John Lescroart - Guilt

Sam was making him dinner, a first step into the heretofore dreaded return of the domesticity that had failed him so miserably the first time around.

They had talked about the implications of the dinner and decided they could risk it. Besides, Sam had pointed out, it wasn't going to be just the two of them and Quayle. Nothing that intimate. Other guests would be there to buffer the raging magnetic attraction that was nearly ripping the skin off their bodies. There was going to be some lawyer woman from her office, Christina, and her fiance, another lawyer, Joe. And Sam's brother- remember Larry and Sally? – would serve to balance out the lawyer ratio.

Wes sipped his drink. Sam thought he might be nervous meeting all these people in her circle at the same time. He supposed one day long ago this kind of situation might have had that effect, but today there was nothing but a sense of the exhilaration of new beginnings. Hope. It was great.

The door creaked. A hand on his shoulder. The scent of her as she leaned over from behind the chaise, laid a soft hand against the side of his face.

'You know what I can't believe?' she said. She came around the lounge chair, holding her own martini. Farrell loved a woman who drank like he did. He also loved the look of Sam – the way she had filled her glass right to the rim, slurping at it delicately to get that first taste, puckering her lips around it. 'Um-um.' She was wearing jeans, too. And a white sweater. And hiking boots. She looked seventeen.

He smiled up at her. 'What can't you believe?'

'I can' t believe that Pluto' s going to be inside the orbit of Neptune for the next eleven years. So it's not Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto anymore; it's Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Pluto, and Neptune.'

'That wacky old solar system,' Wes said. 'Just when you think you got it all figured out.' He moved his legs off the recliner, patted it with his palm, and Sam sat, the haunch of her leg tight up against him. He grinned at her. 'The good news is that this is the kind of fact on which I believe we can make some money.'

Larry and Sally arrived first. The sun was down and Wes was back inside with Sam – another round of gin poured and good smells emanating from the kitchen – everybody already getting along, laughing about St Patrick's Day.

'Hey, the parts I remember were great.' Larry, defending himself from his sister's mock attack.

'And how many parts do you remember?'

Larry paused, considering. 'At least two.'

'Including meeting Wes?'

He gave Farrell an appraising glance, shook his head. 'I'm afraid that particular moment didn't make the cut. Where were we exactly? No offense, Wes.'

'You had the T-shirt,' Sally said to Wes. She was as tall as her husband, with long dark hair that had gone about a third gray. Her friendly, attractive face showed more age than Sam's. She also wore nicer clothes, some makeup, dangling earrings.

'That's what did it,' Sam said.'The shirt. I saw that shirt and read the message and said, "Here's a guy I've got to meet.'"

'I thought it was how it fit me.'

That, too,' she said. That's what I meant.'

'You guys.' Sally was smiling. 'No foreplay until after dinner. It's one of the rules.'

'What shirt?' Larry asked.

Farrell recognized them both immediately. Shaking Joe's hand, taking in the woman – Christina Carrera. Yep, it was her, no doubt about it. Not looking any uglier either, he noticed. And it looked as though she'd found the right guy. Joe Avery was tall and thin, with an angular, clean-shaven face, shoulders a yard wide and no gut at all. It wasn't fair.

'You're at McCabe and Roth, aren't you?'

Joe included Christina. 'We both are.'

'Not quite yet.'

'Close enough.' Then, placing Wes. 'You've been to the office…'

'No more than two, three hundred times. Mark Dooher's my best friend.'

Christina snapped her fingers. 'That's it.' Explaining: 'I knew I knew the name Wes Farrell. When Sam told me… it's been driving me crazy. You go on camping trips or something with Mark, right?'

'Occasionally. Retreats, we call them.'

Joe Avery was looking a question at Christina, but Sam was coming up, kissing her on both cheeks, getting introduced to Joe. 'Okay, you lawyers, break it up. No professional talk until we've all said hello. At least.'

The moment passed.

Sam and Sally were in getting dessert and Larry had gone to the bathroom.

Joe turned to Christina. 'So how do you know about these retreats?'

'Mark told me about them, one of the first times we talked. I don't remember exactly. It just came up.' She turned to Wes, hoping to deflect the line of questioning from Joe. 'He said you guys go out and get re-charged on life.'

Farrell shrugged. 'Mostly we drink,' he said. Then, continuing to make light of it, 'Get away from the day-to-day. Talk about what we believe in, in theory. Try to beat the burn-out which you know, Joe, is a constant.' Wes drank some more wine and smiled at Christina. 'You'll find out after you've been at this business a year or so.'

Joe shook his head. 'I can't see it with Mr Dooher… Mark. He doesn't seem like he's on the burn-out track. He's always geared up.'

'Joe, he's got to act that way,' Christina, rushing to Dooher's defense, nearly blurted it out. 'You don't want your managing partner moping around, making you feel like it's all so hard.'

'Well, he doesn't do that, that's for sure.'

'Yeah, but I think Christina's right. He acts tough, but if you know him…'

Christina laughed. 'Don't tell me he's a pussycat. A gentle heart, maybe, but…'

'No way,' Joe couldn't envision it. 'Maybe with you guys, but I've worked for him a lot of years, and Mark Dooher does not invite closeness.' Joe looked around the table, perhaps realizing he was being too negative. He caught himself, nearly knocking himself over backtracking. 'Although, lately, I must admit -I don't know exactly what happened – he's been fantastic.'

'You got over the hump, that's all,' Farrell said. 'You proved yourself.'

'Is that it?'

Farrell nodded. 'That's Mark. He used to be too soft – one of the guys, you know. Didn't want to give orders, set himself above anybody.'

Avery laughed. 'Well, he sure got over that one.'

'Joe!'

'That's a fact, Christina. Say what you want about Mark, being afraid to give orders isn't what he's about anymore.'

Farrell stopped them. 'You're responsible for ten people dying, Joe, it hardens you right up.'

In the silence, Christina finally spoke up. 'What do you mean, dying?'

Farrell made a face. He hadn't intended to bring this up. It was too personal. One of Dooher's true ghosts. But to drop it now would only arouse more curiosity. Better to downplay it – God knew it did relate to their discussion.

'Mark was in Vietnam,' he said. 'Platoon captain, about a dozen guys under his command. This being Vietnam, as you may have heard, the guys smoked some dope.'

'Did they inhale?' Joe asked. 'Mr Dooher smoked dope?'

Farrell shook his head. 'No, I don't think so. But his men did.'

'So what happened?' Christina asked.

'So Mark knew how bad things were over there, and he knew the dope made it bearable for his troops – regular guys pretty much his age – so he made an unspoken policy that they had to be straight when they were going out on maneuvers, but otherwise he wasn't busting anybody for a little dope. He thought it was a reasonable rule and so everybody would follow it.'

'What was a reasonable rule?' Larry, returning from the bathroom, didn't want to be left out.

Wes shortened it up. 'My best friend happens to be the managing partner of Joe's law firm,' he said. 'We were talking about how he got to be such a hardass to work for. And the answer is Vietnam. He didn't exert his authority, didn't take charge. So when his troops went out on patrol, it turned out they were stoned to the eyeballs and got themselves ambushed and most of ' em died. I don't think he's ever forgiven himself for that.'