Extreme Denial Part 10

Beth hesitated. "I'm by myself."

"Well, Santa Fe is a good town to be alone in without being lonely."

Beth seemed to look at something far away. "That's what I'm counting on."

2.

After Decker escorted Beth to the exit from the building, he remained at the open door and watched her stroll along the portal-roofed sidewalk. She had a grace that reminded him of the way female athletes moved when they weren't exerting themselves. Before she reached the corner, he made sure to step back inside the building in case she looked his way as she s.h.i.+fted direction. After all, he didn't want her to know that he was staring at her. In response to a question, he had told her that a good place to eat lunch was La Casa Sena, a restaurant that had outdoor tables beneath majestic shade trees in the gardened courtyard of a two-story Hispanic estate that dated back to the 1860s. She would enjoy the birds, the flowers, and the fountain, he had said, and now he wished that he was going there with her instead of heading off to deliver the buyer's offer that he had been working on when Beth arrived.

Normally, the chance to make another sale would have totally occupied Decker's thoughts, giving him a high. But today, business didn't seem that important. After presenting the offer and being told, as expected, that the seller needed the time allowed in the offer to consider it, Decker had a further appointment-lunch with a member of Santa Fe's Historic Design Review Board. Barely tasting his chicken fajitas, he managed to keep up his end of the conversation, but really, he was thinking of Beth Dwyer, their appointment at two, and how slowly the time was going.

Why, I'm missing her, he thought in surprise.

At last, after paying for lunch, he returned to the agency, only to feel his emotions drop when he found that Beth wasn't waiting for him.

"The woman who came in to see me this morning," he told the receptionist. "Thick auburn hair. Slightly tall. Attractive. Has she been back?"

"Sorry, Steve."

Disappointed, he went down the corridor. Maybe she came in when the receptionist wasn't looking, he thought. Maybe she's waiting for me in my office.

But she wasn't, and as his emotions dropped further at the same time he sank into the chair behind his desk, he asked himself, What's the matter with me? Why am I letting myself feel this way?

Movement attracted his attention. Beth was standing at the entrance to his office. "Hi." Her smile made him feel that she had missed him.

Decker's heart seemed to shrink. So much like fear, he thought again, yet so much the opposite.

"I hope I'm not late," she said.

"Right on time." Decker hoped that he sounded natural. "Did you have a good lunch?"

"It was even better than you led me to expect. The courtyard made me think I was in another country."

"That's what Santa Fe does to people."

"Northern Spain or a lush part of Mexico," Beth said. "But different from either."

Decker nodded. "When I first came here, I met someone who worked in the reservation department at one of the hotels. He said he often had people from the East Coast telephone him to ask what the customs restrictions were, the limit on duty-free goods that they could take back home, that sort of thing. He said he had a hard time convincing them that if they were Americans, there weren't any customs regulations here, that New Mexico was part of the United States."

This time, Beth's laughter made him think of champagne. "You're serious? They literally believed that this was a foreign country."

"Cross my heart. It's a good argument for the need to teach geography in high school. So did you have a chance to study the listings I gave you?"

"When I wasn't devouring the best enchiladas I've ever tasted. I can't tell which I like better-the green or the red salsa. Finally I combined them."

"The locals call that combination 'Christmas.'" Decker put on his jacket and crossed the room toward her. He loved the subtle fragrance of the sandlewood soap she used. "Shall we go? My car is in the back."

It was a Jeep Cherokee, its four-wheel drive essential in winter or when exploring the mountains. Decker's color preference had been white, but when he'd bought the car a year earlier, his long experience as an intelligence operative had taken control of him, reminding him that a dark color was inconspicuous, compelling him to choose forest green. A part of him had wanted to be contrary and choose white anyhow, but old habits had been difficult to put away.

As he and Beth drove north along Bishop's Lodge Road, he pointed to the right past low shrubs and sunbathed adobe houses toward the looming Sangre de Cristo Mountains. "The first thing you have to know is, real estate values here are based in large part on the quality of the mountain views. Some of the most expensive houses tend to be in this area, the east, near the Sangres. This section also gives you a good view of the Jemez Mountains to the west. At night, you can see the lights of Los Alamos."

Beth gazed toward the foothills. "I bet the views from there are wonderful."

"This will make me sound like a New Ager, I'm afraid, but I don't think houses belong up there," Decker said. "They interfere with the beauty of the mountains. The people who live up there get a good view at the expense of everyone else's view."

Intrigued, Beth switched her gaze toward Decker. "You mean you actually discourage clients from buying houses on ridges?"

Decker shrugged.

"Even if it costs you a sale?"

Decker shrugged again.

"... I'm beginning to like you better and better."

Decker drove her to houses she had found appealing in the listings he had shown her: one near Bishop's Lodge, two on the road to the ski basin, two along Acequia Madre. "The name means 'mother ditch,' " he explained. "It refers to this stream that runs along the side of the road. It's part of an irrigation system that was dug several hundred years ago."

"That's why the trees are so tall." Beth looked around, enthused. "The area's beautiful. What's the catch, though? Nothing's perfect. What's the downside of living around here?"

"Small lots and historic regulations. Plenty of traffic."

"Oh." Her enthusiasm faded. "In that case, I guess we'd better keep looking."

"It's almost five. Are you sure you're not tired? Do you want to call it a day?"

"I'm not tired if you're not."

h.e.l.l, Decker thought, I'll drive around with you until mid-night if you want me to.

He took her to a different area. "This one's out near where I live. On the eastern edge of town, near that line of foothills. The nearest big hills are called Sun and Moon. You ought to hear the coyotes howl on them at night."

"I'd like that."

"This is my street."

Beth pointed toward a sign on the corner. "Camino Lindo. What's the translation?"

" 'Beautiful road.' "

"It certainly is. The houses blend with the landscape. Big lots."

"That's my place coming up on the right."

Beth leaned forward, turning her head as they pa.s.sed it. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks."

"And envious. Too bad your house isn't for sale."

"Well, I put a lot of work into it. Mind you, the house just beyond mine is for sale."

3.

They walked along a gravel driveway past the chest-high sagebrushlike plants that Decker had been intrigued by when he first came to Santa Fe and that he had learned were called chamisa. The attractive house was similar to Decker's-a sprawling one-story adobe with a wall-enclosed courtyard. "How much is it?" Beth asked.

"Near your upper limit. Seven hundred thousand." Decker didn't get a reaction. "It's had a lot of improvements. Subfloor radiant heating. Solar-gain windows in back." Beth nodded absently as if the price didn't need to be justified. "How big is the lot?"

"The same as mine. Two acres."

She glanced to one side and then the other. "I can't even see the neighbors."

"Which in this case would be me."

She looked at him strangely.

"What's the matter?" Decker asked.

"I think I'd enjoy living next to you."

Decker felt his face turn red.

"Do you think the owner would mind being interrupted at this hour?"

"Not at all. The old gentleman who lived here had a heart attack. He moved back to Boston, where he has relatives. He wants a quick sale."

Decker showed her the front courtyard, its desert flowers and shrubs looking stressed from the July heat. He unlocked the carved front door, entered a cool vestibule, and gestured toward a hallway that led straight ahead toward s.p.a.cious rooms. "The house is still furnished. Tile floors. Vigas and latillas in all the ceilings."

"Vigas and ...?"

"Large beams and small intersecting ones-it's the preferred type of ceiling in Santa Fe. Plenty of bancos and kiva fireplaces. Colorful Mexican wall tiles in the three bathrooms. A s.p.a.cious kitchen. Food-prep island with a sink. Convection oven. Skylights and ..." Decker stopped when he realized that Beth wasn't listening. She seemed spellbound by the mountain view from the living room windows. "Why don't I spare you the list. Take your time and look around."

Beth walked slowly forward, glancing this way and that, a.s.sessing each room, nodding. As Decker followed, he felt self-conscious again-not awkward, not uneasy about himself, but literally conscious of himself, of the feel of his jeans and jacket, of the air against his hands and cheeks. He was conscious that he occupied s.p.a.ce, that Beth was near him, that they were alone.

At once he realized that Beth was talking to him. "What? I'm sorry. I didn't catch that," Decker said. "My mind drifted for a moment."

"Does the purchase price include the furniture?"

"Yes."

"I'll take it."

4.

Decker clicked gla.s.ses with her.

"It's such a wonderful house. I can't believe the owner accepted my offer so fast." Beth took a celebratory swallow from her margarita. When she lowered the globe-shaped gla.s.s, some foam and salt remained on her upper lip. She licked them away. "It's as if Fm dreaming."

They were at a window table in a second-floor Hispanic restaurant called Garduno's. The place was decorated to look like a Spanish hacienda. In the background, a mariachi band strolled the floor, serenading enthusiastic customers. Beth didn't seem to know where to look first, out the window toward one of Santa Fe's scenic streets, at the band, at her drink, or at Decker. She took another sip. "Dreaming."

In the background, customers applauded for the guitarists and trumpeters. Beth smiled and glanced out the window. When she looked back at Decker, she wasn't smiling any longer. Her expression was somber. "Thank you."

"I didn't do much. All I did was take you around and-"

"You made me feel comfortable. You made it easy." Beth surprised him by reaching across the table and touching his hand. "You have no idea how much courage it took to do this."

He loved the smoothness of her hand. "Courage?"

"You must have wondered where I got seven hundred thousand dollars to pay for the house."

"I don't pry. As long as I'm confident that the client can afford it ..." He let his sentence dangle.

"I told you I was an artist, and I do make a living at it. But ... I also told you I wasn't married."

Decker tensed.

"I used to be."

Decker listened in confusion.

"I'm buying the house with ..."

Money from a divorce settlement? he wondered.

"... a life-insurance policy," Beth said. "My husband died six and a half months ago."

Decker set down his gla.s.s and studied her, his feelings of attraction replaced by those of pity. "I'm sorry."

"That's about the only response that means anything."

"What happened?"