Homeport

running of the Institute, Andrew. And I say, When do you want me to start?”
    “You love the Institute.”
    “A happy coincidence. If they’d told me to go to Borneo and study native habits . . . I bet I’d have a hell of a tan by now. Elise says, It’s time we got married; I say, Set the date. She says, I want a divorce; I say, Gee, honey, do you want me to pay for the lawyer?”
    I tell you I’m pregnant, Annie thought, and you ask if I want to get married.
    He studied the liquor in his glass, watched the way the light from her floor lamp slipped through the amber. “I never bucked the system, because it never seemed to matter enough to make the effort. And that doesn’t say much for Andrew Jones.”
    “So you drink because it’s easier than seeing if it matters?”

    “Maybe.” But he set the glass down to see if he could, to see how it felt to say what else was on his mind without the crutch. “I didn’t do the right thing by you, Annie, didn’t really stand by you the way I should have all those years ago, because I was terrified of what they’d do.”
    “I don’t want to talk about that.”
    “We never have, mostly because I didn’t think you wanted to. But you brought it up the other day.”
    “I shouldn’t have.” A little finger of panic curled in her stomach at the thought of it. “It’s old business.”
    “It’s our business, Annie.” He said it gently because he heard a trace of that panic.
    “Let it alone.” She drew away from him, folded her arms defensively.
    “All right.” Why scratch at old wounds, he decided, when you had fresh juicy ones? “We’ll just move along through the life and times of Andrew Jones. At this point in it I’m waiting patiently for the cops to tell me I don’t have to go to prison.”
    This time when he reached for the bottle, she grabbed it, stood up, and walking into the kitchen, poured the contents down the sink.
    “Goddamn it, Annie.”
    “You don’t need whiskey to make yourself miserable, Andrew. You do fine all on your own. Your parents didn’t love you enough. That’s rough.” Temper she hadn’t known crouched inside her sprang free. “Mine loved me plenty, but I’m still sitting alone at night with memories and regrets that rip at my heart. Your wife didn’t love you enough either. Tough break. My husband would get himself oiled up on a couple of six-packs and love me whether I wanted him to or not.”
    “Annie. Christ.” He hadn’t known that, hadn’t imagined that. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” she fired back. “I got through. I got through you and I got through him by realizing I’d made a mistake and fixing it.”
    “Don’t do that.” Out of nowhere his own anger spurted up. A dangerous light glinted in his eyes, hardening them as he got to his feet. “Don’t compare what we had with what you had with him.”
    “Then don’t you use what we had the same way you use what you had with Elise.”
    “I wasn’t. It’s not the same.”
    “Damn right, because she was beautiful, and she was brilliant.” Annie jabbed a finger into his chest hard enough to make him take a step back. “And maybe you didn’t love her enough. If you had you’d still have her. Because I’ve never known you to go without what you really want. You may not pick up a stone and go to war for it, but you get it.”
    “She wanted out.” He shouted it. “You can’t make someone love you.”
    She leaned on the tiny counter, closed her eyes, and to his surprise, began to laugh. “You sure as hell can’t.” She wiped at the tears the fit of laughter had brought to her eyes. “You may have a Ph.D., Dr. Jones, but you’re stupid. You’re a stupid man, and I’m tired. I’m going to bed. You can let yourself out.”
    She stormed by him, half hoping she’d made him angry enough to grab her. But he didn’t, and she walked into the bedroom alone. When she heard him go out, heard the door click behind him, she curled onto the bed and indulged herself in a good, hard cry.

ten
    T echnology never failed to delight and amaze Cook. When he started out as a beat cop twenty-three years before, he’d seen that a detective’s job involved hours of phone calls, paperwork, and door-to-doors. Not as exciting as Hollywood liked, nor as he—young and eager—had intended to settle for once he joined the ranks.
    He’d planned to spend this particular Sunday afternoon doing some fishing in Miracle Bay, as the