South Phoenix Rules (David Mapstone Mystery 6)

The vault of sky overhead had been degraded when they built the big freeway ten blocks south and by the pollution of four million people, but it was still clear and dark enough to make out the Big Dipper and dozens of companions. There was no moon and the scent of orange blossoms lingered for probably its last week this year.

“There’s Polaris,” she said. “Regulus…Arcturus.”

I told her about my Boy Scout merit badge in astronomy, how I had forgotten nearly everything. How one year we came out at night and watched one of the Gemini capsules soar over us. This was before she was born.

“You must have been an adorable little boy.”

“I felt like a freak.” I smiled about it now. “Always had my head in a book. They made fun of me about my last name. I didn’t have a mom and dad like the other children. My little friends always told me how ugly I was.”

“I’ve seen the photos, David. You were a beautiful little boy.” She laughed, the slight breeze carrying her big, happy sound. “Handsome, I should say. Adorable. I love those pictures of you.”

She asked if I had played in this yard and I told her stories. We fought in the alley: oranges and dirt clods if the conflict was among friends, rocks if things got serious.

“Your own little street gang,” she said.

We played in the yard. One year we spent the spring assembling discarded wood and building a boat that we intended to sail to India. I was nine and have no idea how the destination was chosen. But the map told us we could sail down the Salt River to the Gila, then into the Colorado and out into the sea at the Gulf of California. I was a child map nerd. The only catch was that the rivers here were dry, so we would have to wait for a flood. My grandparents were indulgent with our enterprise, even if the boat never touched water. Robin laughed and held my hand.

“So no play dates, no bus to school, no mini-van…”

“Nope,” I said. “It seems like another country.”

“It sounds like an idyll, even if your friends were mean to you.”

“I learned to fight in seventh grade,” I said. “So I owe ’em.”

“I learned to fight, too,” she said. “But not that way. I always envied the kids who could walk to school, live on a street with sidewalks, go to the same school for more than two years straight.”

I squeezed her hand. “You turned out good.”

We stayed out there for at least an hour, sometimes talking, often enjoying a communion of silence. The dull whoosh of the freeway and the occasional bell of a light-rail train were the only intrusions. The stars and planets seemed comfortingly fixed, whatever the reality of our orbiting world and expanding universe. A couple of airplanes circled toward Sky Harbor, but not one police chopper or siren disturbed our little universe.

“I’ve always loved the stars,” she said. “Looking at infinity. Wondering why we’re here, what’s our purpose and destiny…”

Only for a few seconds did I imagine the child that might have survived to play in this yard just as I once did. I said, “We’ll go to the desert sometime, get away from the city lights. It’s incredible.”

She pulled herself up and reached for me.

“Come on.”

I stood and she stepped close, putting her arms around my waist. I tousled her hair and embraced her.

“You,” she said with mock accusation in her voice. Then, “You have so surprised me. I didn’t even like you at first, that day on the home tour when I came back into Lindsey’s life. And you’re thinking, who the hell is this? You didn’t like me, either. Right?”

I tipped my head. “True enough.”

That big smile remade her features. I had never seen her smile so. “Remember when I told you that it would be trouble if I got under your spell?” Her eyes were bright and merry. “Well, Dr. David Mapstone…”

She stopped herself, swallowed hard. My heart was very full at that moment and I said nothing.

“Come here.” She pulled me close, nuzzled against me. “I want to tell you something.”

“Your middle name?”

“Better than that.”

I felt her warm breath, heard her whispers. Just a few words. I held her so tight, one arm around her waist, the other grasping her shoulders and back, feeling her body totally a part of mine.

Finally she whispered, “Are those happy tears?”