48.

Charlie began taking Kira for long afternoon walks along Bridgeway in Sausalito while he waited Jaime out. They’d park at the north end of town and walk the long boardwalk past all the sailboats and big power yachts. Sometimes they’d walk to the end of Pier Three where Neil Davis kept his little boat, a converted Monterey purse seiner. If the boat was there they might step aboard and pretend they were out on the bay. Or they’d sit on the end of the dock and watch the other boats navigating the flat calm harbor. Fish nibbled at the algae on the pilings, and Kira love to lie on the boards and stare down into the water, watching. Charlie sat next to her, dangling his feet, daydreaming in the sunshine. In Kim Song and later at Tokyo Army Hospital, Charlie learned the trick of savoring moments of peace, entering those moments and making them last. Letting his mind leave when his body couldn’t. There was nothing he could do about his wife’s suffering. He knew she was. She didn’t pull a long face, but he knew. And he would wait her out.

Meanwhile, he spent a lot of time with Kira. Once he’d even taken her out on Neil’s boat, along with Captain Neil and two of his barmaids, Kazuko and tall skinny Rachel, who was called “The Praying Mantis” behind her back, because of the way she chewed on her boyfriends. Both barmaids had bad boyfriends, and Neil was taking them on a bay cruise as therapy. Charlie and Kira walked up just as they were casting off.

“Glad to see you,” Neil said cheerfully. “Come aboard!”

“Really?” asked Charlie. “Where to?”

“Out there.” Neil pointed generally toward Alcatraz. He smiled down at Kira. She had on jeans and a striped polo shirt. “I have something warm for her, if it gets cold.” He held out his hand, and Kira took it, and with a glance at her father stepped aboard. Charlie had a sudden vision of Linda McNeill. Blowjobs for boat rides. What if Kira fell in love with boats?

“What if she—?” Charlie completed the thought with a gesture from his gut. Neil smiled. “We’ll come back in,” he said. But Kira didn’t get sick or anything like it. She loved going out on the water, and with Charlie holding her up even took a turn at the wheel as they puttered past the Trident, with its deckload of late lunchers and early drinkers, several of whom waved. When they passed the point and got out on the bay proper Charlie kept watch on Kira, but her eyes were bright, her cheeks ruddy. Sure-footed, she walked bravely all over the boat, her hands lifted for balance, seldom grabbing the rail as Charlie had to do.

“She’s a natural,” Neil said. The men smiled. The little Japanese barmaid had the wheel, with the Mantis beside her. The boat rocked in the waves and San Francisco popped white against the sky. As they moved toward the Golden Gate, Neil went into the little pilot house and took the wheel, heading straight out to sea.

“Where are we going?” Kira asked. They stood out in the wind on the fantail.

“Under the bridge,” Charlie said. “You cold?”

“No.” Her face was so clean, so eager. Charlie wanted to cry, he loved her so much. Together they watched the bridge pass overhead, as the waves grew deeper and the wind blew colder. Neil gave the wheel back to Kazuko and brought out an old brown sweater. Charlie wrapped Kira in it, holding her in his arms to keep warm himself. He only wished Jaime could have been there. It was getting really cold. Her carried Kira into the pilot house, almost falling and grabbing Rachel. “Oops,” he said.

“Give me that child,” said Rachel, and Charlie gratefully handed Kira over.

“I guess we better turn back,” Neil said. Kazuko turned the wheel sharply left.

“Jesus Christ!” Neil said, his face white. The boat turned broadside to the incoming waves and all but swamped, but Kazuko held the wheel sharply down and the boat made it crashing through the waves onto the reverse course. In seconds they coursed smoothly, as though nothing had happened.

“What was that?” Charlie asked Neil. Kazuko could barely see over the wheel, her face set in determination. She showed no hint of concern, in fact none of the females were upset. Only Neil and, by contagion, Charlie. What horrible risk had he put his daughter through?

“Nothing.” The color came back to Neil’s face. “Normally you don’t turn broadside to the wind, that’s all. We could have been swamped.”

“If we sank would the sharks eat us?” Kira asked.

Most of the time Charlie and Kira walked through town, window-shopping and people-watching. There was a little park, with a couple of pale brown stone elephants, palm trees, and a sunny patch of lawn, but they’d lost the privilege of sitting on the grass in the sunshine. Charlie heard the story at the no name. Ginsberg and Orlovsky and Ferlinghetti had been in Sausalito for some reason, and had found themselves in the park. They were clowning around, maybe Peter kissed Allen, there were people watching, and that night, that very night, the police came and put a fence around the lawn. No playing on the grass from now on. The first time in history that a park had been closed due to an infestation of poets.

Now, the park closed, the hippies and other undesirables sat on the broad steps in front of the park or across the street on the steps up to Bulkley Avenue. “Look at the clowns,” Kira said loudly one day, meaning some colorfully dressed hippies.

“Yes, dear,” Charlie said.

The official end to their walk was always the bronze sea lion, which sat on a rock on the edge of the bay, down the long breakwater past the Trident. Charlie and Kira would sit on the bench there, side by side, looking at the sea lion and the boats on the bay. Kira usually fell asleep on his lap, and he’d carry her back through town to their car. Would this be one of Kira’s childhood memories? Charlie hoped so.

Home was awkward without being tense. Cynthia took care of everything. Call girl or not, Cynthia was a fine au pair, and Kira loved her deeply. The two were always whispering together, leaving Charlie out of it. Which was fine. That wasn’t the problem. It was just that living in the house with an extremely good-looking young woman who was a prostitute on the side induced certain unworthy thoughts, which demanded of Charlie constant suppression. He wondered if Jaime had stuck him with Cynthia deliberately, to tempt him. In response to Linda, years ago. Whether she did or not, he wasn’t going to make any mistakes. If he made a pass at Cynthia she’d surely tell Tanya, who’d tell Jaime, and there you are. Not that Cynthia flirted, or walked around half-dressed, or anything like that. It seemed to Charlie that she was very careful not to. Which was also tremendously sexy.

His life was insane, but calm. When Jaime finally decided what to do about her book, things would settle back to normal, except of course that Charlie had nothing to do. His long-time obsession was over. No point in starting another writing project. He was no writer. The thing was to find another obsession.