Edge

there that I could possibly want?” A nod toward the safe house.
    “Your family.”
    “Two people who don’t care whether I live or die.”
    “Of course they do. Maree, if I’m involved, that means this is the worst time people’ve ever gone through and ever will. They say terrible things when they’re under protection. But they don’t mean it. It’s the fear talking. The frustration.”
    A few minutes passed and I studied the river. I’ve had principals at this safe house maybe three dozen times and I’ve walked the entire perimeter, looking it over for offensive and defensive positions, orderedtrees taken down or plantings put in. But I must say that for all my love of orienteering and sign cutting and hiking, I’ve never actually taken time to enjoy the place.
    I turned back and noticed she was rubbing her arm.
    “Why did Andrew hurt you?”
    Her head dipped. “Didn’t buy the rude businessman thing, hm?”
    “No.”
    “How’d you guess?”
    “I’ve been doing this a long time.”
    I suspected she’d stonewall but I was surprised. She answered almost immediately, “The question is what didn’t I do.” An odd laugh. Humorless and stone calm. “And you know, Corte, the scary thing is, I can’t remember. I probably didn’t cook the right dinner or I cooked the right dinner but the wrong way. Or I drank too much wine when his friends were over. I don’t know. All I know is he grabbed me . . . grabbed and twisted. A tendon popped.” She was gripping the joint. “I cried that night, most of the night. Not because it hurt. But because I was thinking I knew some people’s elbows get hurt doing things like skiing or windsurfing with the people they love. But not me. No, no. I got hurt because somebody I loved wanted to hurt me.”
    Staring down at her camera. “But life’s all about trade-offs, isn’t it? I mean, who ever gets a hundred percent? I get excitement, energy, passion. Some women get boredom and drunks.” She didn’t look back to the safe house. “I’d rather have the thrill and a bruise now and then.” A breathy laugh escapedher narrow pink lips. “How politically incorrect is that? But there it is. I’m honest, at least.”
    I debated a moment. A long moment and an intense debate. I eased down to the ledge and sat beside her. She made no effort to move away. It was a very small space and our legs touched firmly. I hated being up here and I had to admit I liked the comfort of the proximity.
    I considered how much to tell her. I decided on a quantity and said, “I got married just after I graduated.”
    “Jo said you’re single now. I wondered if you’d ever been married. The way you looked at Amanda, it was the way a father or uncle looks at a child. You had children?”
    I again hesitated and finally nodded but it was clear from my expression that I wasn’t going to talk about that. Maree sensed she’d stepped over a line. She started to say something but didn’t. I continued quickly, “After we’d been married a few years we had a situation. There was a man from my wife’s past who became a problem.”
    Maree may have noted that I said “wife” and not “ex,” which imparted some information to her. She was smarter than the package suggested. She frowned her sympathy, which I didn’t respond to.
    “They’d worked together.” I hesitated. “They were both single. They went out a few times . . . they spent the night once or twice.” Maree seemed almost amused at my delicate euphemism. “This was a few years before Peggy and I met.”
    “Temper problem too, this guy? Like Andrew?”
    “No. Nicest guy in the world. I met him.”
    “You met him?”
    “They were in the same profession. Saw each other occasionally.”
    Peggy and he had done their residencies at the same hospital. I didn’t give Maree these details, though. “They broke up and she met me. After a couple of years, he showed up again. Just called to say hi, see if they could have coffee, a drink, for old times’ sake. But little by little it got to be strange. He began calling more frequently. Leaving messages. Innocent at first. Then getting slightly more aggressive when she didn’t call back. Then he started calling me. And showing up at the house. He even called . . .” I stopped speaking for a moment. I said, “Then the serious stalking began.”
    I was silent, recalling those days, seeing Peggy’s face, the faces of the boys too, very young but prescient and