Tomahawk (25 page)

‘Then why are you even thinking of getting out?” she asked him. “I thought that was your great mission in life. To be the youngest admiral in the U.S. Navy.”

He smiled bitterly. “I'm not going to make admiral, Susan. I'd be surprised if I made commander.”

“Why not? Moira sent me a clipping, about you getting a medal—”

“The Navy doesn't promote you based on one award. I've stepped on my crank a couple of times. That's real off-putting for a board. They want Mister Safe, never stepped out of line, never took a risk, got all the blocks checked off.”

He took a slow breath. “But it doesn't matter. Look, you're always making a big deal about how much you've changed. Did you ever think I might change, too? I've been doing some thinking. Some of it's from Kerry and her friends … some of it's just things I've been thinking about for a long time.”

She said in a low voice, “So you're serious about resigning.”

“I don't joke about things like that.”

“No, I guess you wouldn't. You don't have any money saved. Do you?”

“Not much.”

“If you get caught short… if you need to hold off for a while on the custody payments, I mean after that check stops, well—I have my teaching position, and Ted's generous with Nan. You've been good about sending the support payments on time. Did I ever thank you for that?”

“Once.”

“Well, she's your daughter too, goddamn it. But you deserve credit for sticking in there with your responsibilities.”

“Betts, listen. Thanks for the offer. The money, I mean. But, if I get married, had a real home—how would you feel about me petitioning for joint custody?”

“I don't think that would be a good idea. She'd have to split her school time, and this is a bad age to take her away from her peers. You could have her summers, maybe—or we could work out visits during school vacations.”

She got up and stood over him in the shadowed room. He stared at her legs, and smelled tanning lotion and her scent, and suddenly it seemed he could just reach out and take her around the hips and pull her to him. But he knew it was an illusion. The wall between them had grown till it was harder and thicker than the face armor of a battleship's turrets. She wasn't the woman he'd loved. Nothing stayed the same, and nothing ever would; not people, or cities, or the secret chambers of the heart. The only thing he knew that never changed was the sea. And wasn't that only, and precisely, because it too was never twice the same?

“I wish you luck with her,” she said, and he wondered at the bitterness in her voice. Then she was gone. He sat alone in the darkened room, looking at the liquor cabinet. Then went down to the basement, and started making up the couch.

16

 

 

 

A bang, the scream of landing-gear tires, and he returned to earth again, not as disoriented and sleepless as usual. Maybe he was getting used to this. Or maybe it was that he'd stuck to orange juice on the flight. He got his briefcase out of the overhead compartment, checked the lock—-he was carrying the preliminary results from the first series, double-sealed in taped envelopes—and carried it out, past the gate and into the terminal.

Friday morning, and through the huge viewing window was the Potomac, and beyond it the gleaming dome where Monday the hearings would begin. One thing after another. But at least he'd have the weekend off, with Kerry.

Then he saw her, waiting at the end of the corridor. A moment later, his arms and his heart were full. “Gosh, this is a surprise. You didn't have to come and meet me.”

“No big deal. I told them at the kitchen you were coming in, and Deborah said she'd cover on the sandwich line.”

“Amazing.
Deborah
said that? Hey, and look at this. You're wearing the sweater.”

“Do you have to go right in?”

“Shoot—yeah, I better. I have to turn this stuff in, can't take it home. And I got to check my box, my messages. … .We could have a bagel or something before we go over, though.”

They sat together, watching the airport crowd stream by like schools of anxious heavily burdened fish. The snow had melted and the grass outside was a lifeless
brown, the sky gray, the windows dirty. Still he felt happy sitting across from her, looking at her in her worn old coat and her yard-sale tarn and the new sweater.

“How was your visit to Utah? It was Utah, right? How long did you get to spend there?”

“Just a one-day stopover. Flew in, slept on the couch in the rec room, flew out the next morning. It was kind of… strange.”

“How's your daughter?”

“Oh, Nan's doing great. Smart as hell. Pretty as hell. She's into tennis, and doing real well at it, plays way above her age level.”

“And your ex-wife?”

“She's still my ex-wife. She's doing archaeology full-time now. She's seeing a doctor. I mean, living with him. A dermatologist. That's whose house I was at. He's got this big place out in the desert, Mexican tile floors, pool, all that shit.”

“Jealous?”

He shifted on the wire chair. “Not exactly. But not comfortable, either. It's easier not to think about it at all. So mostly, I don't.”

She studied her muffin. “Do you still love her?”

He pondered it. “I used to think I always would. Like that once you love somebody, it never goes away. You know? But after years and years … I love Nan. Sometimes I can't stand not seeing her. But I wouldn't take Susan back. I don't think she was very good for me, or that we were particularly great together. I don't mean she's not a good mother or anything like that. Just that she was more—oh, forget it, I'm not going to get into comparisons. But I think you and I can be friends, not just lovers.”

“But you also keep saying we're different,” she pointed out.

He took her hand instead of answering right away. Rubbed a red patch on the back of it. “You burned yourself.”

“That's an old stove, the things that hold the pots— the burners—they're cracked off.”

“Maybe I can take a look at it. Yeah, we're different,
but does that mean we can't be happy? There are Republicans and Democrats who get along. People from different religions. We can disagree about other things and still love each other.” He kissed the burned spot. “Actually, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in. Like I told you, I'm thinking about putting in my letter, end of this tour.”

“Because of me?”

“Not totally, but you're an input. More cream cheese?”

“No thanks. Oh, a friend of yours called. May?”

“Mei's in Dr. Szerenci's class. You talked to her at the party. The Chinese girl?”

“I remember her now. Well, she invited us to dinner tonight. A family dinner. I think she was surprised to talk to me. But she invited us both. I said we might be able to make it.”

“Did you want to go?”

“I don't care. Whatever you want.”

He looked at his watch, muttered, “Shoot,” and stood. “You can stay and finish that. I'm going to take the subway over—”

“I can drive you over and wait. I picked up your car. They changed the oil and did the maintenance you wanted. I used one of the checks you signed.”

“Thanks, but it could be awhile. I'll call you after I turn this stuff in, let you know about dinner.”

She dropped him in front of NC-1, and he waved as she pulled out.

“Great, you're back,” said Westerhouse when he stuck his head into the project manager's office. “Got a potato you need to get hot on right away. We just got a heads-up, one of the things the committee's going to look at Monday is our change costs and subcontractor data.”

Dan stared at Westerhouse. Last year, when he reported in, his boss had impressed him as heavy, if not overweight. Seeing him after a couple of weeks away, he realized now he looked gaunt, almost frail. “Sir, are you all right? You've lost a lot of weight. Is something wrong?”

“Just stopped eating as much. Can you get on up there?
I want you to go help make some sense out of what you set up with Vimy and FMC and those guys.”

“Sure, sir, but I have to get this midtest report put together for Colonel Evans.”

“Part of living in a multiple-crisis environment. Bad news: The new deputy SecDef's saying he's going to shift ten billion dollars from the Navy to the Army.”

“What? Cm
he do that?”

“Not alone, but he's got a lot of friends on the Hill. He plays golf every weekend with the Army Chief of Staff. The kicker is, he's a former pilot, and he's locked in with Dwayne Harrow.”

“The congressman who called these hearings.”

“Right. And
he
interlocks with Jack Wagner, who gets the carriers built in Virginia, and “Flyboy” Koelpels, the congressman from Grumman. But right now, we got to put out this fire with the Defense contracting guys or they're going to have another dagger to dirk us with. Call me at seventeen hundred and we'll figure when to get together with Bucky Evans for the preappearance run-through.”

“Yessir.”

“Oh, and Lucille's got some registered mail for you. Don't have any more personal stuff sent here; that's not what our mail system's for.”

It was a sealed box, insured. He'd given the jeweler his military address so it wouldn't get delivered to the apartment. He took a second in the corridor to unfold the tissue paper. A marquise-cut diamond glittered up. Not huge, but blue-white. A white-gold mounting—he'd noticed Kerry didn't wear yellow gold.

From the door, Westerhouse said, “Are you going up to Financial?”

“Yes, sir, on my way.” He folded it hastily and buttoned his pocket over it, then ran lightly up the fire stairs.

The financial office was filled with hastily drafted civilians and officers. They wanted a breakout of engineering, general, and administrative costs; the costs of materials, sustaining engineering, and sustaining tooling; a breakdown of all the above in terms of total labor cost, and a
single dollar figure in constant fiscal-year dollars over the life of the production run, representing all subcontracted and vendor costs. At seventeen hundred, he called home. He told Kerry, “Look, I'm sorry, but there's this big sweat party going on. I'm gonna be here for a couple more hours.”

“How late are you going to be? We have that invitation from your classmate. That's for nine, if you'll still be downtown.”

He didn't want to go out to dinner; all he wanted to do was go home and lock the door and get her clothes off, fast. But it was the second time she'd brought it up. “Where is it, again?”

“Chinatown.”

“Chinatown—”

“The Red Line, Gallery Place. Do you want the name of the restaurant?”

“Not right now. I'm still gonna try to get home. Then you can show me how much you missed me.”

“I think you'll be satisfied with the demonstration.”

“Oh. Yeah! Look, the sooner I get this done, the sooner I'll be there, so let me hang up now, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He finally got loose, but then he had to let two trains go by; the Orange Line was packed as solid as one of the Cedar Deli's master subs. By the time he got to the apartment it was eight, and she was already dressed, so he limited himself to a kiss and changed quickly, sneaking the ring into his blazer.

Being downtown after dark was always a scary proposition, but tonight there were lots of people out. They parked on H. The air was bracing and the sky burned yellow-orange under the overcast. He took her arm and felt her shivering. “Want my jacket?”

“I'm okay. Is Canada this cold?”

“Are you kidding? They've got four feet of snow in Cold Lake.” He told her about the test and the base till she said, “There it is,” and they crossed the street and
went down the steps, into the basement entrance of the Pearl of China.

“Dan! You are here.” Mei kissed his cheek, shook hands* with Kerry, and led them back. A separate room with a low patched ceiling was filled with women with babies, smiling old ladies, not one but two tablefuls of clamoring, indulged children. The central figure was a smiling little old man, to whom Dan was introduced with great fanfare, but he didn't quite catch his name, or what relation he was to Mei.

Next up was a middle-aged businessman in a dark suit, wearing metal-on-plastic Yuri Andropov glasses. He had black surprised-looking eyebrows. Mei said, “Dan, I would like you to meet my Uncle Xinhu.”

They shook hands heartily. Dan thought he and Mei didn't look much alike. Maybe “uncle” wasn't an exact translation. But his English was excellent, and Dan introduced Kerry, and it wasn't long before they were family. One of the old ladies kept talking to Kerry, smiling and nodding. She kept putting food on her plate and patting her tummy. Only Dan and Kerry actually had their own plates. The others helped themselves from the dishes, passing them around and dipping in with their chopsticks, though each had his or her own bowl of rice. Dan's first bite made sweat break out on his forehead. It was savage Szechwan. He glanced to his elbow, where Mei had placed a martini for him. He gulped it before he remembered he was off the hard stuff.