Stuart Woods - Palindrome

"You're still in business, but with a bipod."

"I've got a lighter one," she said, sadly unscrewing the camera from the wrecked tripod, "but it's not heavy enough for the view camera."

"I'll fix it for you," he said.

"It'll never be the same. I'll just have to order another one from Zone VI." She looked at her watch. "It's cocktail time," she said. "I'll buy you a drink, and, if you're brave, I'll cook you some dinner."

"I'm brave enough for that," he said.

They sat on the deck over the wreckage of their dinner, bathed in the light of a hurricane lamp, and finished off a second bottle of wine. Liz was feeling very warm and cozy and not a little drunk. She watched him as they talked and marveled at the difference between Keir and his brother. This twin emanated warmth-the corners of his eyes and mouth worked differently; a sense of humor was there behind the eyes. She wanted him, and she pushed back the irrationality of her feelings. She had not slept with many men, and she had always been cautious about it.

"How big do you reckon Goliath was?" Keir asked. "Nobody's seen him for years."

"Oh, about seventy-five feet," she said.

"I didn't ask you how big he seemed." Keir laughed. "Really. I'd like to know."

"I swear, I don't have a clue," Liz said.

"He was one hell of a lot bigger than anything I ever saw at a Florida reptile farm, and I think I saw one about twelve feet there when I was little, when Daddy and Mother took me to the beach one time."

"You were very lucky," Keir said. "I wish I had been there a little earlier so that I could have fought him off with my bare hands. Then you'd be pitifully grateful." She smiled at him.

"I'm pitifully grateful that you were there at all." She swirled the wine in her glass. "So where have you been since I last saw you? Following me around?"

He raised a hand. "I promise you, I haven't. I really was just passing."

"On the way to where?"

"No place in particular. I just roam, sometimes. I've been away a long time, and I miss Cumberland. I guess I've been pretending I was a little boy again, hunting with Buck Moses."

"Have you seen Buck?"

"Yes, the first day. He'd know I was here, even if I didn't look him up. He's like that."

"Have you seen your grandfather?"

"Yes, a couple of times. I had lunch at Dungeness yesterday. It was quite like the old days."

"You should see him more often."

"The old man isn't as lonely as you think. He's very selfcontained; he doesn't like much company. He just likes his island around."

"Have you seen Germaine?"

"We had a drink last night and caught up. I told her I'd met you."

"Seen anybody else?" She watched him closely. "No one else to see." He picked up her hand and inspected the palm, turning it toward the lamp.

"Long life line. A break in it, near the end of the first third of your life. Means a major change." He picked at more lines with his fingers. "Change for the better," he said. "True?"

"It would almost have to be," she said.

"You want to tell me about it?"

"No. Not now, anyway. I'd rather hear about you. What do you do? How do you support yourself?"

"I write. Not a hell of a lot, but I write. I'm good at it. It doesn't support me, but there's a little money from my parents that keeps me from having to write when I don't want to."

"Where have you been living most recently?" she asked, framing the question carefully.

She didn't want generalities. "Rome."

"Where in Rome?"

"I have a little flat in the Piazza Navona. It gets the sun in the mornings and the shade in the afternoons."

She reached for his hand. "Let me have a look at your palm, now." He closed it.

"You don't want to know too much." She wrinkled her brow. He reached out and massaged her forehead with his fingertips. "No furrows there, please. No worries, especially about me." Then, as if he had done it before, he moved his hand to her cheek and kissed her lips. As if she had done it before, she kissed him back.

He pulled her to her feet and put his arms around her, kissing her again. She responded more easily than she would have believed possible.

For the moment, she had no past, and his didn't matter. Soon, without seeming to walk, they were in her bed and naked. She received him easily, lustily, and they made each other happy. This is just physical, she told herself, just something I need at this moment. Sometime in the night, she felt him leave the bed, and she fell asleep, expecting him to return. He did not. The next morning, she woke feeling all rosy; then she remembered the night and suddenly felt guilty. Why? She was a grown-up; she could sleep with whom she liked. She thought about it until she had rationalized away the guilt and was left with only a warm, sweet memory.

Liz stuck her head into the little office at the inn. Germaine was talking on the cellular telephone that was the inn's only electronic contact with the mainland. "Buy a girl a cup of coffee?" Liz asked.

Germaine covered the phone with her hand. "I'll be with you in a minute; help yourself."

Liz walked into the kitchen, searching for coffee. Hamish Drummond was sitting at the otherwise empty staff table, sipping from a cup and reading a newspaper. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove and joined him. "Morning," he said, smiling. The usual detached charm.

"What's in the papers?" she asked. "I haven't seen one for a while."

"The news is bad," Hamish said, "for the Atlanta Bobcats anyway. Bake Ramsey hurt his knee, and it looks like he's out for most of the season."

"I don't follow football," she said. Not anymore. Baker had never been seriously injured before, she remembered-not in college, not in the pros. She wondered how he was taking it. Then she dismissed her ex-husband from her mind. He was no longer her concern. "Anything else of importance?"

He held the paper back and cast an eye over the front page. "Mmm, let's see-unilateral disarmament; first man on Mars; Second Coming." He shook his head.

"Nothing as important as Ramsey's knee."

"Now we know what your priorities are."

"Damn right. I had money on that game. The 'cats should have creamed 'em." Hamish stood and drained his cup.

Germaine entered from her office. "You off, then?"

"Yep. A boat's coming for me from Fernandina."

"You're leaving us?" Liz asked.

"Yeah, for a week or so, anyway. Got to go to New York, make a few bucks."

"Okay. Have a good trip."

"Thanks." He snaked an arm around his sister's neck and kissed her on the lips. "Take care."

"You, too. You will come back?"

"Once I do this deal I can afford some time off. I'll come back and wait tables or something."

"That'll be the day," Germaine said dryly.

Hamish grabbed his bag, left by the back door, and headed for the inn's dock. Germaine poured herself some coffee and sank down beside Liz.

"Whew, busy morning until this minute. Nice to have a break." She peered at Liz. "Something's different, you seem awfully pleased with yourself."

Liz blushed. Was she so easily read? Germaine's eyebrows went up. "Ahhhhh," she crowed quietly.

"Ah, what?" Liz asked, avoiding her gaze.

"He told me you'd met. You've gotten even better acquainted."

Liz was shocked. "He told you that?"

"Nope."

Germaine laughed. "You did. It's written all over you."

"I don't believe you," Liz said, feeling redder.

"Listen, you were wound pretty tight when you got here. Now, suddenly, you're all aglow." She looked ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay." Liz sighed. "I should probably get your advice anyway."

"Enjoy! That's what I do."

"You do? Who with?" Germaine nodded in the direction of the dining room. Liz turned to see a nineteen-year-old male backside in tight jeans pointed at her as Ron, the waiter, swung a mop back and forth across the floor.