“Maybe.”

“How much on a scale from one to ten?”

I couldn’t bring myself to smile. “I’m sorry I came down on you. I don’t like when other people do my job better than I do.”

“I don’t do your job.”

“I wouldn’t have caught him if you hadn’t been there.”

“I was a competitive runner. No doubt I could outrun anyone in your department.”

“But it wasn’t anyone. It was me. And the guy was my responsibility. Koby, what if he had taken out a gun?”

“Then I would have perfect backup.”

“C’mon! I’m trying to make a point.”

He grew glum. “I hear you.”

“I’m … I don’t know. Sorry, all right?”

“It was more than just my speed,” he spoke softly. “You were already mad at me.”

I didn’t confirm or deny it. Again silence came between us. I said, “I saw the look on your face when I took that guy down. I’m sure I conformed to your image of the heavy-handed LAPD cop.”

“I flinched,” he admitted. “But I know there are two sides.”

I nodded.

“What did he do?”

“Technically, I arrested him because he has an outstanding warrant for unpaid traffic violations. But I wanted him in connection with a gang rape of a retarded woman.”

Koby screwed up his face in horror. I thought what my father must have thought dozens of times. Why did I tell him?

He said, “Did arresting him help you out?”

Eventually. After I fielded about a thousand questions. “Yes, it helped quite a bit.”

“I’m glad.” He tucked the clippers inside his pants pocket and looked at his watch. “How about if I make coffee? You relax here while I shower and get dressed. Then maybe we take a ride to the beach and watch the sunset. Then we have dinner.”

It sounded not only wonderful, but like instant therapy. But I was still tense. “Koby, why didn’t you call me? I was freaked out after the accident. I know you were busy with life-and-death issues, but a kind word or two on my message machine would have gone a long way. It wouldn’t have taken more than … two minutes.”

He looked away. “I should have.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He regarded a rosebush and took out the clippers. Again he spoke without looking at me. “I have these moods, Cynthia.” He snipped off a dead head. “I was hoping that maybe they wouldn’t surface until we were farther along … so you could see the good side of me.”

I was puzzled. “What do you mean ‘moods’?”

“Moods.”

“Koby, everyone has moods.”

“Mine are very dark.”

“Like depression?”

He faced me. “An angry depression, I think. I am not nice to be around. I have found the best way to deal with it is to throw myself into work. So I work until I cannot work … until I am in a state of exhaustion. Then I sleep—one day, two days. And then … it passes. And it always does pass. Because the world is a good place.”