Rescue

right to you.“
    “No problem there.“
    There was some feedback noise from the stage at the back of the bar, and a guy in his twenties with home-cut hair moved to the microphone, shrugging the strap of a guitar over his head. Adjusting the mike for his height, he said, “And how are you now?“
    A smattering of applause.
    “Ah, you think you’re feeling fine already, wait till you hear me sing. They loved me in Amsterdam .“
    A guy’s voice yelled out, “ Amsterdam ?“
    “Yes, in Holland , it is. Wonderful people there. I’ll tell you, if the Dutch lived in Ireland, they’d still own half of Europe, but if the Irish lived in Holland, we’d all be drowned by now.“
    A roar of laughter. The singer launched into a revolution song I hadn’t heard before, and the crowd fell immediately quiet.
    Nancy leaned into my ear and said, “What’s the name of this?“
    “I don’t know, but it’s not considered polite to talk during one.“
    Nodding, she leaned back.

    Saturday morning, we walked to a hardware store, Nancy buying me a pair of white, cotton work gloves so I could keep my hands clean the next time I changed a tire. Then we drove north in the Prelude, taking Route 1 to 128 North and Route 133 toward Crane Beach . It’s a magnificent stretch of sand and dimes donated by the Crane family, the folks who brought the world all those porcelain urinals and toilets in the older public buildings. In summer the beach is packed with sun-worshippers who don’t mind that the water’s too cold for swimming or that for a couple of weeks the place is infested with greenheads, big flies that would remind you of pit bulls with wings.
    It was overcast, just cool enough to chase the bathing suits and replace them with optimistic beachcombers, determined joggers, and elderly race walkers. Nancy and I left the car in the parking lot and climbed the slatted-board path between two dunes to the water.
    Across the bay to the north and west is the Plum Island Reserve, protected home to dozens of species of marsh and beach birds. We turned east to walk into the wind first.
    Nancy took my hand, swinging it a little like we were square dancers doing a promenade. “What’s bothering you, John?“
    “Nothing.“
    “You kept me up all night.“
    “I was twitching in my sleep?“
    “Twitching? Try kick boxing. What’s going on?“
    “That case—or what might be a case.“
    “The one I could have a direct conflict on.“
    “Right.“
    “I think I’d rather have a conflict than bags under my eyes.“
    “Oh, I don’t know. They might give you that air of maturity a jury wants to see in a lawyer they’re expected to trust.“
    We didn’t say anything more for a while, walking among the broken crab shells, lavender tampon applicators, and used condoms garnishing the tide lines of seaweed. A father and son were flying a kite, not even needing a running start in the breeze.
    Nancy said, “I was talking to a clerk on the civil side last week.“
    “About what?“
    “The problem with unclaimed exhibits.“
    “From trials, you mean?“
    “Yeah. After a case is tried and nobody appeals, the attorneys almost never take the stuff back.“
    “So, you shred it.“
    “Not just documents, John. Crushed bicycles and clogged airplane carburetors and faulty ski lift chairs, you name it and it’s pushing through the walls of the cubbyholes they have.“
    “Bullshit, Nance.“
    “Meaning?“
    I stopped, waited for a jogger to go by us. “Meaning you’re just making small talk.“
    Her eyes searched mine. “What’s wrong with that?“
    “You’re doing it to annoy me.“
    “Why?“
    “Because I’m not telling you what’s bothering me.“
    “You told me.“
    “No, I didn’t.“
    “Sure you did. You—“
    “You know what I mean.“
    The smile that just tweaks the corners of her mouth. “And you know what I mean.“
    “If we have a relationship...“
    “... then we share things, regardless of professional inconveniences.“
    “I don’t think they taught that in law school.“
    Nancy used a thumb and forefinger to tug at my chin. “If you’d finished, you could say for sure.“
    We started walking again, my hands in my pockets, her left arm linked in my right. I went through the whole story, Melinda and Eddie Straw and the red-haired guy and Guinness at the Fort Point Channel.
    Nancy waited for me to finish. “Because I know you, I’d say you have a point. If I didn’t know you, I’d probably agree with