Rafael Cruz was headed north, a perplexed but willing guest of Eva Rozen.
27
GUESSING GAMES
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
MONDAY, MARCH 2, 2045
Marta Cruz watched Denise Warren stare at the place setting in front of her, glance at Jim, and then quickly look down again. Jim studiously ignored her. Dana gazed at her, fascinated. Denise had a round, open face, freckled, and framed by light brown hair cut in a pageboy bob. Her black slacks were an expensive blend of silk and wool, well-tailored and well-worn. A dark purple jacket with a Nehru collar was buttoned carefully over a black blouse. Marta looked at her eyes. Another day they might sparkle inquisitively, but now Marta saw only grief.
Marta felt protective of this woman she’d met only moments ago. She put her hand on Denise’s. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still cold. Right now I feel like I might never be warm again. Would you care for a glass of wine? And I hope you won’t make me eat alone.” She caught the waiter’s attention and asked for menus. She turned to Denise and asked, “Do you like red wine or white wine?”
The bookkeeper shrugged. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”
Marta assumed hostess duties. She pointed to the wine list and ordered a bottle of Stag’s Leap Chardonnay and one of Cakebread Cellars Merlot. “Please bring us three,” she paused and looked at her son, “no, make that four glasses. And some apertivos for the table if you would, please.”
Wine, water, and plates of bread materialized and Marta asked, “Red or white?”
“Either one,” said Denise.
“Oh, my dear,” said Marta, “I’m not sure what you think of me, but mindreading is beyond my capabilities. That’s my husband’s province. In fact,” she turned to Jim, “which wine does Denise prefer?” To her puzzled guest, she explained, “He’s good at this, you see.”
Jim studied Denise. “Red.”
“Good guess, dad,” said Dana, “but I think you’re wrong.”
Jim gave his son a look that said, “Don’t start with me.”
“I don’t quite think I understand,” said Denise.
Dana turned to her. “It’s like Mom said. Some people think Dad’s a mind-reader but he just looks for the tiny gestures people make. He sees things that others don’t see. But he’s trying to figure out why you’re here and he can’t. That’s making him nervous and he guessed wrong about the wine.”
Jim said, “‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have an ungrateful child.’”
“King Lear?” asked Denise.
“Excellent,” said Jim. “Somewhere in Act I, if I remember correctly. I don’t know Lear, but I think every parent has that quote down pat.” He grinned at Denise and her face relaxed. They had found a small common ground.
Marta turned back to Denise. “Ms. Warren, this is a game that my husband and my son play. They call it ‘reading’ people. Do you mind?”
Denise looked back and forth between Dana and Jim and shrugged. “I…don’t know what you mean, but okay.”
Marta watched as Dana considered their guest for several seconds. Her pride in him helped to balance her grief. Dana was beginning to develop the features of manhood. His face was chiseled, quite unlike Jim’s; he looked more like Rafael, her father. Dana had a hawkish nose and pronounced Adam’s apple. The hint of a beard that he was developing added shadow to his face. He was built with broad shoulders, like Rafael, and would grow to about six feet, unlike anyone in Jim’s family or in her own. He was a unique individual.
Dana looked Denise over and said, “You’re a solitary person, but not always by choice.” A slight tension appeared on Denise’s forehead. “Ah, gee, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have started there. Mom says to start with the things people like to hear.”
“How did you know that?” asked Denise, interested and, for the first time since they’d met, a bit more at ease.
“I’ll explain everything in a minute,” he continued. “You are more orderly than most people. You got laid off or fired before you came to NMech.” Dana paused and watched her reaction. “Twice?” She nodded. “Whistleblower?” She cocked her head and stared at Dana before nodding again.
“You thought about coming to the funeral all night and didn’t get much sleep. You made up your mind to come at the last minute. You have a cat—is it named Rex? Mom trusts you and she wants Dad to trust you, too. And he’s wrong, you prefer white wine.”
Denise stared, openmouthed. Jim smiled and Marta beamed at her son.
“How on earth did you know my cat’s name?” Denise asked. “Did you get that from your sleeve? I didn’t think that was in my cloud data.”
“No, that was a guess,” said Dana. Marta watched her son. It was his turn to beam. She knew that demonstrating his skills in front of his father filled Dana with satisfaction.
“You have a few cat hairs on your clothing. They’re very curly. Only a Rex cat has hair like that. I took a chance it’s a male and that you named him Rex.”
“Did my son get it right, Denise?” asked Marta.
“Yes, he did,” she said, nodding her head. She smiled at Jim, “You must be proud of him. But Dana, what about the rest? The last-minute decision? Job troubles? All that?”
“I’m sorry if I got too personal right away. But you’ve got cat hair on your forearm and on the bottom edge of your jacket, and on your slacks where they would meet your jacket if you were sitting down. So, your cat jumped on your lap as you were sitting and you were wearing the jacket at that moment. You seem like a careful person—I mean, you’re an accountant, right?—so you would have taken off the jacket before you sat down. Or you would have noticed the cat hair if you weren’t in a rush.”
“You’ve got a good eye,” Denise said quietly. “Now tell me the rest. This actually makes it easier for me to tell my story.”
“Okay. Your clothing is stylish, the edges of your sleeves are frayed. So times are a little tough and that points to job problems. You passed on buying new clothing, but made sure your hair was properly cut. You are conscientious, which is why you came to see Mom at Colleen’s funeral, so you didn’t lose your job because of anything you did wrong. Maybe it was something you did right that got you in trouble?”
It was clear to Marta from Denise’s smile that she enjoyed the boy’s attention. He will be quite a prize for a lucky woman some day. Or a lucky young lady very soon, the proud mother realized. She felt a momentary pang of—what? Not jealousy, but something akin to it. She felt protective. Dana would find someone to love him. She would have to trust that person to love him as deeply as she did. Could anyone care about him as much as a mother?
Her rumination was interrupted as the waiter came by with a platter of appetizers. Crunchy cod fritters, sweet plump cornmeal fingers, and crescent-shaped turnovers, some filled with lobster, some with beef. Steam floated up from the platter and carried a piquant aroma of pepper, oregano, and garlic. The four diners attacked their food. The only sound from the table was the clink of silverware and expressions of enjoyment.