Page 36 of Savage Beauty

“What?” He pops the white plastic top off the coffee he purchased from a Texaco where he insisted we stop.

“That’s what time I made it to work.”

“First one in?” I really don’t like his tone.

“Yes. But I was also the only one who was overseeing two projects.”

“And when did others show up?”

I didn’t pay attention. I closed my lab door and expected people to leave me to my work uninterrupted.

He breathes over his coffee. I tap my finger over the top of the white plastic coffee cup lid and jiggle my ankle. “How long do we have to sit out here?”

We’re in an older, faded blue sedan with rust along the edge of the chrome bumper. I roll my window down and the stench of exhaust enters the car.

“Can you turn the car off?”

This car is so ancient there’s an actual key you turn. I prefer bicycles for transportation. It’s a better choice for the environment and there’s really no need for a car on Grand Cayman, but even I have to concede that it’s difficult to watch and remain hidden when perched on a bicycle seat.

He pulls on a silver lever in his armrest and his window glides down, then he finally turns the key.

“If we were in an EV, you could keep the car on. But not in a combustion engine. Especially an old one like this. Idling for more than ten seconds uses more fuel and produces more emissions that contribute to smog and climate change than stopping and restarting your engine does.”

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Spit out facts and figures.”

I lift the coffee cup and wipe the lip with my thumb. “I remember things.”

Your daughter is very gifted, Mrs. Watson.

“I’d say so.” He sips his coffee. He’s angled so he can watch the entrance to the place. There’s a 35mm camera sitting between us. He said he’d prefer to keep our phones off, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s because of the phone call he received yesterday. After he took that call, he fell into work mode and never snapped out of it. I do that sometimes, so I understand.

“Tell me something,” I say because I have a sinking feeling I’m one of the few who showed up before our nine a.m. official start time, so we might as well fill the time so his annoyance with me doesn’t grow.

“What would you like to know?” He’s wearing sunglasses, and with his body turned away from me, it feels like he can’t stand to be near me. He’s not the first person to react like that to me. It’s not a good or bad thing. It just is.

“Tell me why you left the Navy.” If Sam was still living, I don’t think he’d leave. Nothing made him happier than his job. My brother was like me in that way.

“Ah…well.” He shifts in his seat, sitting up straighter, then repositions again, sinking a little lower so his knee rests against the dash. He’s wearing tan slacks, a loose-fitting button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and hiking boots. It’s a strange outfit to sit in a car all day. His cargo shorts and t-shirts make a better outfit that show off his muscular legs, chest, and arms.

“The short story is I got a job offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“What’s the long story?”

“You really wanna know?”

“We’ve got the time, right?”

“That we do,” he says and sips his coffee. “Well, my team was changing. Again. Knox retired. Medical reasons. About as soon as I got the gist of a new team, chances are I’d be assigned to another location, another team, perhaps. And I mean, I guess that’s all fine and dandy, but it’s a young man’s game.”

“You’re not exactly old.”

“You’d think that, right?” He glances back at me and shoots me a grin that I feel between my legs. He’s really too good looking. Too muscular. “But, nah. What we do? It’s a lot of wear and tear on the body. Pounding the ground. Busted joints. Average length is six years, and I made it fifteen, almost sixteen.”

“Isn’t retirement at twenty?”

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