“I don’t have good news for anybody, Kathy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m just a Bad News Bear, Kathy.” He raised his eyebrows at me like it was my cue to laugh.

“Did you get loaded before the calls? Or after?”

Les stared at his small woodpile. “After. But I didn’t get loaded. I started to, but then Doug steered me away from it.” He looked over at me. “You’re so beautiful with your hair wet like that.”

I was thinking of Doug and the twelve-step, Higher Power bumper sticker on his truck, of letting go and letting God. “They can’t do anything to Bahroony, can they?”

Les shook his head and I felt my chest sort of disappear.

“I called three lawyers. Two of them said if he bought it legally he can do whatever he wants. They say your case is with the county, Kathy.”

“But the county said they’d sell it back to him. And I don’t want them to buy me another house. Can’t we make him give it back?!” I jumped up and walked out into the clearing. “That fucking prick’s trying to sell my house, Les! I saw him showing it to people this afternoon.”

“Today?”

“To a family. That fucker just wants the cash. He probably does this all the time, makes money off people’s problems! What did the third lawyer say then?”

“That was my lawyer.”

“Well? Did he say something different?”

“I didn’t call him about that, Kathy.”

“Oh.” My cheeks got warm and I felt like I’d just walked into a stranger’s living room, plopped down on their couch, and started watching their TV. I’d been thinking Les came back from his phone calls all down mainly because of my bad news; now I was ashamed of myself and I didn’t know what to say. I needed a cigarette. I went inside the hot cabin and lit one on an ember from the woodstove. I stuck another split log inside, then went back out on the porch and sat on the stoop smoking. Les stood and tossed the last of his coffee over the railing. He leaned against it with his hands, and we were both quiet. Far off in the woods a dog barked.

“I guess my wife never saw this coming. I feel pretty bad about that.”

“You think you’re making a mistake?” It was strange, but I felt calm. Les stood there all long-armed and still. He could answer any way he wanted.

“What do you think?”

“Do I think you’re making a mistake?”

Les nodded.

“I can’t answer that. Maybe if you have to ask me, you are.”

“Then I’m not asking that.”

“What are you asking me, then?”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at me. He finally said: “Can you put up with me through all of this?”

“That’s what you’re asking me?”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“I think so. Depends on what ‘this’ is, though.”

Lester flicked a paint chip off the railing. “Carol’s on sort of a rampage. She called the lawyer before me and she’s already petitioned for dissolution.”

I made some kind of face.

“Divorce,” he said. “We don’t use that word in California. We dissolve marriages here; it’s supposed to be a lot nicer for everyone, just slide into the hot tub and disappear.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“I want what’s best.” He peeled up another paint chip and glanced at me. “And I know that’s what has to happen, but she also asked him some nasty questions about custody and property. She can’t do anything against me without mediation, but just hearing it kind of put me over the edge.”

I went over and hugged him. He felt to me like an old friend, though I didn’t have any. It must feel like this though; they’re warm against you and you love and respect them and are on their side no matter what. I asked him if he’d like a nice Italian dinner, and he said yes. We kissed and made our way inside, starting to undress, needing to do it, but it was so hot in there we ended up hurrying back down the trail to the Purisima, our arms around each other, and we took off our clothes on the mossy bank, then made love there, Lester pushing in and out of me so fast it hurt a little. His face was all bunched up with the effort of it, and I suddenly felt far away, closing my eyes just as he let out a short groan, pulled out of me, and came across my stomach in a warm wet line.

MAYBE IT WAS the hot cabin that got to us, to him. Maybe it was the quiet and the stillness. I think it was all three. The dinner came out better than I would’ve guessed and because it was too hot inside the camp, we ate out on the porch off plates in our laps. Halfway through supper the mosquitoes began to hit so we sprayed each other down with repellent, something I wished I’d waited to do because the rest of the meal didn’t taste quite right.

We sat on the porch awhile, the two of us looking out at the small woodpile and trees like old people waiting for someone to visit. The sky was still gray, but darker, and I knew we were close to nightfall. Les was sitting straight in his chair. He’d changed into jeans and that tacky striped golf shirt, and he wore sneakers without socks. But he didn’t look relaxed; he’d been sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, his feet flat on the floor, and sometimes he’d wave a mosquito away from his face, then cross his arms again. I thought of my mother and her two sisters and their plan to fly west, and I wished I’d written a better reason for them not to come. I knew if they thought Nick and I would be gone for the weekend they’d still fly out, and worse, they’d probably want to stay at the empty house. “Shit.”

“What?”

I told Les about my mother’s postcard, and about the rest of my mail, the bills I was supposed to pay to keep the Arab family comfortable in my stolen house.

“You’re right, you know.” He sat back and looked at me. “This guy’s received stolen property and now he’s trying to pawn it off.”

“It’s not really stolen, though, right?”

“Technically.” Lester’s breath was starting to rise. “That’s one thing I hate about law enforcement, Kathy.”

“What?”

“Do you know how many times I see people violate the spirit of the law without actually breaking it? Like the DV law: no matter which spouse does the violence, we have to take them in. That means if a two-hundred-pound artichoke rancher in Pescadero slugs his wife and she hits him back, she gets charged, too.”

“For defending herself?”

“That’s right. We took in this one guy who did a number on his wife, really worked her over. She wouldn’t take out a restraining order, and when he got out on bail he went back to the house and coaxed and taunted her until she started clawing his face. And he stood there and let her do it because he knew the law and he knew now it would be her turn to sit in a cell. And I can’t not take her in. And this Arab son of a bitch—he knows what he’s doing is wrong, but the law saves him anyway. The day we drove by, you see the kinds of cars parked in front of your house? You see the clothes those people had on? And you’re out in the cold.”

“I’m out in the heat.” I was smiling. It felt so good hearing this kind of feeling about me and my problem coming out of Lester’s mouth. I lit a cigarette. “I can’t believe we can’t just evict him. That’s what’s so fucked up.”

Les gave me a long look, his dark eyes narrowed like he was thinking of something else. “You said this guy was a colonel?”

“That’s what he said.”

“From what country?”

“I don’t know, but his wife hardly speaks any English at all.”

“Maybe they haven’t been here very long, Kathy. Maybe they don’t know their way around.” Lester went inside. I could hear him undressing.

“I’ll call INS tomorrow, Kathy, see if they have anything we can use.”

“Use?”

He didn’t answer me. I could hear him pull the plastic off his dry cleaning. I was really enjoying this. “Use for what?”

“For the greater good.”

I listened to him dress, then he stepped back outside, zipping up his deputy uniform pants, tucking in his shirt. He reached into his pocket for some uniform emblems and his gold star badge, pinning them on.