Now and then - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,36

out if you learn something?” I said.

“That’s not always considered good therapeutic practice,” she said.

“But . . .” I said.

“I will warn him that I have some allegiance to the law,” she said.

“Good,” I said. “As far as he knows, I’m a sleazy gumshoe trying to blackmail him for fi fty grand. That works for me.”

“I won’t tell,” Susan said.

“Okay,” I said. “Just remember he’s here in order to use you to get me to give him the tapes.”

“Probably,” Susan said.

“But if he’s going to try to leverage you,” I said, “it’s better that he do it here, where we can control the situation.”

“If your scenario is correct,” Susan said, “might he want to hold me hostage until he gets the tapes?”

“Yes.”

“So killing me is not at the moment in his best interest,” she said.

“No.”

“And you guys will prevent him from kidnapping me.”

“Yes.”

“So we’ll give it a try,” Susan said. “See what develops.”

I nodded. Susan looked around the room at the four of us, and smiled.

“Security arrangements seem impressive,” she said. Hawk said, “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Wait’ll Tuesday morning.”

Susan looked at her watch.

“I have a client,” she said.

“Who might not benefit therapeutically,” I said, “from fi nding you hanging out with gunsels and thugs.”

“This is true,” Susan said and turned back to her offi ce.

“Inextricable?” Chollo said to me when she was gone.

“Sí,” I said.

39.

Susan came from the shower into the bedroom, with a towel wrapped modestly around her. I was in bed. Pearl had settled expansively in next to me.

“Did you know I was a cheerleader at Swampscott High?” she said.

“I seem to remember that,” I said.

“Sis boom bah,” she said, and dropped the towel and jumped in the air, and said, “Rah, rah, rah.”

“They like that at Swampscott High?” I said.

“The football team did,” she said.

“The whole team?” I said.

“No, of course not,” Susan said. “Varsity only. No jayvees.”

Pearl was banished to the living room with a chew toy while Susan and I explored the matter of cheerleading. When she was eventually readmitted, she found a spot on the other side of Susan, and settled down to work on what was left of the chew toy.

“She used to squirm right in between us,” I said.

“She’s learned to respect our space,” Susan said.

“Our baby’s all grown up,” I said.

“Yes,” Susan said.

We lay quietly together in the stillness of the bedroom, listening to Pearl work on her chew toy.

“Aren’t there supposed to be strings playing softly in the background,” I said, “while we lie here together?”

“Pretend,” Susan said.

I nodded, and closed my eyes and was quiet.

After a while I said, “It’s not working. It sounds like Pearl gnawing on a bully stick.”

“Won’t that do?” Susan said.

“Yes,” I said. “It will.”

I had my arm around her shoulder. She had her head against my neck.

“Postcoital languor,” she said, “is almost as good as inducing it.”

“Almost,” I said.

We were quiet. Pearl chewed. I could feel Susan’s chest move as she breathed.

“I wonder if we should get married,” Susan said.

After a moment I said, “Didn’t we already try that?”

“No,” she said. “We tried living together. Which was something of a disappointment.”

“True,” I said.

“But we didn’t try marriage.”

“I gather you don’t see marriage as requiring cohabitation?”

I said.

“No.”

“It is often the case,” I said.

“I know.”

“So we’d continue to live as we do,” I said.

“I guess,” she said.

“But we’d be married,” I said.

“Yes.”

“And the advantage of that is . . . ?”

She rubbed her head a little against the place where my neck joined my shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I thought we might discuss it, see what we thought.”

I was quiet. Pearl had finished her bully stick and was having a post-prandial nap. The room was very quiet.

“People of our generation,” I said, “who feel about each other the way we feel, usually get married.”

“Yes,” Susan said.

“Would it make you happier?” I said.

“No . . .”

“But?”

“I guess I would feel somehow more . . . complete,” she said.

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe I would, too.”

We were quiet. My arm was around Susan. I rubbed her shoulder.

She said, “There are no rules, you know.”

“I know.”

“Regardless of how we arrange it,” Susan said, “we will love each other at least until we die.”

“I know.”

“So if we marry or if we don’t, it will not change who we are and what we feel.”

“I know.”

“But . . . ?”

“But there’s something or other ceremonial in marriage that somehow or other matters,” I said.

“I knew you’d get it,” she said.

“If we decide to do it,” I said, “there ought to