relieved to escape back to the normal world, where casual conversation didn’t include talk of putrefaction, where the most serious issue of the evening was choosing between a red or a white wine.
“So how
did
you break your leg at Stanford?” she asked as Doug swirled Pinot Noir in his glass.
He winced. “I was hoping you’d forget about that subject.”
“You promised to tell me. It’s the reason I came to dinner.”
“Not because of my scintillating wit? My boyish charm?”
She laughed. “Well, that, too. But mostly the tale behind the broken leg. I have a feeling it’s going to be a doozy.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “The truth? I was fooling around on the rooftop of Wilbur Hall and I fell off.”
She stared at him. “My God, that’s a really long drop.”
“As I found out.”
“I assume alcohol was involved?”
“Of course.”
“So it was just a typical dumb college stunt.”
“Why do you sound so disappointed?”
“I expected something a little more, oh, unconventional.”
“Well,” he admitted, “I left out a few details.”
“Such as?”
“The ninja outfit I was wearing. The black mask. The plastic sword.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “And the very humiliating ambulance ride to the hospital.”
She regarded him with a calmly professional gaze. “And do you still like to dress up as a ninja these days?”
“You see?” He barked out a laugh.
“That’s
what makes you so intimidating! Anyone else would have been laughing at me. But you respond with a very logical, very sober question.”
“Is there a sober answer?”
“Not a single damn one.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “Here’s to stupid college pranks. May we never live them down.”
She sipped and set down her wine. “What did you mean when you said that I’m intimidating?”
“You always have been. There I was, this goofy kid ambling my way through college. Partying too hard and sleeping too late. But you—you were so
focused
, Maura. You knew exactly what you wanted to be.”
“And that made me intimidating?”
“Even a little scary. Because you had it all together, and I sure as hell didn’t.”
“I had no idea I had that effect on people.”
“You still do.”
She considered that statement. She thought about the police officers who always fell silent whenever she walked into a crime scene. She thought about the Christmas party where she’d so responsiblylimited herself to a single flute of champagne while everyone else grew raucous. The public would never see Dr. Maura Isles drunk or loud or reckless. They would see only what she allowed them to see. A woman in control.
A woman who scares them
.
“It’s not as if being focused is some sort of flaw,” she said, in her own defense. “It’s the only way anything gets accomplished in this world.”
“Which is probably why it took me so long to accomplish anything.”
“You made it to medical school.”
“Eventually. After I spent two years bumming around, which drove my dad totally nuts. I worked as a bartender in Baja. Taught surfing in Malibu. Smoked too much pot and drank a lot of bad wine. It was great.” He grinned. “You, Dr. Isles, wouldn’t have approved.”
“It’s not something I would have done.” She took another sip of wine. “Not then, anyway.”
His eyebrow tilted up. “Meaning you’d do it now?”
“People do change, Doug.”
“Yeah, look at me! I never dreamed I’d one day end up a boring pathologist, trapped in the hospital basement.”
“So how did that happen? What made you transform from a beach bum into a respectable doctor?”
Their conversation paused as the waiter brought their entrées. Roast duck for Maura, lamb chops for Doug. They sat through the obligatory grinding of the pepper, the refilling of their wineglasses. Only after the waiter left did Douglas answer her question.
“I got married,” he said.
She had not noticed a wedding ring on his finger, and this was the first