A Knife Edge

TWO

I sat and stared at the floor and recalled our last phone conversation. It went something like this:

“Japan,” I said.

“Where?” asked Anna.

“Japan. Yokohama, Japan.”

“What's it about?” she asked, and then said, “Never mind.” We both knew I wouldn't/couldn't elaborate. More of that need-to-know crap.

“What about you?” I said. “You missing me?”

“No,” Anna said.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Okay, maybe just a little.”

“You're calling eight inches a little?”

She laughed. “Don't kid yourself, baby.”

“How are you spending your spare time?”

“Bible study. I've joined a group.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. It sounded lighthearted and friendly enough, but the truth of it was our long-distance relationship was suffering. The conversation had become stilted, the gaps between the exchanges widening. We both knew where it would end, but neither of us wanted to admit it — not out loud, anyway.

“When am I going to see you?” she asked.

That was the question on both our minds. And we both knew the answer.

“You tell me,” I replied.

The conversation's first bracket of silence followed.

“I saw a quote the other day,” she said, abruptly. “Do you want to hear it?”

Whether I wanted to hear it or not, I knew I was about to. “A quote by who?” I said.

“John Steinbeck.”

“Right, the piano people.”

“No, you idiot. That's Stein way. Steinbeck was a writer.”

“Oh, yeah, him.”

If it's possible to hear someone roll their eyes, that's what I heard.

“Steinbeck said, ‘There's nothing sadder than a relationship held together by the glue of postage stamps.'“

I paused. “You sure that wasn't Hallmark?”

“Yes.”

“Just as well we communicate via e-mail.”

“And why's that?”

“No stamps.”

This time, she paused. “Do you ever take anything seriously, Cooper?”

“I'm serious about you.”

“Are you?”

“What do you think?”

Another loud burst of silence followed.

“Then what are we going to do about it?” she asked.

“About seeing each other? I don't know,” I said, but I was thinking that we were going round and round the mulberry bush. There was one way to break the vicious circle — marriage. We'd discussed the M word before, but neither of us was ready for it. Not yet. Aside from the fact that we hadn't known each other all that long, and didn't even like each other when we first met, Special Agent Anna Masters wanted to concentrate on her career and I was still gun-shy after my last attempt at unholy matrimony. And with good reason. Brenda, my ex, had married our relationship counselor, the guy she also happened to be having an affair with while I was paying him to sort out our marriage. I'd forgiven her, but I still wanted to smack the guy around some — I enjoyed it so much the first time. And in the back of my mind, I wondered whether I actually believed in the institution of marriage anymore. I had trust issues, apparently.

“Christmas is coming up. You could get leave,” I suggested. “I'm sure Ramstein would get along fine without you.”

“No, I can't. I had so much time off after I came out of the hospital. What about you coming here?”

“Possible, I guess. It depends on the case I'm working.” We both knew me tripping over to, Germany Ramstein Air Base, would, in reality, be impossible. Like Anna, I'd had too much time off already, even if it was spent recovering.

“OK, then…” she said, with more than a touch of hopelessness. “So…”

“Hey,” I said, attempting to change the subject, “I haven't told you; I'm making real progress with the flying thing.”

“That's good,” she said.

I still needed to take a nervous dump before I got on a plane, and my palms sweated. But I could now travel drug-free, at last. “No more sleeping pills.”

“That's really great, Vin. Congratulations. Pity you can't put it to good use and get on a plane to see me.”

Silence. So much for changing the subject.

“Sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”

More silence. The way we were going, I could see a point in the future where our phone calls would be mostly dead air.

Anna sighed impatiently. “Y'know, the trouble with men is that you're all spineless.”

“A bit sweeping, don't you think?”

“It's true. You and I both know where this is going.”

“And where's it going?” I said spinelessly.

“See what I mean? You and me, us, our relationship — it's going precisely nowhere, and you know it. But do you want to take charge? No. Oh, for Christ's sake, Vin… We had fun, when we weren't being shot at or involved in car crashes. We should have just left it at that.”

And that was pretty much where we left it. There was a little discussion about us both being free agents, but nothing, thankfully, about us remaining friends — a surefire admission that we'd never speak to each other again.

The Boeing bumped around on some air currents and a light indicated that I should strap in. There being no lap restraints in the lavatory, I made the mental adjustment that it was time to take a seat without a hole in it.

I washed my hands, pushed open the concertina door and, leaning forward, climbed up the aisle toward my seat. The aircraft was still gaining height and the attendants were a little while from serving coffee and tea. The sessions I'd been doing to combat my fear of flying were working; I was almost getting on top of things. Actually, once airborne, it wasn't the fear of flying that chewed on me, it was fear of un-flying, like maybe the plane would suddenly realize it was doing something it shouldn't and drop out of the sky. Irrational, I know, but that's a phobia for you. I repeated the mantra: The higher you are, the safer you are, the higher you are, the safer you are, the higher…

We'd been airborne for ten minutes now, well outside the forty-second danger zone where there wasn't enough altitude for the pilots to prevent a catastrophe if things went into the shitter and, say, a wing fell off. Actually, not even Chuck Yeager could do anything about a wing falling off — except to eject, of course — not an option, even for passengers traveling first class, last time I looked. My bowels were churning and my heart rate was up. Six months ago, the only way I could have done this would have been with a headful of barbiturates. Now what I wanted sleeping tablets for was so that I could maybe get some shut-eye and perhaps find myself in a dream with Anna, which was the only way I could see that I'd ever be able to spend any time with her.