Rather than look at him directly, she stared at the strands ofMardi Gras beads dangling from a wall sconce a few degrees to the left behind his head and just below the gator.
“Where did you meet George?”
He could tell she considered ignoring him. Then, seemingly resigned, she looked at him directly. “At school.”
“Duke University.”
“Since you know so much, would you rather tell the story?”
He made an apologetic gesture that invited her to proceed while he methodically ate his soup.
“George was finishing grad school at the same time I got my bachelor’s. We married within months.”
“Was he also a psych major?”
“Philosophy and sociology.”
“That makes sense. All his goodwill work.” He scraped the bottom of his bowl and pushed it aside. He ate one last cracker and took a drink from his bottle of water, waiting to see if she would continue without prodding. She didn’t.
He said, “I know the basics, Dylan. What can it hurt to share a few details? I’m not even asking about you, per se.”
“You told me you weren’t sure what that expression meant.”
“I was lying.”
“I know.”
He waited a beat. “It’s George I want to know about.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity. In all the media about what happened, he comes across as being so noble. Was that an acquired trait, or was he born that way?”
“He wouldn’t have seen himself as being noble.”
“That’s what made him noble.”
“God! There’s no arguing with you.”
He gave her a contrite smile. “That’s what Angela alwayssaid.” He folded his arms on the table and leaned on them. “Tell me about George.”
She stared at the gaudy beads again, either trying to figure out how much she was going to relate or puzzling over why the beads were hanging on the light fixture, which was something he’d always wondered himself.
Eventually she began. “When I met him, he had already spent a lot of time in Central America. Through high school and college, he’d spent every summer volunteering with one welfare organization or another. He’d visited just about every country numerous times, was fluent in Spanish, and had a working knowledge of many regional dialects. He was keen to write a book.”
“About his experiences?”
“Not so much about himself, but an exposé on the political corruption, the squalid living conditions of thousands, the lack of modern medicine and basic education.”
“Violent insurgencies.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
It was a bad idea to cast aspersions on a knight in shining armor, especially a deceased one. He figured the best tactic was to ease into it. He stalled by taking another drink of water and finally said, “Despite the volatile political climate and poor living conditions, George volunteered to go back down there and take you with him.”
“Yes. He signed on with a welfare program and committed us to a year.”
“A year. You agreed to that and went willingly?”
