“What kind?” asked Maclean.
Verraday suddenly felt embarrassed. This was the second time tonight that it would have been more convenient to lie to Maclean. But he didn’t want to lie to her. He wanted to tell her the truth. So he did.
“At first I wanted to have X-ray vision so I could peek through walls like Superman and see what was beneath women’s clothes.”
Maclean burst out laughing. “You were a naughty boy.”
“I guess I was,” said Verraday, annoyed to feel his cheeks getting warm.
“You’re blushing,” she said.
“What can I say?” he responded with a shrug.
“So you said, ‘at first.’ Does that mean you wanted a different superpower later on?”
Now Verraday really did feel like lying, just so he wouldn’t add a depressing note to their conversation. But he was starting to like Maclean too much to be deceitful. So instead he told the truth.
“But then, after the accident, I wished I had a power ray that could stop a speeding car. I used to imagine myself shooting it out and redirecting Robson’s car away from ours, so I could save my mom and my sister.”
He paused.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a downer.”
“Hey, I was the one who asked,” said Maclean.
“So what about you?” asked Verraday. “Did you ever wish for a superpower?”
“Yeah. I wanted to be able to control time.”
“What, like Doctor Who?”
“No, though a TARDIS would have been cool. I just wanted to go back in time so I could keep my dad from going to work the night that he died. Then I imagined myself staking out the warehouse and catching whoever started the fire, then turning him over to the police.”
“And is that when you decided to become a cop?”
“That is exactly when I decided to become a cop. Now I have another question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“When you asked me the other night if I’d ever dated someone who was bipolar. Why did you want to know?”
“I wondered if you’d had that experience. It changes you.”
“Who was it?”
“Somebody I met when I was in graduate school.”
“A psychologist?”
“No, a singer in an alternative band.”
“You dated a singer in an alt band?” she asked, teasing him a little.
“What?” said Verraday. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks again. “What’s so weird about that?”
“Nothing. Nothing weird at all,” she said. “I’m just thinking that you are full of surprises. Picturing you in your wild years. What was her name?”
“Nikki.”
“Was she beautiful?”
Verraday suddenly realized that he was feeling shy about discussing his love life with Maclean, and especially telling her about another woman’s looks.
“She was attractive, sure,” said Verraday, carefully omitting the word “beautiful.”
“So how did you find out she was bipolar?”
“Mood swings were the first indication. Erratic behavior. But I ignored all the signs in the beginning. Just like Kyle Davis.”
“When did it become obvious?”
Verraday smiled archly. “As an expert in human behavior, I’d have to say the big clue was the time she waltzed into my apartment at three in the morning with this crazed smirk on her face, stinking of cigarettes and bourbon after having sex with some guy she’d met four hours earlier.”
“Ow. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. The only part that bothers me anymore is that I put up with her crap for weeks before it got to that point. It’s too embarrassing to think I was ever that unassertive.”
“You were young. None of us know anything at that age. And you’re an idealistic and compassionate person. I can tell that just from spending this much time with you. That makes you vulnerable in one way, but in another way, it makes you stronger because you experience and understand life in ways that other people never come to terms with.”
“That’s a very generous assessment. So now that we’ve discussed my horror story, what was your worst experience with the opposite sex?”
Maclean suddenly looked serious. “It’s way worse than yours, trust me,” she said.
Maclean turned toward the waiter and signaled to him to bring the check.
“Hey,” said Verraday. “You can’t bail on me now.”
By now the waiter was busy getting pints of Guinness for two happy-looking couples who had just come in together. Verraday marveled at how, with nothing but a smile, a nod of acknowledgement, and an eye movement, the waiter managed to convey that he’d be right with Maclean as soon as he’d finished.
Maclean turned back toward Verraday. “Seriously. I doubt if you really want to hear this story.”
“Well seriously, yes. I do want to know,” said Verraday.
Maclean took a sip of her vodka and soda. “Okay, here’s the straight-up version. I used to be married. Fowler is the reason I’m divorced. He sexually assaulted me.”
Verraday sat in silence, not knowing how to respond. His impulse was to offer some comforting words, but he knew from training and experience that he’d be more help to Maclean if he just invited her to talk, then let her.