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"Not really," Wes said.
"What does that mean exactly?" asked the law enforcement agent.
"Okay, you can sort of blow up spaceships and planets," Boling said.
Wes added, "But not like violent-violent, you know."
"Right," the professor assured her. "Nothing like Resident Evil or Manhunt."
"Or Gears of War," Wes added. "I mean, there you can chainsaw people."
"What?" Dance was appalled. "Have you ever played it?"
"No!" he protested, right on the edge of credibility. "Billy Sojack at school has it. He told us about it."
"Make sure you don't."
"All right. I won't. Anyway," the boy added, with another glance at Boling, "you don't have to use a chain saw."
"I never want you to play that game. Or the others that Mr. Boling mentioned." She said this in her best mother voice.
"Okay. Geez, Mom."
"Promise?"
"Yeah." The look at Boling said, She just gets this way sometimes.
The two males then launched into a discussion of other games and technical issues whose meaning Dance couldn't even guess at. But she was happy to see this. Boling, of course, was no romantic interest, but it was such a relief that she didn't have to worry about conflicts, especially tonight--the evening would be stressful enough. Boling didn't talk down to the boy, nor did he try to impress him. They seemed like peers of different ages, having fun talking.
Feeling neglected, Maggie barged in with, "Mr. Boling, do you have kids?"
"Mags," Dance interjected, "don't ask personal questions when you've just met somebody."
"That's all right. No, I don't, Maggie."
She nodded, taking in the information. The issue, Dance understood, wasn't about possible playmates. She was really inquiring about his marital status. The girl was ready to marry off her mother faster than Maryellen Kresbach from the office (provided Maggie was "best woman"--no retro "maid of honor" for Dance's independent daughter).
It was then that voices sounded from the kitchen. Edie and Stuart had arrived. They walked inside and joined Dance and the children.
"Grams!" Maggie called and charged toward her. "How are you?"
Edie's face blossomed into a genuine smile--or nearly so, Dance assessed. Wes, his face glowing with relief too, ran to her as well. Though stingy with hugs for Mom lately, the boy wrapped his arms around his grandmother and squeezed tight. Of the two children, he'd taken the arrest incident at the hospital closer to heart.
"Katie," Stuart said, "chasing down crazed felons and you still had time to cook."
"Well, somebody had time to cook," she replied with a smile and a glance at the Safeway shopping bags, hiding near the trash can.
Ecstatic to see her mother, Dance embraced her. "How are you?"
"Fine, dear."
Dear . . . Not a good sign. But she was here, at least. That's what counted.
Edie turned back to the children and was enthusiastically telling them about a TV show she'd just seen on extreme home makeovers. Dance's mother was brilliant at dispensing comfort and rather than talk directly about what happened at the hospital--which would only trouble them more--she reassured the kids by saying nothing about the incident and chatting away about inconsequential things.
Dance introduced her parents to Jon Boling.
"I'm a hired gun," he said. "Kathryn made the mistake of asking my advice, and she's stuck with me now."
