"Have you any hint yet where Brad might be?" Susan said.
"How would I know anything?" Susan said.
"The question was idle," I said.
"If I knew something, wouldn't I tell you at once?" she said.
"Of course," I said. "And vice versa."
She thought about that for a moment and nodded.
"Yes," she said, "of course. My question was idle too."
The spaniel swam vigorously about in the pond, his owner standing right at the edge in case the dog needed help. Occasionally the dog would lap a little of the water. The ducks had apparently forgotten about him. They clustered about one of the swan boats on the other side of the bridge luring peanuts from the passengers. A stumble bum wandered by us wearing all the clothes he owned, muttering to himself as he went. Below us the spaniel finally had enough of the pool, swam to the side, and bounced up out of the pond. His owner took a quick step back out of harm's way just before the spaniel shook himself spasmodically. Then he bent down and attached a leash to the spaniels' collar and said something to him, and they went off toward Beacon Street together.
"You fooled me," Susan said suddenly.
"Which time," I said.
"When I met you. I thought you were rough and dangerous."
"And I'm not?"
"No you are. But I thought that's all you were."
I turned and looked at her. She was staring straight ahead.
"You've been talking to someone," I said.
"I called Dr. Hilliard."
"'The San Francisco shrink," I said.
"Yes."
I nodded, although she couldn't see me, since she was staring intently at the middle distance. She didn't say anything. I had nothing to say. We were quiet. The swan boat came under the bridge with its attendant ducks. The first three rows of benches were occupied by a group of Japanese tourists. Most of them had cameras. I always assumed that somebody in their passport office told them that if you travel in a foreign land, and you are Japanese, you are expected to carry a camera.
"She reminded me of some of the issues we had to resolve when I went away from you before," Susan said.
"Um hmm," I said.
"My attraction to inappropriate men, for instance."
Her voice had a musing sound to it, as if she weren't exactly talking to me.
"Um hmm."
"And I said to her, `Remind me again, if I had this need how did I end up with Spenser?' "
"You thought I was inappropriate," I said.
She turned her gaze away from the middle distance
and onto me. She seemed startled.
"Yes," she said.
"And now you don't," I said.
"You are the best man I've ever known. If anything, I may not deserve you."
I didn't know what to do with that, but the conversation was going my way and I didn't want it to stop.
"Because the way your father was," I said.
"And the way my mother made me feel about it."
"Your first love was an inappropriate man."
"And my mother convinced me that I didn't deserve him."
"You only deserve men like Brad, or Russell Costigan."
"Yes."
"But when you get them, you can't stay with them because they aren't up to you."
Susan smiled tiredly.
"Something like that, though I wonder, sometimes, if there's anyone who wouldn't be up to me."
She said it in a way that put quotation marks around "up to me" and boldfaced "me."
"This is about why you asked me to help Brad Sterling." I said.
"I guess it is."
"So why did you?"
"Some sort of guilt, I guess. I married him for his failings and when they persisted, I left him."
"Doesn't seem fair, does it?"
In view from every place on the little bridge were flowers in spring luxuriance. On the Arlington Street side were beds of tulips which would dazzle you if you were a flower kind of guy. The ornamental trees were in lacy blossom as well, their flowers much less assertive than the tulips. There were a lot of other flowers as well, but I didn't know what they were. I wasn't a flower kind of guy.
"Brad's only fault," Susan said in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere far off, "was to continue to be what I married him for being."
I waited. Susan sounded like she might be through, but I didn't want to say anything to keep her from going on. We were quiet. The small wind moved through the flowering trees and shook some of the blossoms loose and scattered them on the surface of the pond. A brown duck with a bottle green head went rapidly over to investigate, found it not to his liking, and veered away. Susan remained still looking at the pond. She was through.
"A number of other people have left him," I said. "Including his own sister."
"I know," she said and started looking at the distance again. "Poor guy, he's lost so much in his life. Maybe"
She shook her head and stopped talking again. "Maybe if you'd stayed, he would have turned into something else?" I said. "That's some power you've got there, toots."
"I know, I know. But he very much didn't want the divorce."
"Of course he didn't. But you can't stay with someone because they want you to."
"I know," Susan said.
She knew it was true, but she didn't believe it. I took in some air and let it out.