XLIX

Washington, 2064. . .

PAT AND I MOVED INTO our rental apartment near American University in September of two thousand sixty-four. It was apparent from the outset that she was not thrilled with my choice. Fortunately we were only required to stay there three months and could give a month's notice after that.

We found that we needed to make some adjustments and compromises living together. Because of our schedules, we were frequently preparing meals for only one, and that proved to be impractical. Therefore, we came up with a number of recipes for dishes that could be reheated. I learned to make an acceptable chicken cutlet in a Dijon mustard sauce, and a portion could be reserved for Pat when she needed a quick meal. She made various salads that could be kept a day.

I had to learn to clean up sufficiently to meet her standards. She learned to shop for grocery items that would satisfy me, both in taste and quantity.

We had some arguments, but we learned to talk through our differences and work them out. Unlike my experience with Jane, we did not let problems fester. And we were reasonably well-off financially.

I was working steadily again at my job in the F.E.D. My pay grade put my wages roughly on a par with what Pat earned from teaching, performing, and giving private lessons. We established our own "rainy day" fund.

In January, Kate's estate was settled. I received a payment of about seven hundred thousand dollars. I showed Pat the accounting statement that was sent by the law office. "I'd be crazy to lose you. You're such a rich man. Rich and handsome—what more could I want?"

Of course that sum of money did not make us wealthy. It amounted to about what Pat and I earned on a gross basis in a year and a half. However, it arrived in one lump sum and was free of taxes. We felt rich.

Sometime after I received the money from Kate's estate, we began to seriously discuss getting married. Pat must have assured me in a dozen different ways that she was not marrying me for the money. I believed her. With the added money, we could buy a condominium. Somehow the combination of two incomes, a permanent home, and marriage meant security for us.

There was one complication. I confessed to Pat that a divorce from Jane was never finalized, partly because Jane was never located. Perhaps she was even dead.

Pat was shocked by this revelation. "Well, hadn't you better find out if she really did die? I wouldn't want to get into any legal trouble."

"No. You're right. I'll see if that lawyer I used in San Francisco still exists." What I didn't divulge to her was that I stopped pursuing the divorce because I could not afford any more payments to the lawyer. And at that time, a divorce was not my highest priority.

It took a day to track down the lawyer. He vaguely remembered me and the situation with Jane. He asked me when he last worked on my case. I figured it was probably in fifty-eight.

"The trail is probably cold. We'll need a private investigator. It will probably take a few weeks of his time to start making progress. If we're lucky, we'll find she's dead. That would be cheapest for you. Some work for the P.I.; almost no work for me. That way it might only cost ten thousand or so. Otherwise, we could be talking twenty, thirty thou . . . Who knows? What was your wife's name?"

"Jane."

"Yeh. If she's alive, let's hope Jane doesn't want to contest the divorce. Of course, she walked out on you. You got that in your favor. Anyway, we could be getting into some serious money. You got it?" Perhaps he remembered my difficult financial circumstances.

I told him that I was prepared to pay. The lawyer asked me to transfer ten thousand to his account to get the investigation started.

A few days later I received an email from the lawyer indicating that a search of databases revealed no death certificate for either a Jane Lendeman or a Jane Sorel. They would proceed to a more detailed investigation. The last line read: "Send another ten thousand so we can go ahead."

Pat was a bit concerned by the mounting cost and additional expense to come. But she wanted the divorce as much as I did.

Two weeks later the lawyer -wrote: "Making progress. Jane left the Humboldt County compound in 2058 after son's death. Went to live in a religious community in Arizona. Police records show her there in 2059. Compound raided for suspected child abuse activities. No charges filed against Jane. She left the compound after that. Following through. Send another $10000."

I showed the note to Pat. "I guess this is the first confirmation you've gotten about your son."

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't surprise me."

"But it still must hurt."

"I don't think I've processed the information."

"I see the lawyer's after more money."

"Naturally."

"We won't run out?"

"No, we'll be fine."

Another two weeks went by, and I was tempted to call the lawyer. But miraculously he called first. "Bingo, James, we hit the jackpot. Jane is very much alive. She's living on a ranch near a town called Boise City, Oklahoma. And are you ready for this? She's married to a rancher. Calls herself 'Mrs. Kegler.' And they have a three-year-old daughter.

"Evidently she never told her husband she was married. He's hopping mad. He wants to get this divorce done even more than you do. He's using a lawyer in Oklahoma City. Apparently Boise City is a pretty small place, despite being called a city.

"Look, I want to pay off the P.I. now. So send another six thou. Don't worry; you'll get an itemized bill. I hope we can wrap this all up in a month or so. After all, you two haven't been together for years. They're going to want to avoid bigamy charges against Mrs. K. But that's not our problem, although it plays in our favor. So that covers it. Bye."

I never had a chance to ask a question, but he seemed to cover all the bases.

When I told Pat, she was happy to hear that the divorce could be concluded quickly. She had one question: "What's Jane's daughter's name?"

"It wasn't mentioned. I'm not really interested. She's not my child."

"Right."

In early July, Pat and I, accompanied by her father and two of her friends to act as witnesses, went to a justice's office in Rockville, Maryland. The ceremony took only a few minutes, and I remember it none too well. I do recall Pat smiling slightly, almost mischievously, and saying: "I, Patricia Capella Auriga, take thee, James Lendeman, to be my lawfully wedded husband."

My mother and sister decided not to attend. My mother declared rather tactlessly that a second marriage was not as important as the first.

After the morning ceremony, the five of us present returned by metro to downtown Washington and went to lunch. Then Pat's two friends returned to work. Pat and I accompanied her father to Union Station where he took the train back to Philadelphia.

We returned to the apartment and somewhat later, at our leisure, consummated the marriage.

In August, we moved into our condo, which was in Maryland a few stops up the metro line from American University. We put down four hundred thousand in cash and obtained a fifteen-year mortgage for the remaining four hundred thousand. It wasn't the home of our dreams, but it was ample in size, had a spare room to use as a study, and was convenient to transportation into the city.

How quickly additional years passed. I worked with two secretaries of energy, as well as a score of deputy secretaries and assistant secretaries, over the next five years. Generally they appreciated my experience, knowledge and abilities. None of them, in my opinion, were nearly as perceptive, inventive or audacious as Kate. As time went on, her rough edges and unfairness disappeared. She became a paragon of the great executive. And I don't think I was at all influenced by her final generous act.

The work of the department was no longer exciting. We were performing caretaker functions. No grand initiatives were pursued. Rather, we tinkered with rules and tried to eke out more efficiencies to extend our limited energy resources. Nighttime power downs became more common, even in the largest cities. We still debated, and we still needed to defend our policies before government committees. But there was no zeal in any attacks; there was no glory to be gained in tearing the rump department down any further. And, within the F.E.D., there was no hope of accomplishing anything significant. The statisticians became more important than the policy tinkerers.