Гарри Алекзандер - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 128, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 781 & 782, September/October 2006

“You’ve got a lot of nerve!”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

“It is where I come from, lady. Working construction takes nerve. And if checking out your age was rude, sorry about that. At least I’m working on the problem.”

“What problem?”

“The reason you and I can’t swap three sentences without ticking each other off. Like just now, for instance. Can we get back to that?”

She looked away a moment, fuming.

“All right, Mr. Shea,” she said, her eyes locking on to his like gun sights. “I agree we have some issues. But I think they’re mostly on your side. So. Exactly what is your problem? With me, I mean.”

“Straight up? You bug me. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s your money. From what I found on the ’Net about family connections, charity donations, and such, you must be pretty well off.”

“By your standards, that’s probably true. So?”

“So this is a low-rent project. Nobody cares about it but Arroyo and he’s only looking to get a big, historic church for peanuts. It’s a dirty, dangerous gig. And since you obviously don’t have to work for a living, why are you here?”

“What, you think I’m just playing at this?”

“Heck no, you’re really good at what you do. Good enough that you could probably use your connections to land a lot better job than this one.”

“You’re right, I probably could. My turn, Mr. Shea. If you hit the lotto tomorrow, what would you do with the money?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Mine. Answer it, please.”

“You’re serious? All right, how much do I win?”

“Let’s say two million.”

“Two? Okay, I’ve got a sister in Texas, raising three kids on her own. I’d like to help her more than I do. Buy her a house, maybe. And I’d definitely give my guys a raise. My aunt runs a school for handicapped kids — you’re shaking your head. What?”

“So far, you’ve only mentioned people you’d help. What about you? Wouldn’t you like a new house?”

“Don’t need one. I live with my dad when I’m home, which isn’t often. My grandfather built our house, felled the logs himself, peeled and set them. I’d like to add on to it someday, but I’ll do it myself, by hand. See if I can match his work.”

“So money really doesn’t matter to you?”

“Of course money matters. A lot.”

“But the work matters more. Even if you hit the lotto, you’d keep working, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure. I like what I do.”

“Well, so do I. The only difference is that, since I don’t need to work, I try to choose projects that can have an impact. Like this one. With luck, this reclamation won’t just save an historic building, it could revitalize the whole area.”

“Fair enough. I guess I can understand that.”

“So when it comes to work and money, we’re not so far apart, are we?”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Which brings us to the thing on the Skyjack.”

“Thing?”

“You know what I’m talking about. When I caught you. The way it felt when I held you.”

“You mean after you hit your head? You were probably groggy. It was only for a few seconds, and even if it felt like... something, I’m still old enough to be, well, your older sister, anyway.”

“Can we leave the age thing out of this for now?”

“No, I don’t think we can. It’s like money. It matters.”

“Not to me. Or at least, not as much as the rest of it.”

“The rest of what?”

“For openers, I don’t want to make a complete ass of myself. If I’ve misread things and what happened was totally one-sided, just say so and I’m gone.”

“Wow, that’s really tempting.”

“What is? Blowing me off?”

“It would certainly simplify things. But it wouldn’t be... honest. The truth is that you seem like a nice young man—”

“Skip the young part, okay?”

“All right, a nice guy, then,” she conceded. “You sort of saved my life and it’s been a long time since anyone... held me in midair. And I liked it. It made me feel... never mind. Maybe we shouldn’t make too much of a three-second tumble.”

“It didn’t start then. I think it started the first day, the first time I met you. It just took awhile to register.”

“That doesn’t change the way things are. My work is important to me and office romances are bad for business. I don’t do flings, Mr. Shea.”

“Neither do I. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing! Or maybe a lot. I don’t know! I mean — damn. I’m not saying this very well, am I?”

“You’re doing fine. In fact, if this is a line, it’s a pretty good one.”

“It’s not. But — look, I’m not good at this. And it’s your turn again anyway. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think. But this is what I know. The situation’s impossible. We’re a terrible mismatch, I’m older than you are, we have practically nothing in common, the timing couldn’t be worse — why are you smiling?”

“Because it’s familiar. I came up with pretty much the same list. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Look, I’m not saying this makes any sense, I just know how I feel. How you make me feel. I want this. But if you don’t, just say so and I’ll back all the way off. Like it never happened. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know, I just — could you please shut up a minute? I need to think.”

“Maybe I should go—” She glared him back into his seat. “Or I could just sit here and shut up.”

The silence stretched out for roughly a decade. Or felt like it.

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath.

“Okay?”

“I think I’ve got it sorted out. It’s just... chemistry. We don’t know each other or have enough in common for it to be anything else. Chemistry. An infatuation. Whatever you want to call it, that’s all it is.”

“Chemistry. That’s not such a bad thing to have, right?”

“No. There are worse things than chemistry.”

“So what do we do, Lydia? Forget about it?”

No answer. She looked away, and for a moment seemed so vulnerable and unsure of herself that he wanted to take her hand, tell her everything would work out. But knew it would be the wrong thing to do. Whether this came to something or nothing was her call. He’d have to live with it either way... She turned back to him, meeting his eyes. And he had no idea what she’d decided.

“We should go,” Lydia said.

Shea paid the check, said goodnight to Sam and Morrie. Lydia took his hand as they stepped out of the cafe into the gathering dusk. Behind them, the lights of Paddy Ryan’s flickered out as Sam closed for the night.

Their cars were parked in the cafe lot, but she led him across the street to the Chapel instead.

“Back here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we go someplace... nicer?”

“Nope. Office romances should begin in the office. It’s a rule. Besides, if we’re a total disaster, at least I can catch up on some paperwork.”

And he burst out laughing.

But they weren’t a disaster.

In the darkness of the portal, she turned to him, lifting her face to his, and they kissed. Warily at first, like the strangers they were. But only for a moment. And then they seemed to meld, to flow together, as though they’d kissed a thousand times before. And would again.

They drew back for a moment, stunned by the depth of their delight. And the power of it. But when they began again, there was no holding back.

There was nothing remotely romantic about the office, barely room for two on the narrow rollaway. It didn’t matter. In the fumbling haste of abandon, blankets on the floor served as well as a bed of roses.