THE BARTENDER at the Riverhouse greeted us with a hearty smile when I indicated our desire to sit outside. I opened the patio door and held it for Kathleen. I followed in good-natured silence as she chose a table close to the river. We were enveloped in late-summer sunshine and she lifted her face to the clear, blue sky. She closed her eyes and grinned, delighted by the warmth on her skin.
It was a quiet, weekday afternoon, so our attentive server approached just as soon as we took our seats. The college-aged waitress looked at Kathleen first for an order.
“I’ll take an iced tea, please.”
“And you, sir?”
“Do you have Inversion?” I’d discovered the local IPA soon after moving to Bend, and I still savored the newness of the microbrew.
“Yes, we do.”
“That’d be perfect. Thanks.”
I watched our waitress bound toward the bartender, wondering if she was old enough to serve alcohol. I glanced at Kathleen and noticed she was stifling a smile. I hadn’t thought my order through and was chagrined.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I should have asked if it was all right to order a beer.”
“I’m not your keeper,” she replied with a shrug as she leaned back in her chair. She was relaxed, and the thought warmed me more than the sunlight. I copied her posture and brought my hand up to rub my chin.
“Well. You kind of are. We’ve been on the clock this afternoon.”
“I’m not worried about it.”
Our drinks arrived a few moments later, and she lifted her glass for a sip.
“Do you drink alcohol at all?” I asked.
She set her tea down on the table and tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”
Her voice held no teasing note. No sense of playfulness. If anything, her question sounded apprehensive. I was still grasping the depths of her shyness, but I pressed forward. She hadn’t changed the subject outright.
“No reason, I guess. I’ve never seen you do it.”
Kathleen’s grin returned and she nodded. “That’s because you’ve never seen me outside of the office.”
“That’s an excellent point.”
In the days since I’d begun working at Aurora, I’d chatted with Kathleen a multitude of times, but she always kept our conversations centered on work. Sitting outside, enjoying a beer with her blessing brought my inhibitions down.
“I hope I’m not upsetting you. This is as close to outside of work as we’ve gotten so far. And I’m curious about you.”
Kathleen tilted her head. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She dropped her gaze and circled a contemplative finger on the rim of her glass. When she brought her eyes back to mine, there was a determined set to her features.
I waited to see which way our conversation was about to turn.
“What do you want to know?”
“Plenty. For example, are you married?”
She held up her left hand, which held no ring. “No.”
“Am I being too nosy?”
She grinned while leaning toward me. “Not so far, but honestly speaking, there’s not much to me,” she said, repeating my words to her before she’d introduced me at the staff meeting my first day of work. Pride flared. I’d made a memorable impression.
“I disagree,” I bantered back, cementing an inside joke.
We beamed at one another and then fell into a mutual silence. During this time, Kathleen’s eyes drifted to the Deschutes River. I recalled her referring to this spot as her oasis. She’d mentioned that she used to dine at the Riverhouse with her mother, but I also knew she hadn’t been back in a long time.
On impulse I asked, “Your mother doesn’t live in Bend anymore?”
Kathleen blinked but didn’t take her eyes away from the white water rushing by just steps away.
“No. She doesn’t.” Her voice was quieter. I strained to hear her statement over the roar created by the river.
I leaned forward. “Where is she now?”
“Portland,” she said, avoiding eye contact.
I wanted to ask her more, but stopped. The energy around us had shifted in a matter of a few words. There was little doubt that Kathleen was uncomfortable now. We both went still for a second time.
She took the lead and resumed the conversation. “How are you liking Oregon so far?”
“Still adapting.” It was my turn to be on the defensive, although I’d earned a bit of her investigation.
“I’ve never been to Baltimore,” Kathleen revealed.
“No?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t get out of the neighborhood much.”
“Where do you like to go when you leave the neighborhood?”
Kathleen’s cheeks turned a bit rosier than usual. “My last vacation shouldn’t count,” she told me. “It was way out of the norm.”
“That sounds interesting. Where did you go?”
“France.”
“Why there? Was it on your bucket list?”
“I wanted to go somewhere far away, and I guess I was in the mood to see Paris.”
“That’s great,” I replied. “What did you do there?”
“All of the usual things, I suppose. What did you like best about living in Baltimore?”
“I miss Chesapeake Bay. Once upon a time, I had a sailboat.”
“Yeah?” Kathleen’s tone communicated both her interest and her surprise.
I was suddenly at a loss for words. If I was going to be truthful to Kathleen, I would have to reveal that the sailboat was one of many quagmires in my marriage. I hadn’t spoken about sailing in years and was surprised that I’d mentioned it. Of all the things I could have revealed about my old life, why had I started with that boat?
Stalling for extra time to prepare my answer, I took another sip of beer. “I gave it up when I got engaged.”
“Your wife wasn’t a fan?”
“Nope.” I left it at that and Kathleen laughed good-naturedly. Despite the fine line I was walking, I was glad to get our conversation back on track.
“Have you visited the coast here?”
Here was a question I was happy to indulge. “Not yet. It’s a bit of a drive, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “A little over three hours. The highway from here is narrow and windy, but the drive is beautiful. There’s plenty of scenery along the way.”
“Do you go to the beach often?”
“Now and again. The coast was always too windy and foggy for Robert. He likes it here more than anywhere else.”
Here was another obstacle when it came to Kathleen. Although I hadn’t witnessed severe tension between her and Robert since the reception at 5 Fusion, I knew better than to ask about their relationship. I was running out of conversational avenues. Her mother was off limits and so was her father. She wasn’t married and didn’t have a family of her own, which eliminated any number of small talks we could have engaged in.
I tapped my beer bottle, focusing my attention on the nearby wooden bridge that crossed the river. I remembered Heide’s joy there during our stay and smiled. I brought my attention back to Kathleen, confident I had discovered new territory to explore.
“Tell me what it was like for you growing up in Bend.”
“What do you mean?” Kathleen’s eyes narrowed.
Her expression bothered me. What trap had I stepped into this time? “I was just curious. I remember Robert telling me how he moved you here from Portland. Perhaps I just need some reassurance that I’ve done the right thing by my daughter.”
Kathleen considered this at length. I wanted her to be honest about her childhood here, so I waited patiently as she collected her thoughts.
“I liked my school,” she said. “I had lots of friends and I made the honor roll. Once I got on it, I never fell off.”
“I can see that about you.” I moved the conversation forward again by asking, “Were you bored here? After living in the city?”
Kathleen shook her head. “If it was boring here, I would have moved away after high school and never come back. Granted, Bend isn’t for everyone. It’s just like anywhere, I suppose. People love it or hate it, or they’re indifferent and hang on until something better comes along.”
“You didn’t miss being a kid in the city?”
“No. To be honest, my memories of Portland are fuzzy.”
“Fuzzy.” I repeated the word, wondering if my daughter would someday recall Maryland in the same way. I supposed it was inevitable, but the realization was difficult to accept.
“We signed Heide up for soccer. She played in Baltimore. I hope something familiar will help her adjust.” I was beginning to ramble, something I wasn’t prone to.
“You don’t need to worry,” Kathleen said. “New kids here always get an extra dose of attention. Everyone will want to get to know her. She’ll have her choice of friends.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“She’ll do fine,” Kathleen added with certainty and I believed her.
Before I could thank her, Kathleen’s phone pinged. She picked it up from the table and checked her message. While she did this, I finished my beer.
When she set down her phone, she looked at me again. “We should head back to the office.” She gestured for our bill. Our server returned, and Kathleen held out her hand for the ticket. Once it was in her palm, she set it down in front of her and moved to retrieve her wallet.
“My treat,” I stumbled, flustered by her quick action.
She dismissed my offer without even glancing up. “It’s on the company.”
I persisted. “This was my idea. Let me take care of it. Please.”
There was an insistence in my tone that surprised even me. She froze, half twisted in her seat with her hand still inside her purse. She looked at me again, and I pointed to the bill on her side of the table. The ticket was next to her left breast. One wayward glance and I was staring at the slight embossment of her nipple against her blouse. She pushed the black leather folder in my direction, and I scooped it up and stood to retrieve my wallet from my trousers. Mortified by my behavior, I hurried over to the bar before Kathleen could read my thoughts and slap me with a sexual harassment complaint.
We didn’t speak on the drive back to the office. Kathleen occupied herself with her phone, responding to texts and e-mails. I was anxious and moody. I’d wanted to see Kathleen enjoy her oasis, and yet I couldn’t help but feel it was a mistake taking her to the Riverhouse. She’d spent much of our social time acting guarded and suspicious. We’d had a great client meeting earlier that was vital to the firm and for me, but I fixated on those few fleeting minutes spent on a sunny, riverside deck.
I’d taken Kathleen’s oasis and turned it into a mirage.