3rd Degree

Chapter 50

“JUST THE PLACE” turned out to be a caf‚ called Catch, down on Vine Street, which was like Union Street back home, filled with trendy restaurants and cutesy boutiques. The maŒtre d' led us to a quiet table way in the back.

Molinari asked if he could handle the wine, ordering a pinot noir from Oregon. He called himself a “closet foodie” and said what he missed most about a normal life was just staying home and puttering around the kitchen.

“Am I supposed to believe that one?” I grinned.

He laughed out loud. “Figured it was worth a try.”

When the wine came I held up my glass. "Thank you. For

backing me up today.“ ”Nothing to thank,“ Molinari said. ”I felt you were right." We ordered, then talked about everything but work. He

liked sports - which was all right with me - but also music, history, old movies. I realized that I was laughing and listening, that time was going by pretty smoothly, and that for a few moments all of the horror seemed a million miles away.

Finally, he mentioned an ex-wife and a daughter back in New York.

“I thought all the deputy-level personnel had to have a little woman back home,” I said.

“We were married fifteen years, divorced for four. Isabel stayed in New York when I started work in Washington. At first, it was just an assignment. Anyway” - he smiled wist-fully - “like many things, I would do it differently if I could. How about you, Lindsay?”

“I was married once,” I said. Then I found myself telling Molinari “my story.” How I was married right out of school, divorced three years later. His fault? My fault? What differ-ence did it make? “I was close again a couple of years ago.... But it didn't work out.”

“Things happen,” he said, sighing, “maybe for the best.”

No,“ I said. ”He died. On the job."

“Oh,” Molinari said. I knew he was feeling a little awk-ward. Then he did a lovely thing. He simply put his hand on top of my forearm - nothing forward, nothing inappropri-ate - and squeezed gently. He took his hand away again.

“Truth is, I haven't been out much lately,” I said, and lifted my eyes. Then trying to salvage the mood, I chuckled. “This is the best invitation I've had in a while.”

“It is for me, too.” Molinari smiled.

Suddenly his cell phone beeped. He reached in his pocket. “Sorry...”

Whoever it was seemed to be doing most of the talking. “Of course, of course, sir... ,” Molinari kept repeating. Even the deputy director had a boss. Then he said, “I understand. I'll report back as soon as I have anything. Yes, sir. Thank you very much.”

He flipped the phone back into his pocket. “Washing-ton... ,” he apologized.

“Washington, as in the director of homeland security?” It gave me a bit of a kick to see Molinari as part of a pecking order.

“No.” He shook his head and took another bite of his fish. “Washington, as in the White House. That was the vice pres-ident of the United States. He's coming out here for the G-8.”