Read Online Critical Judgment (1996) by Michael Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Palmer
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am. I’m fine.” He didn’t snap at her, but almost. “I was up at four-thirty, remember?”
If recent experience was an indicator, over the next hour or so he would become more withdrawn and irritable. Sometimes he would admit to having a “little headache,” sometimes he wouldn’t. Eventually he would take to bed, or fall asleep on the couch, or pick a fight with her. Occasionally he might have a drink of Scotch, often at an inappropriate hour, and in a way—no ice, no sipping—that was hardly typical of him. And that was only what she observed at home. She wondered what might be happening at work.
Colstar Park was a showplace—lush, perfectly maintained, and grand enough to encompass several duck ponds, a mile-long jogging track, playgrounds, large picnic groves, three ball fields, a grandstand, and a small lake. If there was another town the size of Patience that had such an oasis, Abby had yet to see it.
An outstanding park, a phenomenally equipped hospital, an unemployment rate close to zero, schools reportedly as good as any in the state—Colstar International and the town of Patience seemed to have formed a remarkable partnership, a symbiotic relationship as perfect as any in nature. As they parked the Jeep, Abby watched the early-bird families heading for the outing. Scrubbed kids with their bats and gloves, fishing poles and Frisbees. Relaxed parents, a few of whom she recognized as ER patients, shouting orders to their offspring as they tried to keep up. She had little trouble imagining what it would be like to raise children in this community.
But with Josh?
“Hey,
muchacho,”
she called out with less enthusiasm than she had intended. “How about waiting for me?”
Josh glanced back and slowed his pace.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“I’m looking forward to meeting some of the Colstar people I’ve heard about,” she said.
“Well, they’ll all be here.”
His voice was hollow.
The truth was, Josh had not told her much about his work or his colleagues. And she had visited the plant only once, shortly after her arrival in town. All she really knew was that he was involved in the development of sophisticated, state-of-the-art plastic batteries, his department’s research sponsored in part by the company and in part by grants from the federal government.
Colstar was the only large employer in the valley. In fact, anyone who didn’t work directly for the companyprobably had a job or business that depended upon it. The picnic would fill several of the park’s groves, Josh had told her. Maybe all of them.
“Wanna play a little catch?” she asked.
“Maybe later. I’ve got to go help organize the food.”
He motioned to where several men were unloading a large Ryder truck. Near the truck were a dozen or so oil-drum halves on stands—the portable barbecue pit.
“Want help?” Abby asked.
But he had already walked away. She stayed where she was, following him with her eyes. When he reached the truck, he leaned, almost slumped, against it for several seconds. She was moving toward him when he seemed to gather himself and joined the others unloading the truck. She sighed and looked away. It was going to be a long day.
Abby was casting about for something to do when a man approached her.
“Dr. Dolan?”
“Yes.”
He was broad-shouldered, fit, and military straight. His thick hair was swan-white, prematurely, she was sure, and his outfit—black turtleneck, black sports coat, black slacks, and spit-polished wing tips—seemed absurdly inappropriate for an outing in the park.
A Johnny Cash impersonator?
she thought.
He reached out his hand and she took it tentatively. His grip was firm; his smile revealed pearl-perfect teeth.
“Lyle Quinn,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“From Josh?”
She hated to acknowledge how unlikely that was.
“Yes, from Josh. From others, too. Would you like me to show you around?”
The strange
If recent experience was an indicator, over the next hour or so he would become more withdrawn and irritable. Sometimes he would admit to having a “little headache,” sometimes he wouldn’t. Eventually he would take to bed, or fall asleep on the couch, or pick a fight with her. Occasionally he might have a drink of Scotch, often at an inappropriate hour, and in a way—no ice, no sipping—that was hardly typical of him. And that was only what she observed at home. She wondered what might be happening at work.
Colstar Park was a showplace—lush, perfectly maintained, and grand enough to encompass several duck ponds, a mile-long jogging track, playgrounds, large picnic groves, three ball fields, a grandstand, and a small lake. If there was another town the size of Patience that had such an oasis, Abby had yet to see it.
An outstanding park, a phenomenally equipped hospital, an unemployment rate close to zero, schools reportedly as good as any in the state—Colstar International and the town of Patience seemed to have formed a remarkable partnership, a symbiotic relationship as perfect as any in nature. As they parked the Jeep, Abby watched the early-bird families heading for the outing. Scrubbed kids with their bats and gloves, fishing poles and Frisbees. Relaxed parents, a few of whom she recognized as ER patients, shouting orders to their offspring as they tried to keep up. She had little trouble imagining what it would be like to raise children in this community.
But with Josh?
“Hey,
muchacho,”
she called out with less enthusiasm than she had intended. “How about waiting for me?”
Josh glanced back and slowed his pace.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“I’m looking forward to meeting some of the Colstar people I’ve heard about,” she said.
“Well, they’ll all be here.”
His voice was hollow.
The truth was, Josh had not told her much about his work or his colleagues. And she had visited the plant only once, shortly after her arrival in town. All she really knew was that he was involved in the development of sophisticated, state-of-the-art plastic batteries, his department’s research sponsored in part by the company and in part by grants from the federal government.
Colstar was the only large employer in the valley. In fact, anyone who didn’t work directly for the companyprobably had a job or business that depended upon it. The picnic would fill several of the park’s groves, Josh had told her. Maybe all of them.
“Wanna play a little catch?” she asked.
“Maybe later. I’ve got to go help organize the food.”
He motioned to where several men were unloading a large Ryder truck. Near the truck were a dozen or so oil-drum halves on stands—the portable barbecue pit.
“Want help?” Abby asked.
But he had already walked away. She stayed where she was, following him with her eyes. When he reached the truck, he leaned, almost slumped, against it for several seconds. She was moving toward him when he seemed to gather himself and joined the others unloading the truck. She sighed and looked away. It was going to be a long day.
Abby was casting about for something to do when a man approached her.
“Dr. Dolan?”
“Yes.”
He was broad-shouldered, fit, and military straight. His thick hair was swan-white, prematurely, she was sure, and his outfit—black turtleneck, black sports coat, black slacks, and spit-polished wing tips—seemed absurdly inappropriate for an outing in the park.
A Johnny Cash impersonator?
she thought.
He reached out his hand and she took it tentatively. His grip was firm; his smile revealed pearl-perfect teeth.
“Lyle Quinn,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“From Josh?”
She hated to acknowledge how unlikely that was.
“Yes, from Josh. From others, too. Would you like me to show you around?”
The strange
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