The Edge

"I'm not like this, normally. I'm really very serious. I never laugh." She cleared her throat, straightened her suit lapels, and said, "Very well, I'll just call you Mr. MacDougal. My name's Laura Scott. I'm the head reference librarian here."

    "You've got a great laugh," I said as we shook hands. She was strong, her hands narrow, her fingers long, nails well manicured.

    "How long have you worked here?"

    "Nearly six months. I'm originally from New York, came out here to go to Willamette. I graduated with a' degree in library science. This is my first job here on the West Coast. The only bad thing about working here is the less-than-princely salary they pay me. It barely keeps me in cat food for Grubster-he's my sweetheart alley cat.

    There's Nolan too. He's got quite an appetite. Oh, he's my bird."

    I'd heard every word she'd said. Grubster and Nolan. I liked pets. It was just that I couldn't keep from looking at her mouth. She had a full mouth, a bit of red lipstick left, beautiful. I cleared my throat. I was acting like a teenager. "You're right," I said, "money's always a bitch. Lucky for me, since I eat a lot, I don't have to share my Cheerios with a Grubster or Nolan. I just have to worry about feeding myself. The university is hard up too. My office has a view since I came in as a full professor, but the heating system is so antiquated you can hear the steam whistle when it comes out of those ancient pipes."

    She blinked this time, rapidly, at least half a dozen times. She didn't burst into laughter, but she did giggle. I'd made her laugh. It felt good. Evidently, she found me amusing.

    I'd come here ready to play a role, to get the truth out of this woman, to charm her, whatever. Instead, I wanted to scoop her up and take her to Tahiti. I hated this.

    "Do you have plans for dinner?" At her pause, I added, "As I said, I'm new here in town and don't know a soul. I realize you could be worried that I'm another Jack the Ripper from London, so maybe we could just stay around here. That way I couldn't kidnap you or mug you or do anything else to you that you might not think appropriate. You know, fun stuff that isn't supposed to happen when you've only known someone an hour. How about the Amadeus Cafe I saw on the lower level?"

    She looked over at the large institutional clock on the wall just above all the medieval reference books. She smiled up at me and nodded. "I know a great place just down the street. Not the Amadeus-I eat there everyday."

    An hour later, after a solitary tour of the Salem Public Library, we walked down Liberty Street to the Mai Thai, which turned out to be an excellent restaurant even though it was so dark and dusty I was afraid to order any meat dish off the menu.

    She'd taken her hair down before we'd left the library. I wanted my face and my hands in her hair. She was leaning toward me, her long hair falling over her left shoulder. Laura Scott hadn't shown me a single shy, withdrawn bone. She was open, responding to me with laughter and jokes, making me feel like I had to be the most fascinating guy in the known universe. She'd just turned twenty-eight in March, she said. She was single, lived in a condo right on the river, played tennis and racquetball, and loved to horseback ride. Her favorite stable was just five miles out of town.

    She was at ease with me. I didn't want that to stop.

    For myself, I made up a wonderful academic life, replete with stories that friends and siblings had told me of their college experiences over the years. She was down to the last few bites of her chicken satay when I knew the party was over. I was here for a reason, not to flirt and start a relationship with this fascinating woman. I said easily, watching her as closely as a snake watches a mongoose, "I have relatives down in Edgerton, a little town on the coast of Oregon, just an hour from here."

    She kept chewing her chicken, but I saw the change in her, instantly. Shit, I thought. Her eyes, to this point rather vague and soft, were sharp, attentive behind her glasses. But she didn't say anything.

    "My cousin-Rob Morrison-is a cop. He says everyone calls the town The Edge. He's got a little house very close to the cliffs. You look out the window and think you're on a boat. If you keep staring at the water, pretty soon it feels like you're really on a boat rocking back and forth. Have you ever heard of the place? Do you know anyone from there?"

    Would she lie?

    "Yes," she said, "I have,