Betrayal

An hour ago, at about five o'clock, he'd climbed the steps and rung the doorbell at 2C, but no one had answered. He could have called first and made an appointment-Tara Wheatley was listed in the phone book-but he thought it would be better if he just showed up and delivered the letter in person. He didn't want to give her the option of saying she wouldn't see him, didn't care if she ever got another letter from Evan. That would have complicated the whole thing. It was better to simply show up and complete the mission.

He wasn't in any hurry. He'd give it an hour or two and if she didn't come home in that time, he'd come back either later tonight or tomorrow. Evan had told him that this time of the summer, she was probably spending most days in her classroom, preparing it for the start of the school year. Tara taught sixth grade at St. Charles, a Catholic school in the next town. Evan assumed that she wasn't dating anybody else, at least not yet, so he was reasonably sure she'd be around by dinnertime most nights, if everything was still okay with her-if she wasn't hurt or sick, or dead.

So Nolan waited, comfortable on the hard stone step. The weather was really ideal, an afternoon floral scent from the gardenia hedge overlying the auto exhaust from the busy street, the fresh-cut-grass smell from the lawn below him, a faint whiff of chlorine from the complex's pool, a corner of which was visible off to his left. If he closed his eyes, Nolan could almost fool himself that he was back for a moment in high school. People were laughing and splashing down at the pool, and the disembodied sounds combined with the softness of the air to lull him after a while, carrying him away from what had become his real world of dust and duty, danger and death.

Like the trained animal he was, he came back to immediate full consciousness as a new vibration from the steps registered with his psyche. He looked down and saw a woman in a simple two-piece blue bathing suit stopped now on the third step, turned away from him, exchanging some banter with other friends who'd obviously just left the pool too. From the shade of her wet hair, he imagined it would be blond when it dried. A thick fall of it hung down her back to a little below the halter strap. She'd hooked a finger through her beach towel and thrown it carelessly over one shoulder. Nolan's eyes swept over the length of her body and he saw nothing about it he didn't like. Her skin was the color of honey.

He shifted on his step to get a better look just as she turned and glanced up at him. Catching him in the act, she shot him a brief complicitous smile that was neither embarrassed nor inviting, then quickly went back to the good-bye to her friends. One of them left her with some parting remark that Nolan didn't quite hear, but her spike of carefree laughter carried up to him. He hadn't heard a sound like that in a while.

Then she was coming up the stairs toward him.

Nolan stood up. He was wearing black shoes, pressed khakis, and a tucked-in camo shirt. He was holding Evan's letter in his hand. Suddenly she stopped halfway up, all trace of humor suddenly washed from her face. As tears welled in her eyes, she brought her hand up to her mouth. "Oh, my God," she said. "It's not Evan, is it? Tell me it's not Evan."

Realizing what she must be thinking-that he was the Army's messenger sent to inform her of Evan's death in Iraq -Nolan held out a reassuring hand and said, "Evan's fine. Completely fine. I'm sorry if I startled you. You must be Tara."

Still knocked out of her equilibrium, she nodded. "Yes. But…this is about Evan?"

Down below, one of her male friends called up to her. " Tara? Everything okay?"

It gave her an instant to collect herself. Turning, she waved. "I'm fine. It's okay." Coming back to Nolan, her voice had firmed up. "Who are you, then? What are you doing here? You had me thinking Evan had been killed."

"I'm sorry. My name's Ron Nolan. I'm a friend of Evan's over there. I should have realized what I'd look like waiting here for you to show up. I'm sorry."

"Okay, you're sorry." She pointed at the envelope he held. "What's that, then?"

"It's a letter that Evan asked me to hand-deliver to you. He was worried about you."

"Why would he worry about me? He's the one in the war zone."

"Well, he hasn't received any letters back from you."

"That's right. That's because I haven't written any. We broke up. Maybe he didn't tell you that. What does he want me to say?"

"I don't know." Nolan held the envelope out to her. "I'm just the messenger here. My job is to give you this last letter and then to tell Evan that you're all right."

"I'm fine."

"Yes, I can see that. You want to take this?"

She didn't move.