problem.”

  Speak of the devil—my eye caught liz posing in the doorway,

  dressed in a bright red St. John suit. Unmistakable, even to me. I

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  hadn’t seen her in years, but she was hard to forget. Same confident

  manner, same undisciplined blonde hair, but not a man in the bar was

  looking at her hair. Her glossy red lips were as shiny as her jewelry,

  and she wore incredibly high heels. How do women walk in those things?

  She crossed the room deliberately, clearly aware of the impression

  she made. Reaching the bar, she ordered a double Manhattan and

  sauntered to our table.

  Clovis and I stood. She gave me a quick hug and planted an unex-

  pected kiss on my cheek. I introduced her to Clovis. She greeted him

  like they were high school sweethearts, leaving a smear of lipstick

  behind. Micki nearly choked on her wine and for the first time since

  I’d known him, Clovis turned brick red.

  The bartender brought over her drink, and I took a deep breath.

  “liz, it’s really good to see you after so long. You look terrific! I

  sure wish the circumstances were different. I spoke with Doug this

  afternoon. He said to tell you he loves you and he’s doing okay. They

  didn’t let me stay long, but I’ll see him again tomorrow.”

  “of course he’s okay. He’s right at home with a bunch of guys

  watching basketball on the tube, while I’m doing all the work. I almost

  missed my Pilates session because the real estate agent took forever to

  draw up the paper work.” liz took a large sip of her cocktail, asked the

  waiter to bring the table some “munchies,” and went on with barely

  a pause.

  “You’d think this Dub character would have some sympathy. After

  all, the woman does have cancer. But enough shop talk. Jack, you look

  as handsome as ever, and I’m dying to know all about Clovis here.” liz

  squeezed closer to Clovis on the banquette.

  Clovis looked as nervous as a hooker in church. I bit my lip trying

  not to laugh. Micki was not amused.

  “liz, what’s going on here? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. look, I took a few hits while I was getting dressed, but

  I’m not stoned. Joel, he’s my Pilates instructor, worked us extra hard

  today—I could hardly move. A couple of hits always help me loosen

  up. What’s the big deal? I’ve got a medical use card.”

  I watched the scene in silence. Micki kept a poker face as she care-

  fully explained that Arkansas did not recognize medical use, nor did

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  the Federal Government, which currently had her husband locked

  up for cultivation, possession, and distribution. Perhaps liz would

  consider whether she would enjoy watching sports from inside jail as

  much as her husband did.

  Turning to Clovis, she said without a trace of humor, “Mrs. Stewart

  is going to give you the key to her room. Please dispose of whatever

  unnecessary products you may find there. We’ll wait to order dinner

  until you return.” liz gave her a truly dirty look, then took Clovis by

  the arm and whispered in his ear. He blushed again and left the table

  abruptly. liz shouted across the room for another Manhattan. It took

  all my self-control not to laugh outright.

  A sulking liz listened as Micki carefully explained the risks of her

  misbehavior. I could almost read her mind, already trying to figure out

  how to get around Micki’s code of conduct for unindicted spouses.

  Clovis returned, but chose to pull up a chair rather than slip in beside

  liz in the booth. I suggested we get dinner–liz clearly needed some

  food. I had hoped to try out the newly re-opened Bruno’s, a great

  Italian I remembered as a kid. But as liz threw down her second Man-

  hattan and ordered another, I opted for the hotel restaurant.

  We were seated at a good table where we could hear each other

  rather than the noisy bar chatter or the racket of waiters and dishes. I

  tried to lighten the mood.

  “liz, I had no idea—when did Doug leave NIH? Why, for that

  matter? And why did you two move to little Rock, of all places?

  Did you know I went to high school and college here? I would have

  thought he’d return to Ann Arbor. How’d you land here?”

  liz perked up, slightly. “oh, it was all Doug’s idea. After Angie died,

  Doug told me he needed to find someplace where he could have the

  freedom to do pure research. He loved teaching at Michigan and the

  students loved him, but there were too many strings attached to their

  job offer. lots of schools recruited him, but Doug loved the idea of

  coming back to Razorback country. I finally gave in, so he contacted

  Fayetteville, Stafford, and UAlR.

  “They all wanted him, but a wealthy alum heard about Doug’s

  interest and donated big bucks to create a special chair in Chem-

  istry at UAlR. Doug was given carte blanche and full funding for his

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  research; he only has to teach a couple a classes a semester. Plus, he

  gets to own his own patents and his research. He loves Fayetteville, but

  I think the ownership issue was what finally swayed him. UAlR wasn’t

  too happy about the terms, but agreed in the end.”

  “What kind of research?” Micki asked.

  “Don’t ask me. I barely eked out a ‘C’ in high school chemistry.

  Whenever we have to go to one of those faculty receptions, I hang out

  with the grad school bartenders. They’re a lot more fun than a bunch

  of professors trying to impress each other. Doug hates those things as

  much as I do. He’d much rather go to a sports bar.”

  I watched her idly as the waiter brought our salads, wondering

  how much of her bravado was an act. The few times Angie and I had

  gone out with liz and Doug, she didn’t play the role of the devil in

  the red dress, but she could be outspoken, and I remembered how

  quickly a room could turn silent when she got rolling. Doug had a

  way of touching her arm or hand lightly if she went too far, and she’d

  immediately tone it down. Not a word passed, but a clear message was

  conveyed.

  They were such an unlikely couple. She’d grown up in Memphis,

  my hometown until the tenth grade, but our paths never crossed. Her

  family was in cotton—which means her dad, and his dad, and his dad

  before, had been cotton brokers. If you were a doctor in Memphis, it

  was natural to be asked about your specialty–pediatrics, orthopedics,

  etc. If you practiced law, you might be asked about the area of prac-

  tice–antitrust, tax, and personal injury. But if you were “in cotton,” no

  further questions were asked—it meant money, very old money. If you

  had to ask what it meant to be “in cotton,” you didn’t need to know.

  Surprisingly, liz didn’t go to either ole Miss or Tennessee. She

  rebelled against the wishes of both her father and Memphis society,

  and left for Arkansas. In her senior year, a sorority sister fixed her

  up with a jock who turned out to be Doug, and the rest is history. liz

  can almost look him in the eye, and is as effusive as Doug is reserved.

  Yet somehow it works. I didn’t buy the “C” in chemistry story. Doug

  told Angie that liz graduated summa cum laude from Arkansas with

  a double major in psychology and philosophy. While Doug was at

  Michigan she also earned a Masters and a PhD. In DC, she worked for

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  a small, below-the-radar think tank—something to do with the appli-

  cation of psychology to public policy. In reality, there were two Dr.

  Stewarts. Both blended into their environments in different ways, but

  hidden behind liz’s affectations was a very intelligent woman.

  We were all ravenous and ate our meals in friendly silence.

  Finally, looking sheepish, liz pushed back her plate and said,

  “okay, y’all, I’m sorry. I apologize. This mess has me totally bummed

  out. I’m behaving badly, and I know it. To tell you the truth, I’ve never

  fit in in little Rock. Now my husband is in jail, my so-called friends

  won’t return my calls, and I can’t even go to my own bed and have a

  good cry.” She took a sip of the Cabernet I’d ordered for her.

  “Jack, I can’t believe you’re here. Thank you. Micki, I promise to

  behave. No more dope. I promise. Damn this suit–it itches and pulls

  in all the wrong places.” She squirmed.

  I was ready to kiss and make up, but before we could take a deep

  breath liz morphed back into the siren.

  She grabbed Clovis by the arm. “You know, you are one gorgeous

  hunk of man. I’m a married woman, but you better watch yourself if I

  don’t get my husband back pretty quickly.”

  liz had found Clovis’s Achilles’ heel. He had no idea how to react.

  An amused Micki rescued him as we waited for coffee and dessert.

  “liz, Jack and I both think there has to be more to the story than

  your unique garden or a batch of ginger snaps. Doug may not have

  been selling dope, but he clearly grew a whole back yard of the stuff,

  and thanks to Dub Blanchard, most people think he was selling it to

  school kids. We want Clovis to do a little investigating. He’ll give us a

  cost estimate, but I need your approval.”

  “I keep telling you, do what it takes. My husband would never have

  sold drugs to his students or anyone else. I know the man, and I know

  he’s telling the truth. Doug doesn’t even smoke the stuff. I use grass to

  make a few ginger snaps and to calm down, but that’s hardly anyone’s

  business. Hell, if he thought what he was doing was illegal, why did he

  tell the Feds he was growing?”

  “What?” Micki’s voice rose in surprise. Doug had told me the same

  thing, but I hadn’t been listening.

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  “Doug wrote all kinds of government agencies to let them know

  he was growing for his research. I know he wrote to the Drug Czar,

  the DeA, the FDA, and the Department of Justice–maybe more. He

  showed me the letter before he sent it. I thought I told Debbie.”

  liz dug into her flourless molten chocolate cake.

  I asked, “When was that? Did they respond? Do you have a copy?”

  “You really need to take a bite of this cake.” She stuck a loaded fork

  in my mouth. I didn’t resist; it was chocolate heaven.

  “It’s a little fuzzy, but it must have been as soon as we moved here,

  maybe even before. He started growing seedlings in the flower shed

  and the garage almost before the moving van left. He’s a regular

  Gregor Mendel. every afternoon, he’s grafting, pruning, and planting.

  He was always trying to develop new strains of the plant. I have no idea

  if anyone responded to his letter. He must have kept a copy of the

  letter—it’s probably with the files the government seized. I’m telling

  you, the Feds have known about Doug’s research all along.”

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  liz’s casual revelation was a stunner. Alerting the authorities

  before committing a crime doesn’t make it any less of an offense, but

  neither did it make it the crime of the century. I stared at liz blankly

  as she ordered brandy for the table along with another piece of cake.

  I was too dumbfounded to argue. Maybe the cake would keep her on

  her feet a little while longer.

  We peppered her with questions, but she either had no answers

  or chose to give none. I glanced at Clovis as liz downed her brandy.

  Time for her to go to bed. She made no objections as Clovis stoically

  offered to walk her to her room. Better him than me.

  “What do you think? It looks like Doug knew he was crossing the

  line before he started. I wonder what he was up to,” Micki mused,

  twirling her brandy.

  “I haven’t got a clue. But I’m sure of one thing—the next few days

  should prove interesting. Besides all the obvious questions about why

  he notified them and what he actually told them, we have to wonder

  why they waited until now to shut him down. And what was he doing

  with all that grass if he wasn’t selling it? liz has to know more than

  she’s telling us. either she’s a fine actress, which means we’re getting

  conned, or she’s a well-educated airhead. I don’t know which is worse.

  Speaking of liz, Micki, you’ve got your hands full.”

  “Not just me. Did you see Clovis’s face? He looked like a preacher

  in a strip club.”

  Right on cue, Clovis returned to the table, shaking his head.

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  “That woman is big trouble. I’ll admit it: she’s more than I can

  handle. She was asleep before I could open the door. If she’d shown

  up in this bar alone, stoned and thirsty, there’s no telling what would

  have happened.”

  “I take it you don’t want to be her bodyguard?” I joked.

  Clovis shot me a look I hoped I wouldn’t see again. He and Micki

  left me to finish my brandy and pay the bill.

  I wasn’t sleepy when I got back to my room, so I turned on the

  Tv in time to hear that Dub would make the rounds of the Sunday

  morning talk shows. I texted Maggie to record tomorrow’s shows,

  turned the channel to Saturday Night Live, and tried to let go, but my

  mind wouldn’t settle.

  I hoped Doug would clear everything up tomorrow. Angie was such a

  great judge of character—it was a struggle to believe Doug had become

  nothing more than a glorified dope dealer. But Angie had died almost

  four years ago. Maybe something had snapped in Doug’s brilliant mind.

  He wouldn’t be the first scientist who burnt out early in life.

  After med school at Georgetown, internships, and residency, Angie

  had chosen to work in cancer research at NIH. like many others in

  her field, her hope was to find “the cure,” but the disease got her first.

  The last year of her life was consumed by chemo, radiation, exhaus-

  tion, and pain. Sitting alone in my room, memories of those dark days

  thundered in my skull. Thank God for friends like Maggie and Walter,

  and Angie’s indomitable spirit.

  Meeting with Doug this afternoon and remembering the promise

  I had made brought Angie back front and center. When the cancer

  got to be too much, I tried to get her to quit work, to devote all her

  energy to fighting the disease, but she would have none of it. Despite

  the exhaustion and pain, she glowed with enthusiasm. I could hear

  her say, “Hey! It takes time, but we’re making progress.” I should have

  paid more attention, asked her to tell me more about her work, but

  I didn’t. I was afraid that if I pushed her into explaining what she

  meant by progress, we’d both have to face that any “progress” would

  be too late for her.

  one night when we were curled up on the sofa she’d tried to

  explain. “Most days I don’t have the strength to do what I need to do,

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  but I’ve come to grips with that. I’m not the person I used to be, but

  I’ve had my hard cry, and I’m thankful I can keep working, even for

  a little while. Don’t pity me, Jack. I have you and Beth and I have my

  work—I’ve had so much life. I’m going to do what I can do for as

  long as I can. You can never understand, but I am a happier person

  now than before the cancer.” God knows, she was right: I would never

  understand. I just knew I was going to lose her.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I reminisced: our first

  meeting, our first date, and the wonderful years together before can-

  cer’s poisonous bite. She was always only a moment away; I could bring

  her back in an instant. I could still see her, hear her voice, and speak

  to her from my heart—her spirit surrounded me. I finally managed

  to put my memories back in the box where I kept them, and let my

  mind drift to little Rock and how odd it was to be here again—again

  with a friend who needed help, and again with so many unanswered

  questions. Suddenly sleepy, I clicked the Tv off and fell fast asleep.