“Don’t be,” I said as the waiter approached and took our drink orders. Katherine asked for red wine; I ordered a beer. “It was a long time ago, and I don’t regret what I did.”
“But you have to regret that your father was an abusive drunk,” she said.
“I don’t think about him, and I try not to regret anything. If I spent my time dwelling on things I’ve done or things that have happened to me during my life, I’d be institutionalized by now or I would have offed myself.”
“Speaking of things that have happened to you, did Ben Clancy really frame you for murder?”
“He did, and he did it very effectively. I have to give him credit. He was very good at being a very bad man.”
“So you did two years in prison for a crime you didn’t commit. And then you escaped in a helicopter, of all things, made your way back here, and got yourself exonerated. That was quite a story. I was finishing up my undergrad work while all that was going on. It was fascinating, and every time I saw your picture in the paper or some kind of footage on the news, I always thought, ‘Wow, that guy is cute. I’d like to get to know him.’”
“Well, here we are,” I said. “Getting to know each other, although all we’ve talked about is me so far. How about a little quid pro quo?”
The waiter appeared again, and we ordered dinner. Katherine asked for some spinach artichoke dip as an appetizer and ordered a seafood salad as an entrée. I ordered grilled teriyaki chicken.
“You’re far more interesting than I am,” she said when the waiter left. “Do you mind telling me about some of your experiences in prison?”
“Talking about prison is far worse than talking about my father. I’d just as soon skip it if it’s okay with you.”
“It’s fine,” she said, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
“Listen, Katherine,” I said, “before this goes any further, there are some things you should know. Did you hear about two men getting killed in West Virginia who were suspected of bombing my mother’s house?”
She nodded. “Of course. I’m a criminal justice major. I pay attention to things like that. It was in the newspaper.”
“I’m the prime suspect in those murders,” I said. “The police think I did it. They also think I had something to do with Ben Clancy’s disappearance.”
She shoved her fork around in her salad and looked down. “Should I even ask you whether you had anything to do with those things?”
“Would it matter to you one way or the other?”
She looked up at me with those incredible sapphire eyes and said, “No, after everything you’ve been through, I don’t think it would. After everything you’ve been through, I can’t believe you’re still able to function.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, “but just to put your mind at ease, I didn’t have anything to do with any murders anywhere. I have no idea what happened to Clancy, and I didn’t go to West Virginia and kill anyone.”
“Have the police questioned you?” she said.
“I won’t let them. I’m a lawyer. I know my rights. And besides, I was railroaded into prison by the FBI and a corrupt prosecutor once. I’m not going to give them a chance to do it again.”
“Good for you,” she said. “What are your plans after dinner?”
“I don’t really have any. I figured I’d drop you off and go back to the motel. I need to find a place tomorrow. I don’t like sleeping at the motel. I don’t like anything about it, to tell you the truth.”
“I don’t have any plans, either,” she said. “Would you consider coming to my apartment and keeping me company for a little while?”
“Sure,” I said, “I’d like that.” I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was feeling a little adventurous.
“If things go well,” she said, “maybe you won’t have to sleep at the motel. Maybe we can even exchange gifts.”
CHAPTER 49
I can only describe Christmas night with Katherine as ethereal. My entire plan of protecting myself from trauma by refusing to feel was shot to hell. Katherine was perfect in a way I’d never, ever experienced. Everything with her was natural and easy, and when I left the next morning, all I could think about was that I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with her; I wanted to drink her in, to look at her, to smile with her, to laugh, to touch her. I hadn’t felt that way about anyone or anything in my entire life. I had no idea I was even capable of it.
Even with Grace, whom I thought I loved, it was different. I’d thought about Grace several times over the past few days, and I’d begun to wonder if perhaps she might have been one of the triggers Dr. Benton had spoken to me about during my one and only abbreviated therapy session at her house. Grace had been my lawyer through one of the worst periods of my life. Even though she had been an important part of getting me out of prison and getting the murder charge against me dismissed, looking at her each and every day had to remind me of those terrible times. I was beginning to believe that Grace was both a blessing and a curse, and even if my mother hadn’t been killed, we would never have made it. Eventually, I would have pushed her away because she was—unintentionally, of course—a constant reminder of the two years when my life spiraled completely out of control, two years during which I’d endured being beaten, strip-searched, dieseled, stabbed, and constantly humiliated by people who had authority over me because I was a prisoner.
Katherine was an incredible, passionate lover, and she put me at ease. After we made love a couple of times, I actually slept for several hours without having a nightmare. That was something that usually happened only if I drank myself into a stupor.
I woke up at five thirty and slipped out of bed. Part of me wanted to awaken Katherine and drink her in again, but another part of me was telling me to leave, that I needed to slow down. I got dressed in the dark and walked quietly out the door as Katherine slept.
As I drove along toward the motel, I began to wonder whether maybe I should do as Laura Benton had suggested—start over. I could shut down my law practice, and get some menial job while I went to school to become something besides a lawyer. I still had the problem in West Virginia I had to address, but once I got past that, maybe, just maybe, I could start down the road to some kind of normal life with Katherine. I knew it was ridiculous to be thinking in those terms so early in the relationship, but I simply couldn’t help it—I couldn’t get her out of my mind. And the thoughts I was thinking were optimistic. They were about the future and what it might hold for Katherine and me. They were positive. It was a 180-degree turn from the thoughts I’d been having since I got out of prison, since I’d gone back to practicing law, since my mom had been killed, and since I’d done what I’d done in West Virginia.
Less than ten minutes after I left her place, I got a text from Katherine. It said, Please tell me you went to get us some breakfast and you’re coming back.
I pulled into a parking lot and wrote back: Gotta find a place today. See you tonight?
She wrote: Can’t wait that long. Can I help you look?