no reason to walk away."
"If you say so."
"All I did was suggest some help, if you feel you need it. There was nothing else intended."
"If you say so."
He lowered his eyes. "I remember the last time a woman ran away from me. When I first met her. She wouldn't talk at all. So I chased her like a fool. But it was worth it."
"That's very romantic, Michael," she said coldly.
He lowered his head. "But I caught her and everything worked out all right."
"Everything?"
"Yes, everything. And now I've caught her again."
"So everything will work out fine again?"
"Right, if you do what I tell you."
"And if I don't?" He didn't respond. "Do I wind up like Karen?"
He slapped her across the face. Her head spun back; a welt raised on her cheek. Stifling a cry of pain, she rubbed the bruise with her hand, trying to massage the sting away.
He had never hit her before. If he had thought, even for a moment, he would have held back. But Karen's name had stabbed him like a machete.
He looked at his open palm. He looked at Allison. "I'm sorry." He grabbed for her hand; she pulled away. "You've got to believe me. I don't know what came over me. I don't understand. I just don't. Why Karen? Why now?"
"Because."
"Why resurrect something that should remain buried?"
"Should it?" Her voice was meek; her mouth barely moved.
Michael leaned forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Forgive me."
"I've heard that before."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit. You said it because you meant it."
"Every once in a while you remind me of someone."
"Who?"
"No one."
"Let's cut the riddles."
"Why do they bother you? I thought you liked riddles."
"Not particularly."
She stood up. "I don't want to talk about . . ." she said.
His eyes intensified. "Perhaps we should talk about your frigidity. Or why you left home."
"No."
"Or the crucifix?"
"No."
"Or why suddenly Karen is such a hot topic?"
"I don't want to talk about anything."
"Just throw out little puzzle pieces for me to play with."
"Call it what you will."
He stared.
"I forgive you," she said perfunctorily. But her voice was cold and shallow.
"I don't want you to mention Karen again. There's no reason why we should torture ourselves."
She tossed the stem of the leaf to the ground. "Can we go back to your office?"
He nodded.
Michael's office was typical. Rows of lawbooks filled the hardwood shelves; two diplomas hung on the wall. There were pictures of a famous judge, several caricatures of early English judicial proceedings and a reproduction of the Magna Carta. A rectangular desk filled much of the floor space. Two chairs, a couch and a carved wood table occupied the rest. Having been purchased within the last several weeks, they sparkled with newness.
Michael leaned back in the desk chair and lit an imported cigar. "If it will make you happy, fine," he declared. "Call Miss Logan. There's no harm to be done!"
Allison sat down on the edge of the desk and removed a piece of paper from her purse. "It will make me ecstatic." She pulled the receiver from the desk phone, glanced at the paper and dialed the listed number.
Michael began to blow smoke rings, oblivious to her presence.
In a moment Allison greeted Miss Logan and, without being specific, asked if they could meet. They agreed on twelve o'clock. In the coffee shop across from the rental office.
"Do you want me to come?" Michael asked as she lowered the phone.
"No."
"Do you want me to say I'm sorry again?"
"No."
She walked around the desk and kissed him on the forehead. There was little in the kiss other than goodbye. The incident in the park was still fresh in her mind, the red welt still visible on her left cheek.
"Michael."
"Yes," he said expectantly.
"I'll speak to you later."
Disappointed, he replied, "I'll be here."
She turned and hurried out the door. He sat blowing smoke rings, thinking. Should he get up and go after her? He wasn't sure. He decided not to. Instead he reached across the desk
"If you say so."
"All I did was suggest some help, if you feel you need it. There was nothing else intended."
"If you say so."
He lowered his eyes. "I remember the last time a woman ran away from me. When I first met her. She wouldn't talk at all. So I chased her like a fool. But it was worth it."
"That's very romantic, Michael," she said coldly.
He lowered his head. "But I caught her and everything worked out all right."
"Everything?"
"Yes, everything. And now I've caught her again."
"So everything will work out fine again?"
"Right, if you do what I tell you."
"And if I don't?" He didn't respond. "Do I wind up like Karen?"
He slapped her across the face. Her head spun back; a welt raised on her cheek. Stifling a cry of pain, she rubbed the bruise with her hand, trying to massage the sting away.
He had never hit her before. If he had thought, even for a moment, he would have held back. But Karen's name had stabbed him like a machete.
He looked at his open palm. He looked at Allison. "I'm sorry." He grabbed for her hand; she pulled away. "You've got to believe me. I don't know what came over me. I don't understand. I just don't. Why Karen? Why now?"
"Because."
"Why resurrect something that should remain buried?"
"Should it?" Her voice was meek; her mouth barely moved.
Michael leaned forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Forgive me."
"I've heard that before."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit. You said it because you meant it."
"Every once in a while you remind me of someone."
"Who?"
"No one."
"Let's cut the riddles."
"Why do they bother you? I thought you liked riddles."
"Not particularly."
She stood up. "I don't want to talk about . . ." she said.
His eyes intensified. "Perhaps we should talk about your frigidity. Or why you left home."
"No."
"Or the crucifix?"
"No."
"Or why suddenly Karen is such a hot topic?"
"I don't want to talk about anything."
"Just throw out little puzzle pieces for me to play with."
"Call it what you will."
He stared.
"I forgive you," she said perfunctorily. But her voice was cold and shallow.
"I don't want you to mention Karen again. There's no reason why we should torture ourselves."
She tossed the stem of the leaf to the ground. "Can we go back to your office?"
He nodded.
Michael's office was typical. Rows of lawbooks filled the hardwood shelves; two diplomas hung on the wall. There were pictures of a famous judge, several caricatures of early English judicial proceedings and a reproduction of the Magna Carta. A rectangular desk filled much of the floor space. Two chairs, a couch and a carved wood table occupied the rest. Having been purchased within the last several weeks, they sparkled with newness.
Michael leaned back in the desk chair and lit an imported cigar. "If it will make you happy, fine," he declared. "Call Miss Logan. There's no harm to be done!"
Allison sat down on the edge of the desk and removed a piece of paper from her purse. "It will make me ecstatic." She pulled the receiver from the desk phone, glanced at the paper and dialed the listed number.
Michael began to blow smoke rings, oblivious to her presence.
In a moment Allison greeted Miss Logan and, without being specific, asked if they could meet. They agreed on twelve o'clock. In the coffee shop across from the rental office.
"Do you want me to come?" Michael asked as she lowered the phone.
"No."
"Do you want me to say I'm sorry again?"
"No."
She walked around the desk and kissed him on the forehead. There was little in the kiss other than goodbye. The incident in the park was still fresh in her mind, the red welt still visible on her left cheek.
"Michael."
"Yes," he said expectantly.
"I'll speak to you later."
Disappointed, he replied, "I'll be here."
She turned and hurried out the door. He sat blowing smoke rings, thinking. Should he get up and go after her? He wasn't sure. He decided not to. Instead he reached across the desk
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