The 6:20 Man(22)

“Oh. You must be proud of them.”

“I’m glad they’re happy.” He thirstily drank his beer down and waved to the waitress for another. “So, back to Sara. When was the last time you saw her?”

“About a week before they found her. She came to my office.”

He looked puzzled. “Why? Last night you said you two were working on different things.”

“That’s right.”

She drank her margarita after gumming the salty edges, then squeezed the lime wedge over the chips and dug into the guac. He watched her do this, and then looked out to the water for a moment before glancing back at her.

“Then why did she come to see you?” he persisted.

“What, are you playing detective or something?”

“I’m just playing a human being. So what did she say?”

“She was asking about some play or other. Whether I’d seen it.”

His interest perked up. “What was the play? Did she want a recommendation?”

Stamos fingered the drink and now she looked out toward the water, as though the answers would all be there. “Waiting for Godot. Have you seen it? I don’t know anything about it.”

Devine nodded. “I actually saw it here in New York, before I shipped out to West Point.”

“Really? I thought you’d be out binge-drinking or . . . you know . . . the girls.”

“I had a high school English teacher, Harold Simpson. I told him I was going the officer route at the Point. He told me to go see the play before I did. It happened to be on Broadway back then.”

“Why did he want you to see it? Did he not want you to join the Army?” she asked.

“I don’t think that was it. He’d served in the Army during Vietnam. He wasn’t West Point. He got drafted. He came back pissed off and against the war. But he fought. He did his job. And the country treated those vets like shit. Not fair to fight your heart out, survive, and come back to that.”

“But why would he want you to see that play in particular?” Devine sipped his fresh beer. “I really can’t explain it for you. It’s just that sort of a play. You have to see it for yourself.”

“Did you like it?”

“I’m not sure it’s a play you either like or don’t like. I’m not sure that’s the purpose.”

“Then what is the purpose?”

He took his gaze from the Statue of Liberty and placed it on her. “What to make of your own life, maybe. But if you ever see it, arrive at your own conclusion. So, you told her you hadn’t seen it. What did Sara say about that?”

“She said it might be worth going to see. That I might want to check it out.”

“So she had seen it. Which theater was it?”

“I forget. Somewhere on Broadway. And recently. But you really can’t believe that a stupid play had something to do with her killing herself?”

“It’s not a stupid play. Samuel Beckett wrote it, and he later won the Nobel Prize for literature. Are you sure she didn’t tell you more than that about her interest in it?”

Stamos looked uncertain. “I think she wanted to, but . . . she never came around to telling me. I . . . tried to get her to fill me in. But . . .”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, she seemed . . . scared.” She looked up at him. “Does that make any sense?”

“Maybe it did to her,” he said thoughtfully. “Why exactly did you want to talk to me?”

“About Sara, like I said.”

“I think you have something else on your mind.”

She looked nervously at him. “You were at the office late last night.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I asked the security guard later after you left and I slipped away from the ambulance guys. I went back to the building. He said you had come inside earlier, right after I did.”

“I didn’t see him.”

“He was just coming back from making his rounds. He saw you, but you didn’t see him.”

“Okay, so?”

“He told me you left right after I did. He thought . . . I mean he didn’t say it, but I believe he thought you and I had . . . you know, gone up there to . . .”

Devine sat back. Okay, here we go.

“I left my phone in my cubicle and went back to get it. Is that a crime?”

Her response was immediate and direct. “I was in there a lot longer than it took for you to get your phone.”

Yes you were. “And while I was there I logged on and did some work. I didn’t even know you were there, but that’s what you were doing, right? Catching up on some work?”

“Y-yes, that’s right. A report I was working on.”

“Well, good for the goose, good for the gander, right?”

She gave him a searching look and he hoped he had passed the test. Or rather Cowl’s test. Because this further explained the look Brad Cowl had given him in the dining hall earlier. And it also was the reason she had wanted to meet with him.

“When you left last night, you called me ‘sweet cheeks.’ ”

Here we go. Round two.

“It was shitty and degrading. I guess the adrenaline was pumping after the fight and I turned into a stupid punk trying to act big. I used to call the girls in high school that, and I wasn’t referring to their faces. Thought it was cool. I was a jerk. I’m really sorry.”