Murder is Academic by Lesley A. Diehl Page A

important ways. Our conversations went beyond merely exchanging data on our pasts to talking about what we believed was important in our lives. I thought we were cutting through the bullshit to some fundamental connection with one another. How could he leave out his marriage and children?”
    “You want to take people, not just Guy, as you find them and you sometimes don’t think data, as you call it, is important. And it isn’t, you’re right. It’s the impact the data has on one’s life that’s significant. You’re the person you are not because you were married and divorced, but because of what you made of those events, what significance you’ve given them.” Annie smiled at me.
    “Have you been reading my psychology books?” I shook my finger at her and marveled at how astute she was.
    “No, but I sometimes listen to what you have to say to others. It’s time someone turned it back on you, you know. I may be a sculptor, but I’m an insightful one.”
    She settled back with a satisfied grin on her face, then leaned forward and began talking again. “So what I’m saying is that sometimes data is worth considering. Exchanging stories about your past is just part of getting to know someone. It tells you what that person considers important in life. Did you talk with Guy about your marriage and divorce and about your son?”
    “Well, no.”
    “Maybe he didn’t talk about his family because you were so closed about your personal life you led him to believe you weren’t interested in his.”
    “So he felt a perfect right to keep his marriage from me? My marriage is in the past. It’s not relevant now.” I was shouting again. “Is it?”
    *
    Annie’s words about how I’d kept my personal history to myself continued to rattle around in my mind Saturday afternoon as she and I prepared for my guests that night. I couldn’t shake the feeling she was right. I distanced myself in many of my relationships with men, obviously a mechanism for protecting myself from hurt. With Guy it didn’t work, and I was unprepared for how connected I felt to him. He was gone, and I was not handling this well at all.
    “Can I help you throw together a salad?” Annie asked.
    “Oh, no, I’ve got it.”
    “Just what kind of salad are you making?” She pulled a quarter pound of wrapped butter out of the mixed greens in the salad bowl.
    I threw myself into a kitchen chair in disgust. The phone rang.
    “Do you want to get that or should I?” Annie asked.
    “You get it. I probably couldn’t remember how to talk civilly on the thing.”
    Annie said little, her brows pulled together in an expression of concentration. She ended the call by saying, “Okay” and hung up.
    “Well?”
    “That was Der. He may not be here tonight. He just got a call someone spied a body floating in the lake. He’s on his way to the field station.”
    “Okay, let’s get going.” Nothing like a dead body to take my mind off my troubles.
    “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Annie threw herself into the passenger’s seat and struggled to fasten her seat belt.
    “Sure, it’s a state law to wear seat belts.” I smiled across the front seat at her.
    “You know what I mean.” Her tone was serious, but her eyes signaled her pleasure at my return to my former curious, intrusive self.
    “Time out from the Guy thing, at least for a while.” I slammed down on the accelerator.
    “I thought I just heard your phone.”
    I braked for a second, then punched it again. “Too late. Besides, the machine will get it.”
    “Okay, good.” Annie clutched her seatbelt as the car shot forward.
    The nosey part of my brain took control, leaving Guy behind. I felt like me again. I was driving like a maniac, a clear sign the emotional storm had passed.
    “Kind of nuts, huh?” I asked.
    “What, that a floater gets you high and makes you pop out of your depression? Not in the least.” Annie depressed an imaginary brake as the car slid around the