Tomahawk (16 page)

As the landing gear screeched and the cabin shuddered, Sakai handed the memo back. “How's it look?” Dan asked him.

“I made a couple marks on it.”

“It's what you said we ought to be doing. I'd like you to oversee that parallel development team. Make sure everything interfaces.”

“You know better than to listen to me,” Sakai grumbled. He looked red-eyed, worn out.

Dan said “so long” and reminded him about the party Sunday, He caught the courtesy bus out to the satellite lot and headed for home.

He didn't see Haneghen when he stopped at the Dorothy Day House. In fact, he didn't see anyone other than Kerry, who was sitting on the swing. When he pulled the Volvo in, she came down the steps. She wore black ski pants, a maroon parka, and a stocking cap. The parka was faded and had a sewed seam across the front, as if someone had hacked at it with a knife. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi. You're looking good.” He debated kissing her, but the moment passed. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, “I brought the bike.”

“Where is it?”

“In the trunk. The front wheel comes off.” He popped it open to show her. “I got it in France. Kept it in the fan room, aboard ship, to ride on port visits.”

They got under way. A few minutes went by in silence
as she looked out at the passing houses. Then she said, “Thanks for calling. I needed to get out of there for a while.”

He glanced at her. ‘Trouble?”

“No, but little things take on an emotional charge when you see somebody every day. How was California?”

He wondered if “somebody” was Haneghen, but he didn't ask. “Warm. It's like climate shock when you come back and it's winter here.”

“Where are you going next?”

“Canada. Way up north.”

“Is that when you test your new missile?”

“Uh-huh.” He felt guilty discussing his work. Their

lives, their convictions were so different But he had to admit that of all the women he'd met since he came to D.C., she was the only one he could see taking seriously. The more time he spent with her, the more he liked her.

But was that a good thing?

He parked the car on M Street and carried the bike down to the path. He couldn't help saying, “Remember when we kissed, over there?”

“You must be thinking of somebody else.”

“Somebody in black net stockings?”

“Somebody who only comes out once a year.”

“Does that mean I don't get another hug till next Halloween?”

She raised her eyebrows, then bent to pick a pebble from the front tire.

He started his warm-up exercises as she pedaled down the towpath, then came back. She looked good in stretch pants. She had a green scarf wrapped over the lower part of her face. “Are you warm enough?” he asked her.

Her voice came out muffled. “You mean the scarf? I get coughing fits in the cold. It's better if I can heat the air up before I breathe it.”

“We don't have to go far. Four or five miles—”

“Go as far as you want. Seems like I haven't been outside in weeks. I should probably get more exercise.”

“Okay, ready? Watch out for those icy patches.”

She said all right, and he started out slowly—didn't
want to tear anything. A mile to warm up; then he could do another for time.

The path wound back and forth, following the snow-dusted surface of the frozen canal. Once mules had towed boats and barges along it, carrying freight and passengers past the Potomac rapids into the newly opening hinterlands. Now it was a bike path, a walking path. In the summer, it was filled with strollers, though it emptied fast near dark. Today they passed only an occasional walker, heavily dressed and booted, and once in a long while another biker, bent low against a chill wind. Crushed shell and gravel crunched under his Nikes. The milepost, ahead…. Here it came … 6:40. He always ran better in the cold. Heat engines were more efficient when there was a thermal differential. What were human beings, anyway? Heat engines, economic units, individual expressions of the collective unconscious? So many ways you could see the world. Her tires crackled behind him.

“You said you were married before?”

“Uh-huh.” He cut his pace back till she was beside him.

“What happened?”

“Oh, it didn't work out. We got married out of school; we were separated a lot.”

“Any kids?”

“A daughter. Lives in Utah now, with my ex.”

“Do you call? Are you involved in her life?”

“In Nan's? Not as much as I'd like to be. But, I guess, as much as I can be this far away.” He gave his breathing a few strides to catch up, then said, “How about you?”

“I was married, too. I had a son.”

“Your ex get custody?”

“No. He died, when he was eleven months. Choking on a toy.”

He slowed to a jog. “God. I'm sorry.”

She was looking into the trees. “That's pretty much what broke us up. I blamed him. He got him the rabbit. Its head came off. And I blamed myself, too, for not looking into the crib often enough…. You know what I'm trying to say.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then I met Carl. And I thought if I could help save other kids, maybe it would make up for it. Looking back, it doesn't make much sense—”

He said, “It makes sense. Sense of the heart.” And then he thought, surprised, Did I say that?

“You think so? Anyway, that's how I got into activism.”

He figured this was a good place to bring up something he'd meant to ask. “I wondered about that. And about how it made you feel about what I do.”

She didn't answer right away. He slowed, coming to a section of path where it looked like road graders had been at work. The puddled water had frozen in the ruts, and he picked his way across. Her bike rattled across ridges of frozen mud.

“About you being in the Navy?”

“I guess so. Yeah. That's the message I get around the House.”

“I never said we don't need a navy. Somebody's got to rescue people when their boats sink, I suppose.”

“That's actually more the Coast Guard's job, Kerry. We're more focused on fighting.”

“Well, maybe then we
don't
need one. Dan, I may not like what you do for a living, but that doesn't mean I think it's all your fault.”

“Okay.”

“And don't be afraid of me. All right?”

He didn't answer that. Instead, he said, “How are your lungs doing?”

“Don't worry about them. Look, you're always worrying. Why? What are you afraid of?”

He could tell she was smiling by her eyes, even though her mouth was masked by the scarf. He muttered between breaths, “I'm not afraid.”

“Then why aren't you happy? Don't you think God's got everything under control?”

“He's not doing such a great job of it.”

“Or maybe She knows more than we do? Don't you think that's a possibility?”

He was thinking this was strange, talking about God while you were running, and then he thought, Why not?
And suddenly he felt he was where he was supposed to be, out in the icy wind on this bright, cold day, with her wheeling along beside him, talking about children and death and fate. A bright, slow joy like the reflection of the sky on the ice stole over him. Maybe it was a runner's high, or maybe that she thought these things were important and he did, too, but you couldn't talk about them with just anyone. She seemed to have a peace he didn't, or that he'd only glimpsed from afar.

But at the same time, he was afraid. If you loved someone, she could hurt you. The way Susan had hurt him, cheated on him, left and taken Nan with her—

“You're worrying again.”

“Sorry. Hard habit to break.”

“Let's try an experiment, okay?”

“What kind of experiment?”

“For the next fifteen minutes, or, say, till the end of this run, just accept that everything is the way it's supposed to be and that you don't have to fix it or do anything except be here. All right?”

It didn't sound like the kind of philosophy he wanted to live his life by, but he said, “Okay. Till the end of the run.”

“Good.”

“You warmed up? Ready to pick up the pace again?”

“Why don't you try to catch me?” she said, and he heard the accelerating click and hiss of pedals and gears, the high-pitched crackle of gravel under her tires. A moment later, she swept past, legs thrusting like pistons, and he went to a sprint. Up on his toes now, sucking air that turned to ice as it hit his throat. Closing, feeling the sting of rock bits whirring off her rear wheel. A swerve, and they were level, but this was as fast as he went.

He ran even with her front tire for ten seconds, fifteen, before he hit the wall and had to drop back, sucking air as she sped away down the path, growing smaller and smaller, until she went around a curve and the path was empty under the nodding snow-laden elms. Then as he jogged on, a maroon speck reappeared in the distance. It grew larger and larger, until she skidded to a stop in front of him, her eyes crinkled. He jogged up to her and put
out his arms, meeting her cool lips under the pulled-away muffler and her hot breath under the chill gray sky with an utter inevitability, to which he finally let himself surrender.

The next morning, they stayed in bed late, looking out his apartment window at the cloudy winter sky. But even when they weren't talking, just lying side by side drinking coffee and reading the funnies, he felt happy.

They walked to a deli for brunch. Then, when they got back, started getting ready for the party.

He'd planned it for weeks, to celebrate the end of finals, and the holidays. He'd invited his classmates from Szerenci's course, neighbors from the other apartments, and the guys from the office; he'd put a notice on the board inviting one and all. Kerry had made a couple of calls when he asked her to invite her friends, too.

Now, waiting for the first guests to arrive, he looked around the apartment. It was cleaned and vacuumed, but his furniture looked tacky—cheap, battered, the kind of chairs and end tables divorced officers hauled from apartment to apartment. The couch still had the shipping sticker on it. Too late to do anything about that The main attraction for the guys would be the four cases of brew in the tub, with forty pounds of ice from the 7-Eleven. He wanted a beer now, but he reminded himself to watch his consumption. He'd noticed a tendency to let it get away from him.

Kerry came out of the bathroom, brushing her hair. He recalled it falling across his chest in the night. Looking at her now, tall and stately, he wanted her again. But when he put his arms around her, she fended him off. “What kind of food did you get?”

“Party stuff. Chips and pretzels and dip—”

“If they're coming at six, they'll expect something more substantial than that.”

“You think so? Most of the parties I go to, that's all they have.”

“An evening party, yes. You're giving a dinnertime one.” She went into the kitchen. He heard the fridge door
opening, closing, then a rattle and slam of cupboard doors. ‘There's not much in there,” he called.

“The understatement of the century. Unless you're talking about booze.”

“I can order pizza, if you think they're going to want dinner.”

“It's not great, but let's at least get frozen ones, and some fresh cheese and vegetables. Give me your keys. I'll go to the store while you finish cleaning up.”

The Navy guys were the first to arrive. Vic arrived with his wife, Lucinda, a hefty, attractive woman who wore lots of silver. Sparky brought a girl he introduced as Honey. A couple of lieutenants and lieutenant commanders showed up from the sub-launched side. To his surprise, Carol came, Niles's secretary. She said she'd seen his invitation on the board and lived just three blocks away. He ushered them in and started organizing drinks.

While he was slicing the cheese, a glass of rosé on the countertop, Cottrell arrived. “Who's the nonblonde?” she hissed, cornering him against the sink.

“That's Kerry Donavan.”

“Who brought her?”

“Me.”

“Not bad—if she lost twenty pounds.”

“Did you bring the music, Sandy?”

“Uh-huh. Kiss, Garth Brooks, and Metallica. That my wine?”

“No, but there's the bottle, and the glasses. Plug that in by the sliding doors, all right?”

More students arrived, then the neighbors from the building. The rooms filled with people and cigarette smoke. Despite the cold, some went out on the balcony. He kept bringing things out, wine and cheese and crackers and nuts.

A tap at the door. “Can somebody get that?” he called.

It was Ken, from the Day House, in the same frayed blue jeans and fatigue jacket with the peace symbol on the back that he'd worn in court. For the first time, Dan wondered if inviting everyone at once had been a smart idea. Too late now…. “Come on in,” he said. “Ken, this
is Vic Burdette, works with me. Ken, he … uh … he's active in social causes. Vic, show him where the beer is, okay?”

“It's not Coors, is it?” Ken said. “I don't drink Coors because …” The rest was lost in a rising buzz of conversation.

Another rap at the door. This time it was Colonel Evans, in a sport jacket and turtleneck, with a dignified-looking wife, taller than he was. Mei Zhou smiled shyly behind them. She was in a black dress. Grinning, Evans said, “We found her down in the lobby. Is she yours?”

“Hi, sir, come on in. Yessir, she's a classmate from GW.”

The Air Force officer introduced his wife, Jeannette, then presented a bottle. “Brought you this.”

“Thanks, sir, we're short on vodka. Go on in. You can put your coats in the bedroom.”

He felt awkward returning Mei's kiss. He hoped she and Kerry wouldn't start trading Dan Lenson stories. Or worse yet, Cottrell. Then he ducked back into the kitchen. He finished his wine and poured another, then checked the pizza.