I have been thinking about her for forty-one miles. I have been thinking about her for four days and I have done a professional job of thinking about her while doing other things. This morning I am thinking about her as the thing I am doing. She is in my bed still warm from where I was. I got up at four and I made her coffee and I stood at the side of the bed and watchedher sleep for a minute and then I bent and I kissed her temple and she made a small sleep sound and she turned her face into the pillow.
I left.
I left and I have been driving and I have been thinking about her, the way she held my wrist at the tub, the way she saidI have never had sex with a woman, I'd like to, the way she sobbed into my shoulder after, the way I felt her come apart against my mouth, the way her bandaged hand moved on my back when we slept. I am thinking about her the way I think about a fire I am driving toward. I am using the same part of my brain. The same narrow locked-in beam. I have never used the fire part of my brain for a person before.
I turn onto the interstate.
Traffic is light. The sky over the city is beginning to come up gray at the rim. I can see downtown from here. Station 9 is at the north edge, twelve floors of red brick and steel, a tower with Val's office on top and a flag that is always lit. I drive toward it. I am thinking about the woman I’m keeping secretly in my bed. I am thinking about her while driving toward the woman who controls everything in my life but doesn’t know about this. Those are the two sentences. I hold them.
---
The stairwell.
Three taps, pause, two taps.
"Come."
I open the door. Val is at her desk. The green-shaded lamp is on at seven a.m. because it is not full light outside yet. Two folders in front of her. Her jacket is on. Her watch is on her wrist today, not the desk. She has a cup of coffee steaming at her elbow. She does not look up when I come in.
"Sit," she says.
I sit.
"Fire on Fourth yesterday?”
"Storage units, yes,” I respond.
"You were on scene before any other crew."
"Yes, Chief."
"What do you think about it?” Val asks and I know what she is asking.
"Smelled like a home job. Gasoline. Lazy. Not a pro."
"So we're clear of it?”
"Yes, Chief."
"Kessler's going to report an accelerant of opportunity. No suspect. File going to the back of the pile."
"Yes, Chief."
"Good."
She turns a page. She lifts her coffee. She sips. She sets it back on the desk.
“The Clark Fire.” She speaks and her voice is factual.
I sit very still in the chair. Evangeline Clark is in my bed.
"Yes, Chief?”
"The investigation into the Clark fire has gone public. The widow is officially missing. The father on Long Island has given a press conference. Her photograph is on the seven a.m. feed this morning."
"I know.”
"You know?”
