Gail Bowen - The Last Good Day

“Do you think Blake and Lily’s relationship will survive?” I asked.

“I hope not,” Delia said. She winced. “I know that sounds cruel. But that’s a relationship that never should have been. Blake got far more than he bargained for with Lily. We all did.”

“In what way?” I said.

“I shouldn’t be talking about her,” Delia said. “It’s disloyal. More to the point, it’s unfair. As much as any of us, Lily is responsible for the firm’s success.”

“That seems odd, since she’s not a lawyer.”

“You don’t have to be a lawyer to have a brain,” Delia said wryly. “Lily is one smart cookie. More significantly, she’s able to see the big picture. There are a lot of sharp elbows and egos at Falconer Shreve. People are focused on their own work. There’s not much glory in taking care of the day-to-day business of the firm. Most of us deal with office stuff on a need-to-know basis, but Lily’s always understood what had to be done.”

“That is a gift,” I said.

“What’s a gift?” Blake Falconer’s question was casual, the kind of gentle repetition of a phrase that allows a newcomer a graceful entrance into a conversation, but Delia and I both jumped when we heard his voice. “Sorry,” he said. “Noah and I just got tired of standing. We decided you two looked pretty comfortable. Did we interrupt something?”

“No.” Delia patted the space next to her. “Lots of room here in the cheap seats,” she said. “I was just telling Joanne how much Lily has contributed to the firm.”

Blake looked abashed. “You know, sometimes I lose sight of that myself,” he said.

Despite another heroic leap by Leah, Angus’s team lost by a single point. It was a heartbreaker, but the RUFDC tournament had just begun. There would be other games, other chances. The members of Blackjack came over flushed and weary.

“We’re going to get something to eat,” Angus said. “We won’t be long. Everybody has to work tomorrow.”

“Have fun,” I said.

“You’ve earned it,” Noah said. “That was a good game.”

“Not good enough,” Angus said.

“So what prize are you playing for?” Blake asked.

Angus pointed to the parking lot. “See that puke-green shit-beater over there by the dumpster?”

Blake laughed. “The one with 779ULTI painted on the side?”

“Yeah,” Angus said. “We’re playing for the right to drive that for the rest of the summer. It’s called the Bohmobile.”

“Because Boh beer is the team sponsor,” Blake said.

“Indirectly,” Angus said, grinning. “Anyway, the Boh-mobile is the prize for playing the hardest, bitching the least, writing the funniest post-game anthems, and generally demonstrating the spirit of Ultimate Flying Disc. All of which sounds pretty stupid now that I explain it.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all,” Blake said. “It’s a lot more sensible than always playing to win.”

There was sadness in Blake’s voice, and Angus, who wasn’t always swift to pick up on the emotions of others, reacted. “Hey,” he said softly. “There’s no rule saying you always have to play to win.” He tossed Blake the disc in his hand. “Go hard,” he said.

“Point taken,” Blake said finally. He turned to Delia. “Hey, partner, look alive.”

With surprising speed, Zack wheeled himself over the bumpy grass to join them, and when he motioned to Noah and me to come onto the field, we didn’t hesitate. The girls saw us tossing the disc around and came running. There was laughter on the field that night; there was also a sense of communion. We played until the darkness gathered and we were no longer able to keep track of the disc that was our prize. When Blake and I collided and hit the grass, Zack announced the inevitable.

“Game called,” he said. “Before there’s a lawsuit.”

Laughing and grousing, we headed for the parking lot. Delia touched my arm in a sisterly gesture. “About those slacks of yours,” she said, “they’re raw silk, aren’t they?”

“I got them on sale at the end of last summer,” I said. “Even so, the only way I could justify buying them was promising myself I’d wear them for the next ten years.”

“Maybe you could turn them into cut-offs,” Delia said.

“Or a thong,” I said. “I’d better make tracks. Zack and Taylor are waiting in the car.”

“Tonight was fun, wasn’t it?” Delia said.

“Yes,” I said. “It was.”

“We need more fun,” Delia said, and her voice broke in one of those strange little cadences that made it impossible to tell if she was laughing or crying.

Zack kept the convertible’s top down on the drive home, and Taylor provided us with spirited observations on the stars and on the signs sporting the whimsical names cottagers had given their summer homes. Suddenly, she fell silent. I turned around to check.

“Is she all right?” Zack asked.

“She’s fine,” I said. “In fact, if you listen carefully, you’ll hear her snoring. Taylor is one of the few human beings I know who can move from full throttle to deep sleep in mid-sentence.”

“Lucky Taylor,” Zack said.

Our cottage was dark when we pulled up. “Damn,” I said. “I forgot to leave on a light.”

“I hate coming home to a dark house,” Zack said. “I’ll go in with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said, turning and pulling his folded wheelchair from the back seat. In two minutes the wheelchair was ready for action and Zack was in it. “Want to give me the keys?” he said.

I fished around in my bag for the keys and handed them to him. Then I reached into the back of the car and wakened Taylor.

“We’re home,” I said. “But you’re too big for me to carry.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

Still more than half asleep, Taylor leaned against me and we walked into the house. I took her down to her room, helped her on with her pyjamas, and smoothed the sheets after she slipped into bed.

“Sleep tight,” I said.

Taylor opened her eyes. “Hey, I forgot to tell you. Gracie’s mum’s coming home.”

“Is Gracie happy?”

“I don’t know. She just said her mother hasn’t anywhere else to go.”

“That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”

“It’s really sad,” Taylor said, then she rolled over and burrowed deep into her covers.

Zack was by the sideboard in the living room, holding one of the action figures from Kevin’s collection. I went to him and scrutinized the figure in his hands. “Darth Vader,” I said. “I’m going to write a learned paper on how the action figures people choose reveal their inner lives.”

“Darth Vader was the scourge of the Jedi and the master of the dark side of the force,” Zack said. “Any new insights there about me?”

“No,” I said. “That’s pretty much my take on you.”

“So who’s your choice?” Zack asked.

“Wonder Woman,” I said. “I love those bracelets, and it would be handy to have a lariat that compelled complete honesty and obedience from anyone I chose to snare.”

Zack put Darth Vader back in place. “Is it okay if I stay for a while?”

“Of course,” I said. “Would you like a drink?”

“Actually, I was thinking it might be nice to sit on that couch over there and neck.”

“I’m sweaty,” I said.

“So am I,” Zack said. “We’ll cancel each other out.”

I went over to the couch. Zack slid off his chair into the place beside me and we started to make the kinds of moves I hadn’t made since I was a teenager. They were still potent. Within minutes, it was pretty clear we were both aroused.

“If the kids come in and catch us like this, I’m going to lose my moral edge,” I said.