Case of Lies

Nina hadn’t known she’d be casting about for some conventional rule to guide her in talking to Kurt. He was really a stranger. Fifteen years before, she had known him for three weeks, and the intense feelings from that time were no longer relevant.

Though they had resulted in the boy sitting quietly behind them. Fifteen years, and then nothing, while she raised Bob alone, not wanting Kurt even to know about his son. Then a few more weeks at Tahoe in which she defended Kurt in a murder case. He was i

Vineyards flowed by under the lowering clouds. Kurt drove with both hands firmly on the wheel, very differently from Paul, who merely kept a couple of fingers handy near the wheel in case something might come up on the road. Nina hadn’t had time to think about what it would feel like to stay with Kurt. They were friendly, linked; Bob would of course be staying with him; he’d offered to drive them to Heddesheim. Now she wondered if she should have stayed at a hotel. She thought of the tiny living environments she’d seen at the Ikea store one day, and wondered if he lived like that.

In a half hour or so they turned off the highway and drove into Wiesbaden, where the rain had given way to unequivocal sun as if in honor of their arrival. They cruised past an expensive row of stores and cafes, the waiters just now coming out with chairs to set up in this moment of warmth, and soon passed a graceful, long building with Roman columns all along the front.

“The Colo

Even so, Nina caught the spirit of the city on the Rhine: luxurious, wine-loving, musical, healthy, nestled in its forest away from the gray granite of Frankfurt. The shoppers and dog-walkers looked pleased with themselves, even with the puddles.

They came to a townhouse on one of the side streets and Kurt pulled his yellow cube into a minuscule garage. He shouldered some of the bags and they entered a hall with no windows facing a staircase, which they began to climb. On the third floor, as Nina admitted to herself that she wished she’d stayed at the Hyatt, Kurt brandished his key and entered one of the flats, Bob right behind him, Nina following with some trepidation.

But the ceilings were high, with ornate molding, and there were bay windows looking out at the market square. Kurt moved to the fireplace, causing an attack of déjà vu as Nina thought of Mick doing the same thing, and said, “Sit down. I have good coffee. C’mere, Franz. Come on, say hi to Bob and Nina.” He picked up the big orange cat and brought it to Bob.

Somehow, the room reflected that an American lived here, in spite of the antique furnishings, the white grand piano in the corner, the piles of books. Bright with blues and yellows, the Danish rug in front of the fireplace gave the room warmth. She could see Kurt through an open doorway under a strong light, moving around.

“Mind if I look around?” she said. She found the bathroom, another high-ceilinged cavernous room with a claw-foot tub and a tall fern in the window, then went down the hall to see the bedrooms. Kurt had already made a bed for Bob in his room. His own bed was a mahogany four-poster much like Nina’s at Tahoe. Portraits in oil of musicians and dancers hung on the walls, painted as if by Rembrandt so that vivid faces and figures appeared to emerge from darkness. A stack of music lay on a stool by the bed.

Why, he’s been living here all these years, carrying on a life, and I never really thought about him at all, she thought. While she struggled through law school, married, moved to San Francisco, made Bob’s lunches, learned how to practice criminal law, divorced, moved to Tahoe, married briefly again-he, too, had been living a life, dealing with his own struggles and pains, celebrating his own successes. Their paths had crossed so briefly that it seemed a miracle that she should be here, meeting him now for the third time.

The Miracle himself sat down at the piano and opened it, ru

Nina came to her doorway from the hall to watch and saw Kurt do the same across the room, leaning at the doorsill to his kitchen, a white towel over his shoulder, nodding at each hesitation as if urging Bob on. Light came through the window onto the carpet and a fire burned in the grate. The music was calm, spare, and steady.

Bob, in profile, bulked up by his parka, looked all grown up. He frowned as he played, leaning into the keyboard, head low, engrossed. A lump came into Nina’s throat. She looked at Kurt. He was grimacing as though he was in pain, and she was just about to go to him and ask what was wrong when he turned abruptly and went into the kitchen. It was emotion, she realized. Bob was playing for him, and he was proud of Bob.

She didn’t feel part of this warm loop between them. In truth, she felt very odd standing there watching her son with another parent. She felt both happy for Bob, who seemed somehow more complete, as though he were the apex of a triangle that now had both legs under him, and angry at having to share him. She stayed and listened and clapped when he had finished. Then she went into the white-tiled kitchen and helped lay out the lunch on the coffee table, there being no dining table.

While they ate, talking became easier. “So when is this thing?” Kurt said.

“What time is it now?” Nina said.

“Twelve-thirty.”

“We cut it close. Four this afternoon, and tomorrow morning.”

“No problem. It’ll take about ninety minutes. How about a nap before you go? Did you see your room?”

“It’s fine.” Her room seemed to be a music workroom, the table covered with sheet music, the walls full of books and music, a guitar leaning against the bed. The window opened and cool damp air entered with the light. “I like it.”

“I’ll clear a space on the table so you can work,” Kurt said. “I’ve been doing some composing, now that my performing days seem to be over.”

“Your hands seem-you don’t wear a splint or anything?”

“They’re fine for daily life. But as for the Rach Three concerto-they’re shot.”

“What are you composing?” Bob asked. He had maintained the same adult mood.

“Some things you could play, if you practice.” Kurt smiled. “Anyway, let’s go for a walk and let your mother rest a little.”

The house fell still. Franz the cat didn’t come in. The street noise, the scents, the light, were strange but not disturbing. Nina lay down on the creaky bed, but sleep-no, she would just lie here and think about Chelsi, and worry and wonder.

She needed a shower. Stripping off the clothes from the plane felt really good, and so did the hot shower, handheld in Kurt’s enormous tub. She blew her hair dry, went back to her room, put on her black suit with her blue silk blouse, figured out the phone, confirmed that Herr Kraft would be present at the offices of the judicial commissioner at four, and was reviewing her notes when Bob and Kurt came bursting in, bringing a puff of moist air and smoky smells with them.