Chapter 137
I PICKED PAUL UP at the pier that evening as if nothing had changed. But of course, everything had.
There were small signs—my damp hair, which likely smelled like Teo’s shampoo, and the fact that I was still wearing the dress I’d worn to the press conference. And then there were bigger signs, like the fact that I couldn’t keep a thought in my head.
If Paul noticed anything was amiss, he did not mention it. Jenkins and Vaughan and Volpe had been heaping praise on him all afternoon, so he, too, was distracted. “They really loved it,” he said as soon as he was in the car. “Said they’re expecting really favorable coverage.”
“That’s great,” I said.
He kept talking, something about the demonstrations and how he’d worried that the solid-state germanium detector—which had been giving him trouble lately—was going to stop working.
“Did it?” I asked.
“No,” he said, but then he was saying something else, and I couldn’t hear a word because I was thinking about how peaceful Teo had looked, asleep on that sofa, before I’d woken him.
Paul kept talking, and at some point, I realized he was talking about me. “What was up with him sitting next to you?”
“Who?”
“Who else?”
I started to say something, but it was taking a long time for my thoughts to congeal into sentences.
“It’s like, give me a break. You’re not there to hit on my wife.”
“I don’t think he was hitting on me,” I said firmly.
“If that’s the case, he could have sat up front like a normal person.”
“He just wanted to catch up.”
“Yeah, well, why you’d want to catch up with him, I have no idea. Especially after all that shit he was bringing up about the Chartridge.”
I should have said nothing. Especially after how I’d spent my afternoon. But I couldn’t help it. “It was one question.”
“It was several questions,” said Paul.
“That were all getting at the same idea.”
“His tone was wrong.”
“Is there a tone he could have used that would have gotten you to answer the question?”
“Very funny, Eileen.”
“I’m being serious,” I said. “The Maddalenini are really worried about this, and I don’t think it does anyone, including you, any good to dismiss their concerns out of hand.”
“Vaughan said I handled the Q and A beautifully.”
“I guess he would.”
“Do you have a problem with what I said up there?” he asked.
I bit my tongue for a quarter of a second, and then I just said the thing I was thinking. “It feels like you’re lying about the source of the cesium-137.”
“How dare you.”
“How dare I what?” I said, my voice shaking. I could feel myself growing angry, but it wasn’t even about what he’d said at the press conference. It was about everything he’d said and done in the two years leading up to it. “Confront you with your own bullshit?”
He gestured at the space between us. “This is what’s bullshit.”
“You acted like Teo was totally out of line when all he was doing was asking a very logical question.”
“You would think it was logical.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got the hots for that guy.”
“That’s beside the point,” I said, and his face registered something akin to surprise.
“You’re not even denying it?” he stammered.
I was tempted to tell him everything right then and there. In many ways, it would have been a relief. But I was terrified of what came next. So I just said, “I’m not doing this.”
We rode in silence for a few minutes before Paul spoke. “Stearns pulled me aside today, after everyone left. He said my detachment date’s been pushed back to the end of August.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The guy who’s replacing me just tore his rotator cuff. He had surgery, but he’s got at least six weeks of rehab.”
“What about Advanced Course?”
“They’re saying I can start late. That as long as I don’t miss the navigator course, I’ll be fine.”
I didn’t know what to make of this news. On one hand, I wanted as much time with Teo as I could get, so two extra months in La Maddalena sounded like heaven. But lying to Paul for the last five minutes had been painful, and I couldn’t imagine doing it for the entire summer.
“Laura will be excited,” I said, which was true.
“Do you smell that?” said Paul, taking a deep breath.
“Smell what?”
“It’s like peaches or apricots or something.”
It was my hair. I was certain of it. “I don’t smell anything,” I said, and from that point forward, the lies started to pile up around me.