“Have you been to Japan?” she asked.
He nodded. “And Korea and Germany and all the other usual stops for Army guys.”
“But you were mostly in the Middle East?”
“Yeah, mostly there.”
“And you fought in combat?” she said.
“That was pretty much all there was there. You wanted to talk about Sara?”
Stamos stared down at her hands. “She always seemed so put together. I . . . I actually looked up to her. I had pegged a few people there as possible suicide material, but never her.”
He nodded and said, “She never seemed that way to me either. But you said you didn’t really see that much of her and didn’t know her that well.”
She wouldn’t meet his eye. “That wasn’t exactly true. I know because of the rankings in the Book everyone thought we were bitter rivals.” She paused and drank her drink, looking out at the Statue of Liberty. “But there’s more to life than work.”
“As my old Army buddies used to say, ‘You’re preaching to the choir, Devine.’ ”
She ran her gaze over him. “Devine? Isn’t that Irish? You don’t look Irish.”
“My father’s definitely Irish, with fair skin and reddish hair. But I’m Greek on my mother’s side. My grandparents came over from Mykonos.”
“You definitely take after your mother, then.”
“You Greek on both sides?”
“Through and through,” she replied.
“Siblings?”
“Four sisters. All older.”
“That must have been a fun household,” he said jokingly.
“It was, actually,” she said firmly.
“Stupid remark, sorry.”
“You have siblings?” she asked.
“Yeah, they’re wonderfully perfect and smarter than me and have great lives.”
“Come on,” she said skeptically.
Devine said, “I’m being serious. That’s exactly who and what they are. Both a lot older than me. Both have hit the very top in their chosen professions.”
“Oh. You must be proud of them.”
“I’m glad they’re happy.” He thirstily drank his beer down and waved to the waitress for another. “So, back to Sara. When was the last time you saw her?”
“About a week before they found her. She came to my office.”
He looked puzzled. “Why? Last night you said you two were working on different things.”
“That’s right.”
She drank her margarita after gumming the salty edges, then squeezed the lime wedge over the chips and dug into the guac. He watched her do this, and then looked out to the water for a moment before glancing back at her.
“Then why did she come to see you?” he persisted.
“What, are you playing detective or something?”
“I’m just playing a human being. So what did she say?”
“She was asking about some play or other. Whether I’d seen it.”
His interest perked up. “What was the play? Did she want a recommendation?”
Stamos fingered the drink and now she looked out toward the water, as though the answers would all be there. “Waiting for Godot. Have you seen it? I don’t know anything about it.”
Devine nodded. “I actually saw it here in New York, before I shipped out to West Point.”
“Really? I thought you’d be out binge-drinking or . . . you know . . . the girls.”
“I had a high school English teacher, Harold Simpson. I told him I was going the officer route at the Point. He told me to go see the play before I did. It happened to be on Broadway back then.”
“Why did he want you to see it? Did he not want you to join the Army?” she asked.
“I don’t think that was it. He’d served in the Army during Vietnam. He wasn’t West Point. He got drafted. He came back pissed off and against the war. But he fought. He did his job. And the country treated those vets like shit. Not fair to fight your heart out, survive, and come back to that.”
“But why would he want you to see that play in particular?” Devine sipped his fresh beer. “I really can’t explain it for you. It’s just that sort of a play. You have to see it for yourself.”
“Did you like it?”
“I’m not sure it’s a play you either like or don’t like. I’m not sure that’s the purpose.”
“Then what is the purpose?”
He took his gaze from the Statue of Liberty and placed it on her. “What to make of your own life, maybe. But if you ever see it, arrive at your own conclusion. So, you told her you hadn’t seen it. What did Sara say about that?”