the Gulf, a rain engine that had broken the heat wave. All over the city the body and fender shops were accumulating backlogs.
I leaned against the angled drawing board, one foot on the rung of the stool she had sat on when she worked at the maps, my arms crossed.
"One thing we know is that he left almost no trace of himself here," Meyer said. "He lived here for almost three months. No possessions. No personal papers. Just some rough cheap chain-store clothing. This was going to be his home. It isn't normal that he should leave so little hint of himself."
"You said there were letters she wrote to him when she was out in the field. No hints in those? No clues?"
He frowned. "When I found them I thought he was dead too, and it seemed a terrible invasion of privacy. I threw them out, and then I retrieved them and put them with her personal papers. I just scanned a couple of them quickly. There's about a dozen, I think. She was very much in love."
He went off and found the letters and brought them back to me. "Travis, I don't think I want to read them. If you wouldn't mind…"
There were twelve of them, written on whatever paper was handy at the time. Yellow legal sheets, office memo paper, the blank backs of obsolete printouts. She wrote in the hasty scrawl of a busy person, using abbreviations, leaving out words. She talked of her work but without the technical details he would probably not have understood.
They were all dated and could be divided into small batches. Apparently she wrote frequently when she was out in the field. Three consecutive days in March, four in April, two in mid-May, and three in June.
Darlin, having dreadful time today with a ranch woman who refuses to believe we will repair their land when we're through. Kept coming out, whining about the ruts and how we were scaring her animals. We were using some new equipment, and had to make certain it was placed just where I had marked the aerials. If, when all the reports are in, we decide to try to make a well, she will really go out of her mind.
Miss you so much I can't believe it. I think of your hands touching; and I feel all weak and dizzy, and I forget what it is I'm supposed to be doing here. I can close my eyes and look into your eyes and see my whole life there. You can never ever love me as much as I love you. I never thought I could feel like this, not in my whole life. I never thought I could feel this kind of physical hunger for someone. Tomorrow night I will be home, darling; and we will be together, and I will be in your arms, and we will make it last and last until I go out of my mind.
That erotic strain ran through all the letters, those written before the marriage and those written afterward. It was a very strong physical infatuation. I could guess that she had been a shy person, not pretty, uncertain in any kind of sexual relationship, dedicated to her work. At twenty-nine, awakened by Evan Lawrence, she wanted to catch up on everything she had missed, and from the letters she was making a pretty good try.
But I was after hints and clues. What about the money? What kind of a man was Evan Lawrence? I came upon a comment in a June letter that puzzled me.
When we talked the other night, Evan, I guess I seemed too nervous about the arrangement. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound that way. It's just that I've been so damned orderly all my life. Oh, I've taken big risks in my work, but not in my personal life. I pay every parking ticket on time. I know you are amused by that, and maybe you are a little irritated by it too. I agreed, and I'm not going to back out. The only thing is, we have to turn it around by April of next year. You say we will, so okay. And, darling, I can understand how just as a matter of personal pride, you want to make a contribution to our future. But it really doesn't matter that much to me. I don't think of things like that. I love you just as you are, and it would not matter to me if you had five million dollars
I leaned against the angled drawing board, one foot on the rung of the stool she had sat on when she worked at the maps, my arms crossed.
"One thing we know is that he left almost no trace of himself here," Meyer said. "He lived here for almost three months. No possessions. No personal papers. Just some rough cheap chain-store clothing. This was going to be his home. It isn't normal that he should leave so little hint of himself."
"You said there were letters she wrote to him when she was out in the field. No hints in those? No clues?"
He frowned. "When I found them I thought he was dead too, and it seemed a terrible invasion of privacy. I threw them out, and then I retrieved them and put them with her personal papers. I just scanned a couple of them quickly. There's about a dozen, I think. She was very much in love."
He went off and found the letters and brought them back to me. "Travis, I don't think I want to read them. If you wouldn't mind…"
There were twelve of them, written on whatever paper was handy at the time. Yellow legal sheets, office memo paper, the blank backs of obsolete printouts. She wrote in the hasty scrawl of a busy person, using abbreviations, leaving out words. She talked of her work but without the technical details he would probably not have understood.
They were all dated and could be divided into small batches. Apparently she wrote frequently when she was out in the field. Three consecutive days in March, four in April, two in mid-May, and three in June.
Darlin, having dreadful time today with a ranch woman who refuses to believe we will repair their land when we're through. Kept coming out, whining about the ruts and how we were scaring her animals. We were using some new equipment, and had to make certain it was placed just where I had marked the aerials. If, when all the reports are in, we decide to try to make a well, she will really go out of her mind.
Miss you so much I can't believe it. I think of your hands touching; and I feel all weak and dizzy, and I forget what it is I'm supposed to be doing here. I can close my eyes and look into your eyes and see my whole life there. You can never ever love me as much as I love you. I never thought I could feel like this, not in my whole life. I never thought I could feel this kind of physical hunger for someone. Tomorrow night I will be home, darling; and we will be together, and I will be in your arms, and we will make it last and last until I go out of my mind.
That erotic strain ran through all the letters, those written before the marriage and those written afterward. It was a very strong physical infatuation. I could guess that she had been a shy person, not pretty, uncertain in any kind of sexual relationship, dedicated to her work. At twenty-nine, awakened by Evan Lawrence, she wanted to catch up on everything she had missed, and from the letters she was making a pretty good try.
But I was after hints and clues. What about the money? What kind of a man was Evan Lawrence? I came upon a comment in a June letter that puzzled me.
When we talked the other night, Evan, I guess I seemed too nervous about the arrangement. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound that way. It's just that I've been so damned orderly all my life. Oh, I've taken big risks in my work, but not in my personal life. I pay every parking ticket on time. I know you are amused by that, and maybe you are a little irritated by it too. I agreed, and I'm not going to back out. The only thing is, we have to turn it around by April of next year. You say we will, so okay. And, darling, I can understand how just as a matter of personal pride, you want to make a contribution to our future. But it really doesn't matter that much to me. I don't think of things like that. I love you just as you are, and it would not matter to me if you had five million dollars
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