attention. They were just a bunch of crumbling petals. Why should he care? There could be only one reason.

“And if someone had given them to me, what kind of guy would he be to buy three bouquets when one would have done the job just fine? A guilty lover? An insecure suitor trying to impress? Or,” and she drew this out a bit, “someone who was throwing himself at a girl, perhaps?”

“Maybe he just couldn’t decide what color you like best so he bought all three.”

She saw the familiar goofy smile starting to appear. So it was Kevin. She wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed at herself for being so stupid as to actually think Michael might bring her flowers after all this time—the thought made her hot with embarrassment—or if she was more annoyed at Kevin for being so irritatingly presumptuous. He had delivered not one, not two, but three bouquets
of flowers the
very day
after they’d made their agreement in his garage to cool it. As usual, he hadn’t taken her request to back off seriously.

“
Here. Your ice cream.”

She shoved the custard cup filled with rocky road into his hand. She grabbed her own custard cup and walked abruptly out of the kitchen and into the living room, where she flounced onto the couch, set her ice cream cup on the coffee table with a barely controlled bang, crossed her arms across her chest, and sat there, fuming. He followed her into the living room and sat down beside her. She stared straight ahead, pretending that she was unaware that he was sitting just six inches from her hips.

“Don’t be upset, Gina.”

“I’m not upset!”

“That’s good. I was worried there for a minute that you might be angry.” He took a spoonful of ice cream. “It’s bad for your digestion.”

“We’re not talking about my digestion,” she said between clenched teeth. Gracious, he was so exasperating.

“No, we’re not … then what are we talking about?”

“You don’t know?!!!”

She turned to face him. He took another spoonful from his custard cup.

“Kevin, can’t you see what’s going on here?”

“Yes, I see.”

“What? What do you see?”

“You’re angry because I brought you three bouquets of flowers and you want me to stop coming around because I’m not cool and rich like Michael.”

“That’s not true.” She was stung.

“Which part? The flowers or the part about Michael?”

Gina closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Nothing, absolutely nothing she said to Kevin made things right. Every time she tried to make sense of this weird relationship she said something or he said or did something that made everything complicated and messy and difficult. She thought they could be friends but this wasn’t working out. Was it Kevin or was it her? Who really was the problem? She had baggage left over from her engagement and break-up with Michael. That was a fact. But Kevin was hard of hearing! Why bother trying to explain to him that she wasn’t ready to be bombarded with his attention? She couldn’t make him understand that three bouquets constituted bombardment! He didn’t listen!

“Gina?”

“What?” She sounded as exasperated as she was.

“Are you going to eat that?”

With his spoon Kevin pointed at her ice cream, which was slowly melting into a cool brown lump. She picked it up and shoved it toward him.

They sat there, saying nothing, while Kevin finished off her rocky road. Gina was incensed. The earth shakes, the sky falls, the seas roar. Kevin takes another spoonful of ice cream. How could a guy eat at a traumatic time like this? He used his spoon to scrape up the last bit of rocky road.

“Well, I think this is my swan song,” he said, getting up from the couch. He picked up the cups and spoons to bring them to the kitchen.

“I still have your jacket. I’ll get it.” Gina walked to her bedroom to get the jacket she’d borrowed on New Year’s Eve. Her apartment had no coat closet. That had been sacrificed to the remodeling job. “Here,” she said, holding out his jacket. She was a little calmer now, but her voice had a distinct coolness to it. “I had a nice evening. Thanks for the dinner.”

She looked up at his face and as their eyes met, she saw a strange look there, one she had seen in his eyes before. It wasn’t lust—she’d seen that look on other men and knew it well—but searching, as if Kevin were in deep thought on subjects way more serious than rocky road. All this happened in a moment, and before it could become a conscious thought on her part, he grabbed her firmly, his arms around her waist, pulling her near him and putting his lips to hers. His lips were surprisingly soft, but the bigger surprise was his passion: she had never been kissed like this. She felt pleasure all the way down to her toes. Something in her heart shattered as she realized that Kevin was no boy. He was a man, and he kissed like a man. It was an eye-opening moment. He pulled away a bit but kept his hands on her waist.

“You’re violating our agreement,” she said, breathless.

“Sue me.” And he pulled her close and kissed her again.

She was struck at how hard his body felt near hers, so unlike her own. But even sharper than this realization was the immediate sensation of his hands, which rested on her back just above the knot of her halter. Though the touch of his fingertips made no more pressure than the flutter of a silken handkerchief, the thrill made her heart start pounding without her permission. She wanted the lovely feeling to go on, but it struck her as dangerous to keep this up when it was just the two of them, alone in her apartment. He was still holding her close to him when she felt the heady brush of his lips along the top of her ear.

“I can be your hero, Gina, if you let me,” he whispered.

His warm breath was soft against her neck and shoulder. Between the sparking at her lower back, the nearness of his hard body, and the thrill of his breath on her bare skin, she was too excited to form a response. She was breathing heavily and still looking up into his eyes, aware above all of the nearness of his body. She had never once prepared for this moment, because until now she had not thought of Kevin as a man to be sexually desired. And if she had thought of him that way, she would have quickly rejected that thought because she did not love him. And now he had lighted that desire in her. It was all so sudden. She couldn’t process it. She couldn’t think of anything to say. But she needn’t have worried. He too must have sensed the danger.

“I’d better be going,” he said. He lifted his jacket from her hand, and without another word, walked out the door.

The Apartment, Lincoln Street

“Bonnie, I’m in trouble. I need to talk to you.”

It was nearly ten-thirty, but Gina was so anxious to talk to Bonnie that she was on the phone minutes after Kevin left. She could have waited until she saw Bonnie in church tomorrow, but even those few hours seemed too long. As she held the phone in her hand she paced the length of the phone cord.