“You looked awfully serious just then.” He was watching her, and they exchanged a smile.
She shrugged philosophically. “I was just thinking how quickly time rushes by. It's hard to believe I've been out here this long … and in the D.A.'s office for five years.”
“That was how I felt about Washington. The three years felt more like three weeks, and suddenly it was time to go home.”
“Think you'll go back one day?”
He smiled, and there was something there she couldn't quite read. “For a while anyway. My kids are still there. I didn't want to pull them out of school halfway through the year, and my wife and I haven't resolved yet where they're going to live. Probably half and half, eventually. It's the only thing that's fair to us, although it might be difficult for them at first. But kids adjust.” He smiled at her. He had obviously just gotten divorced.
“How old are they?”
“Thirteen and nine. Both girls. They're terrific kids, and they're very close to Eileen, but they've stayed close to me, too, and they're really happier in L.A. than they are in Washington. That's not really much of a life for kids back there, and she's awfully busy,” he volunteered.
“What does she do?”
“She's assistant to the Ambassador to the OAS, and actually she has her sights on an ambassadorial post herself. That'll make it pretty impossible to take the kids with her, so I'd have them then. Everything is still pretty much up in the air.” He smiled again, but a little more hesitantly this time.
“How long have you two been divorced?”
“Actually, we're working it out right now. We took our time deciding while we were in Washington, and now it's definite. I'm going to file as soon as things settle down. I'm hardly unpacked yet.”
She smiled at him, thinking of how difficult it had to be, children, a wife, traveling three thousand miles, Washington, Los Angeles. But it didn't seem to shake up his style. He had made incredible sense at the conference. Of the six attorneys involved, she had been most impressed with him. She had also been impressed with how reasonable he was about being liberal. Ever since her experiences with Yael McBee five years before, her liberalism had been curbed considerably. And five years in the D.A.'s office was making her less liberal by the hour. She was suddenly for tougher laws, tighter controls, and all the liberal ideas she had believed in for so long no longer made as much sense to her, but somehow Drew Lands made them palatable again, and even if the actual positions no longer appealed to her, he didn't alienate anyone expressing his views. “I thought you handled it beautifully.” He was touched and pleased, and they had another drink, before he dropped her off at her place in his cab, and went on to the airport to go back to Los Angeles.
“Could I call you sometime?” He asked hesitantly, as though he were afraid there might be someone important to her, but at the moment there was no one at all. There had been a creative director in an ad agency for a few months the year before, and actually no one at all since then. He had been too busy and too harassed and so had she, and the affair had ended as quietly as it had begun. She had taken to telling people that she was married to her work, and she was the D.A.'s “other wife,” which made her colleagues laugh. But it was almost true by now. Drew looked at her hopefully, and she nodded with a smile.
“Sure. I'd like that.” God only knew when he'd be back in town again anyway. And she was trying a big Murder One case anyway for the next two months.
But he astounded her and called her the next day, as she sat in her office, drinking coffee and making notes, as she outlined her approach for the case. There was going to be a lot of press involved and she didn't want to make a fool of herself. She wasn't thinking of anything but the case when she grabbed the phone and barked into it. “Yes?”
“Miss Roberts please.” He was never surprised by the rudeness of the people who worked for the D.A.
“That's me.” She sounded playful suddenly. She was so damn tired, she was slaphappy. It was almost five o'clock, and she hadn't left her desk all day. Not even for lunch. She hadn't eaten anything since dining the night before, except for the gallons of coffee she'd consumed.
“It didn't sound like you.” His voice was almost a caress, and she was startled at first, wondering if it was a crank call.
“Who's this?”
“Drew Lands.”
“Christ … I'm sorry … I was so totally submerged in my work, I didn't recognize your voice at first. How are you?”
“Fine. I thought I'd give you a call and see how you were, more importantly.”
“Preparing a big murder case I'm starting next week.”
“That sounds like fun.” He said it sarcastically and they both laughed. “And what do you do in your spare time?”
“Work.”
“I figured as much. Don't you know that's bad for your health?”
“I'll have to worry about that when I take my retirement. Meanwhile, I don't have time.”
“What about this weekend? Can you take a break?”
“I don't know … I…” She usually worked weekends, especially right now. And the panel had cost her a whole week she should have spent preparing her case. “I really should…”
“Come on, you can afford a few hours off. I thought I'd borrow a friend's yacht in Belvedere. You can even bring your work along, although it's a sacrilege.” But it was late October then, and the weather would have been perfect for an afternoon on the Bay, warm and sunny with bright blue skies. It was the best time of the year, and San Francisco was lyrical. She was almost tempted to accept, but she just didn't want to leave her work undone.
“I really should prepare.…”
“Dinner instead … ? lunch … ?” And then suddenly they both laughed. No one had been that persistent in a long time and it was flattering.
“I'd really like to, Drew.”
“Then, do. And I promise, I won't take more time than I should. What's easiest for you?”
“That sail on the Bay sounded awfully good. I might even play hooky for a day.” The image of trying to juggle important papers in the breeze did not appeal to her, but an outing on the Bay with Drew Lands did.
“I'll be there, then. How does Sunday sound?”
“Ideal to me.”
“I'll pick you up at nine. Dress warmly in case the wind comes up.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled to herself, hung up, and went back to work, and promptly at nine o'clock Sunday morning, Drew Lands arrived, in white jeans, sneakers, a bright red shirt, and a yellow parka under his arm. His face already looked tan, his hair shone like silver in the sun, and the blue eyes danced as she followed him out to the car. He was driving a silver Porsche he had driven up from L.A. on Friday night, he said, but true to his word, he hadn't bothered her. He drove her down to the Saint Francis Yacht Club where the boat was moored, and half an hour later they were out on the Bay. He was an excellent sailor, and there was a skipper aboard, and she lay happily on the deck, soaking up the sun, trying not to think of her murder case, and suddenly glad she'd let him talk her into taking the day off.
“The sun feels good, doesn't it?” His voice was deep, and he was sitting on the deck next to her when she opened her eyes.
“It does. Somehow everything else seems so unimportant all of a sudden. All the things one scurries around about, all the details that seem so monumental, and then suddenly poof … they're gone.” She smiled at him, wondering if he missed his kids a lot, and it was as though he read her mind.