Frowning, Dave said to his father, “Susan and this guy?” He flicked a belittling thumb toward Sam.

Ed’s eyes were fixed on Sam as if he’d caught him with his hand in the cash drawer. “Look at this Dave. Both of ‘em together.” It was a picture of Sam and Sarah in Athens with the Parthenon in the background.

Dave took the picture. “Her hair’s different, but it’s Susan all right.” He looked at Sam. “Why didn’t you tell me first thing you knew her?”

“Look,” Sam said, “it’s more than that. Do you mind if we sit down.” Sam sat before his knees buckled under him. The other two watched him for a moment, then joined him at the table.

“If you know where she is, I want to know right now,” Dave demanded.

“You tell me,” Sam said. “That’s why I came here.”

“Then you’ve come to the wrong place.”

“God damn it, Dave. Slow down.” Astonished at Sam’s boldness, Dave drew back in his chair. “We’re not going to get anywhere arguing. I said there was more and I’ll tell you if you’ll listen.” Sam surprised himself with his vehemence. He gave each of them a firm stare until he was sure they were going to keep quiet, then said, “Susan Lang is a pen name. Her real name is Sarah Langley and,” he paused, “and she’s my wife.”

Dave stared at him for several seconds, then laughed derisively. “Bull shit! The Susan I knew would never be married to you.”

“I don’t care whether you believe me or not. I just want to find out what happened to my wife.”

“I’m getting a beer.” Dave jumped from the table and went to the refrigerator. He tried to open it, but Condor’s two hundred pounds lay across the door. “God damn it, Condor. Move!” The big dog opened one eye then closed it. “Shit!” Dave exclaimed and went to the pantry to get a warm beer. He returned to the sink, leaned his back against it and glowered.

Ed spoke. “You gotta admit Dave, Sam’s got a point. The woman in this picture’s got to be Susan and look at here.” He pointed at the picture of Sam and Sarah. “She’s wearing a wedding ring.”

Dave came to the table to examine the picture. Sitting down, he said, “Let me see the other pictures you brought.”

As Dave studied them, Sam thought he could see in Dave’s eyes memories of him and Sarah together, and the sadness of her leaving. It took him a minute or two to examine all the pictures. Then Sam opened the book to the dedication, and slid it across the table to Dave. He read it and nodded slowly. “Same initials, too,” Sam said. “S. L. — Susan Lang and Sarah Langley.”

Dave’s shoulders sagged and he let out a long breath. “She told me she was married and had children.”

“Three?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” He looked over at Sam. “I asked her to stay here with me. Get a divorce. She said she’d think about it. Then I went to Japan for three weeks and when I got back she was gone.”

“Did she leave a note, say where she was going?”

“She left a note. Said she couldn’t marry me. She thanked me for what I’d done for her. But she didn’t say where she was going.”

The three men sat quietly until Ed said, “Get the man a beer, Dave. I’ll take one too.” Dave got up reluctantly, went to the pantry and brought two beers to the table.

“Sorry I lost it there. I loved her a lot. I thought I’d finally found someone who wanted what I wanted.” He sighed. “But I guess not.”

Sam took a drink of beer, then said, “I visited Madeline Singer before I came here. She read me the letter Sarah had written her when she was here with you. She thought a lot of you.”

Dave shook his head and took a deep breath. “This is damned awkward talking to you.”

“How do you suppose I feel?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Again they were silent. Ed got up and went to the refrigerator. “You two go on talking. I’ll fix us some lunch.” Looking down at Condor, he shouted, “Up!” The dog raised his head and then his body like an air mattress being inflated. He moved to the stove and slumped down again. The old man smirked at his son.

“So you were out at Pinnacle. Did Madeline tell you the state Susan was in when I got there?”

“She said she was pretty much at loose ends.”

Dave gave a humorless laugh. “Worse ‘n that. She was down right depressed. Was this soon after she left you?”

“Three or four weeks, I figure.”

“Well, what the hell did you do to her?” Dave asked accusingly.

“David!” his father shouted. “Knock that off. It won’t get you anywhere.”

Sam looked at Ed. “Thanks.” Then to Dave, “I don’t see where you get off being mad at me. You’re the one . .”

“Sam!” Ed yelled. “Stop it.” He hobbled over to the table. “You’re arguing about a sweet young woman who had her own problems. I know. She told me. You’re just thinking about yourselves and not about her.”

“What did she say?” Dave asked his father who’d gone back to making baloney and cheese sandwiches.

“She didn’t say what it was, only that something bad had happened the beginning of the summer.”

“I think I know what it was,” Sam said. “Yesterday morning I met this young woman who used to work with Sarah. Said she had to talk with me. For a while Sarah was her boss. They were close friends. Well, the end of May two years ago, Sarah discovered that her boss — a man named Farwell — was skimming money off a business deal with the State. She threatened to expose him. In the meantime, this young woman, whom she thought was her friend, was having an affair with Farwell. He needed a way to threaten Sarah not to go to the police, so he promised the woman he’d marry her if she’d claim Sarah had had sex with her.”

“Wait a minute,” Dave said holding up his hands. “That’s the damnest thing I’ve ever heard. I can tell you, Susan’s no . .” His father glared at him. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Sam.”

Sam glared at Dave. “I don’t need your confirmation, okay? I just want to find her.” He leaned back in his chair, took a slug of beer, and went on. “So this woman filled out a sexual harassment claim against Sarah, and Farwell told Sarah he’d take it to the board if Sarah went to the police. Within minutes it was all over the company. I don’t know for sure, but I think it was more than Sarah could bear and she left. That’s when she went to San Francisco and met Madeline.”

“Susan should’ve told this Farwell guy to go to hell,” Dave grumbled.

Ed limped to the table with three sandwiches on paper plates. He set them down and remained standing by the table. Nodding his head, he said, “Now I see what she was talking about.” He sat down, putting his palms flat on the table and leaned back like a grandfather about to tell his grandchildren a story. “Suzy was a sweet thing. I came to think of her like a daughter when she was here. I think she liked me too. We used to talk a lot when you were away.”

He glanced at Dave, then went on. “One day the end of the summer it was raining cats and dogs. We were sitting inside, Suzy and me, watching it come down. I could see she was feeling low. I asked what’s wrong. She didn’t answer right away. Finally she asked me if a person can love somebody without there being any sex involved. I didn’t like the direction this might go, especially because I thought she meant Dave and her. ‘He’ll be back in a couple of weeks,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you two can work it out.’ She gave me a surprised look. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s a woman I worked with.’ Now this really was more than I wanted to talk about, but she went on anyway. She said this woman and her had been best of friends, that they were always together on business trips. She went on talking about her for a long time, remembering the good times they’d had together. Then she said, and I remember it just as clear as can be, ‘Dad’ — He smiled. ‘She called me Dad sometimes — ‘Dad, if a person really loves somebody does it mean you want to have sex with them?’”

“What’d you say?” Dave asked quickly.

“I said, and this may not be the exact words, I said I didn’t know about a woman and a woman, but I knew about myself and a woman. Back when Mildred and I were, maybe forty-five, MIldred’s sister came to stay with us after her marriage broke up. She was a lovely woman and very troubled.”

Dave interrupted, “I don’t think I want to hear this, Dad.”

“Oh for Christ sake, Son, grow up.” They stared at each other for a moment, then Ed continued. “She seemed drawn to me, always asking my advice. I didn’t mind at all, but I could see Mildred was getting tired of it.” He stopped and looked at each of the men. “Did I love her? Yeah, I loved her. Did I want to take her to bed? You’re damned tootin’ I did. But did I? No. And yet I felt so guilty about my wanting to take her to bed that I might as well have.”

“How did Sarah take this?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know for sure. She was quiet for a long time, then started smiling. Pretty soon she got up and thanked me for telling her about me and Mildred’s sister. Then, without even putting on a coat, she went out the door saying she was going walking in the rain. That’s about it.”

Dave looked at him puzzled. “That’s about what?”

“What I said.” The father glared at him. “She went for a walk in the rain.” Dave shook his head as if both his father and Sam were demented.

Sam was lost in his own thoughts. I wish she would’ve talked to me. I think I could have understood. Or could I? I probably would have told she was crazy to worry about such things. I probably wouldn’t have believed that she was attracted that way. Thirty some years and I never really knew her.

“I still don’t know why she left,” Dave was saying as Sam came out of his thoughts. “We had fun. She went with me on all the training exercises, even wanted to learn how to fly the helicopter. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t try. She’d take turns with Justine in the boat, and with Amy in the copter. And we’d have these long sessions together when she interviewed me for her book. Sometimes we’d get laughing so hard we’d forget what we were doing.” Dave glanced over at Sam. “Oh, I’m sorry Sam. You probably don’t want to hear this.”

“Will it help me find her?”

“No.” He said immediately getting serious. “Hell, I’ve thought about it a hundred times and I can’t make sense out of why she left.”

“Then I don’t want to hear more.”

That ended the conversation. Ed and Sam ate their sandwiches in silence. Dave shoved what was left of his into his mouth and grabbed up his bottle. “I’ll be with the dogs,” he said and left.

After a while, Ed said, “That’s just the way he is. Always pushing, always driving hard, but he’s still a good person. He’d wear me out, too, if I’d let him, but I don’t.” He finished his sandwich and washed the last bite down with the remainder of his beer.

“I like you, Sam. I can see why Suzy left Dave to go back to you.”

Slowly, Sam lifted his eyes to Ed’s. “Did she . . did she say that?”

“More or less. I told you we talked a lot. She was really interested in Mildred and me. I told her we were married for fifty-two years and that impressed her. She wondered if I’d ever gotten bored with my wife and wanted to get away. I said bored wasn’t the right word. Discouraged was more like it. The last eight years of Mildred’s life she had Alzheimer’s. Each month she was a little worse. Toward the end I had to get help in during the day so I could go to work. At night I cared for her. Suzy cried when I told her this. I figure she was thinking about her own marriage, but she never talked about herself. At least, not until she left me the note.”

“She left a note?”

“Come with me. I’ll show you.” He got up and headed through the house to a first-floor bedroom. “Dave fixed up this room for me when my hips started going bad, so I wouldn’t have to go up and down stairs.” He turned and gave Sam a laugh. “That was before they told me I could improve my quality of life.” He led Sam into the bedroom which was clearly his own domain. Pictures of him and Mildred sat on the dresser, mystery books lined a shelf and a comfortable chair was placed by the window. “Have a seat in the chair,” he said. Sam sat and Ed began searching through his dresser drawer. “Ah, here it is.” Then he sat on the end of the bed.

“Like I was saying, Suzy and I had plenty of time together ‘cause Dave was away a lot. The end of the summer she finished her book and made a short trip to New York to her publisher. When she came back she helped me around the place: feeding the dogs, cleaning up poop, and driving the truck into town for the mail and groceries. She did most of the cooking and we ate every meal together. I can’t tell you what this meant to me; having a pretty young woman living in the house, someone to talk to and joke with. To tell you the truth, I hoped she would marry Dave and settle down here.

“One day she came back from town with this old bicycle in the bed of the truck. Bought it at a tag sale, she said. Well, she fixed it up and rode it all over the Point. Sometimes she’d make a lunch and be gone for the whole day.” His eyes grew sad and he turned to look out the window. “And then one day, about this time of the year, she left on her bike and didn’t come back. I found this on the kitchen table.” He handed Sam a sheet of paper. Sam got up, took it, and sat back in the chair. “Go ahead,” Ed said. “Read it.”

Sam leaned back in the chair, handling the note as if it were sacred parchment. There on the paper were Sarah’s own words, written by her own hand. He had to wipe his eyes before he could begin reading.

Dear Ed,

I couldn’t bear to tell you in person so that’s why I’m leaving before you get up. I guess this is a problem I have, leaving people without telling them in person. But the pain of parting from someone I’ve grown to love is so hard.

There’s also a note here to Dave so he’ll know why I’ve left when he gets back from Japan. I hope you’ll keep your note to yourself because I can say things to you I could never say to your son.

I want to go back to my own family, and to my husband if he’ll have me. I ran out on them too, and without even leaving a note. I wasn’t angry with them. I still loved them. At the time I felt like I’d finished with that part of my life, being a mother to children who’d grown up and a wife to a husband who couldn’t understand that I wanted more of a life of my own. I was thinking about leaving them when this problem happened at work. It was more than I could take and I snapped. The next thing I knew I was in San Francisco and then in Saskatchewan with the possibility of a whole new life. But the guilt around my leaving work and leaving my family hung on me like a coat of lead.

That’s when I met Dave. You know him. His whole life is like a helicopter. It lifts you up in the air above your problems and whisks you along so fast you don’t have time to remember why you felt bad. It was great, but every time he went away, I was left on the ground with the same old guilt. You were such a help to me. You saw I was having trouble and you cheered me up. I felt I could say anything to you and you’d understand. And you’d let me be.

What I’ve come to realize is there’s two parts of me. One part loves my independence, loves being able to be myself without pretense. I had a friend before I left home who showed me how much fun openness is. I hope I can find her again. I miss her. We were like sisters.

The other part of me is being a mother to my kids and a wife to my husband. I miss them terribly. I thought the two parts were incompatible, that it was either one or the other. Now I realize that when my children bother me and hang on me, I can tell them to bug off when it gets too much. I didn’t know that before. I saw being a mother only as a burden.

And there’s my husband. I never stopped loving him even when I left him. It was just that I felt so weighed down by him. I felt there was no way I could be myself around him. Instead of standing up to him, I grumbled and went off by myself. When I got married I was so young and he so much older that he felt he had to take care of me all the time. If I’d stood up to him he wouldn’t have understood at first. I think now a good fight was just what we needed. It would have been hard for a while, but we could have gotten though it.

So, after all these months of separation, I’m going home. I love my husband and my kids and I hope our love for each other can see us through to being a family again.

It’s hard leaving you. Maybe someday I’ll be able to introduce my husband to you. I think the two of you would get along fine.

I’ll be writing my husband, telling him I want to come home. I’ll wait to hear from him, but even if he says not to come home, I’m going anyway. I’ll write and tell you what happens.

Love, Suzy

Sam took off his glasses and wiped his eyes again. He put them back on and reread the note, then handed it back to Ed.

“Did she ever write?” he asked.

Ed shook his head, sadly. “No, I never heard from her.”

Chapter Thirty-One