Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [38]
“Me? I think marriage is wonderful, provided you meet the right person. I’ve seen some of my friends settle because they’re convinced they have to get married by a certain age. I think that’s dumb.”
“Dumb?” He laughed.
“Well, maybe ill advised is a better term.”
“No,” he said. “I like dumb.” He swished the red wine remaining in his glass. “Maybe it was the thought of having kids,” he said to the wine. “I don’t think I’d make much of a father.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Just knowing myself. You might have noticed that I’m a little self-obsessed.”
“I’ve seen hints of it now and then,” she said with a smile. “I suppose I’d like children someday. But like getting married, I don’t think it’s something you have to do. There are so many pressures on us to do what others expect. Marry by a certain age. Have two and a half children, one and a half dogs. You might have noticed that I’m somewhat self-obsessed, too.”
“I’ve seen hints,” he said, lightly. “So tell me about your family, Kathleen.”
She obliged. Her father was a carpenter at an Annapolis boatyard. “He works hard,” she said. “He’s my hero, no pretensions, no posturing, just hard work every day. My mom is a receptionist in a dentist’s office. Every cent she made went into a college fund for me and my brother.”
“What’s your brother do?”
“Bart’s two years older. He teaches earth science in a local high school. His wife’s a doll. She teaches, too. They have one and a half children, no dog. I grew up with a border collie named—ready?—Lassie. I love animals.”
“Why don’t you get one?”
“Too busy. Wouldn’t be fair to the dog. What about you, Phil? I showed you mine. Your turn to show me yours.”
“Not a lot to show, Kathleen, or to tell.” He talked about his sisters and wayward brother, and his deceased parents. He found it difficult to discuss such things, and there was a moment when Kathleen thought he might cry. But he didn’t, and eventually he even smiled when recounting a few intimate—intimate in his mind—details of family life. “Like I said, not much to tell.”
“Your father sounds like he was a wonderful man.”
“Yes, he was. His Old World views caused some tension between us now and then, but nothing major. I had a couple of fights with kids in school who made fun of the way he talked.” He laughed. “I won.”
“I don’t doubt that. Were you a religious family?”
“Not formal religion. We were brought up Catholic, and I was baptized and confirmed. So were my brother and sisters. My father, he believed in individual faith but was distrustful of organized religion. I suppose I feel the same way. He taught me a lot of things, Kathleen, including the importance of always standing for something, standing tall. I like to think I practice that advice.”
They closed the restaurant that night and went to his apartment, where they made love for the first time. The next morning, they both knew without saying it that they were in it for the long haul.
“We should take a weekend and visit my folks,” she said. “You’d like them. My dad is every bit as hard-ass as you are.”
His thoughts flew back to the University of Illinois and to Jeannette Boyton, but only for a moment.
“I’d like that,” he said.
They made that weekend trip two weeks later. Kathleen had been right. Rotondi liked her parents and brother, felt very much at home with them. The wedding took place three months later. Phil’s sisters and their families attended the small ceremony; his brother sent his regrets but wished him well. Their honeymoon consisted of a long weekend at the acclaimed Inn at Little Washington, in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Washington, Virginia, where they got to know each other even better. Four days later, they were back in the courtroom.
• • •
Kathleen had come directly to Phil’s retirement party dressed in her all-business tailored black suit and white blouse. Had she been able, she would have chosen a dressy outfit for this