“Is that why you’re in the salvage business?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Any fool can blow up a boat and send it to the bottom,” she said. “But it takes skill and dedication and far greater risks to bring one back up again. I can see you doing it for exactly those reasons: because it’s harder and because it’s better. And because you like saving things.”
Kurt had never thought of it quite that way, but there was some truth in what she’d said. The world was full of men destroying things and throwing them away. He took pride in restoring old things instead of tossing them out.
“I suppose I should thank you,” she added. “I’m guessing you dove down to salvage me.”
He hadn’t been sure she was in trouble when he’d gone in the water, but he’d been glad to pull her out alive instead of dead. He considered her motivation for taking such a risk in the first place.
“And you’re a competitor,” he said, taking his turn at amateur analysis.
“It has plusses and minuses,” she said.
“National competitions, world championships, the Olympics,” he said. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to prove to coaches and judges and the audience that you’re worthy of their scores, that you even belong in the arena in the first place. Despite a partially torn ligament, you nearly got the bronze in Torino.”
“I nearly won the gold,” she corrected him. “I fell on the last jump. I finished the program on one foot.”
“As I recall you couldn’t walk for a couple of months afterward,” he said, a fact he’d just read on Joe’s update. “But the point stands. A different skater would have backed down, saved her leg for another day.”
“Sometimes you don’t get another day,” she said.
“Is that what drove you on?”
She pursed her lips, studying him and twirling her fork in her angel-hair pasta. Finally, she spoke. “I wasn’t supposed to medal,” she said. “They almost gave my spot to another skater. Most likely, I would never get another shot.”
“You had something to prove,” he replied.
She nodded.
“And this whole thing — an assignment outside your laboratory — I’m guessing this is new to you,” he said. “You must have people back home to impress, maybe you feel you have something to prove to them. Or you might not get another shot.”
“Maybe,” she admitted.
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “We all want our bosses to be impressed. But there are places on this earth where you don’t take chances. The inside of a wrecked aircraft a hundred forty feet below the surface is one of them.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted to show someone they were wrong about you?”
Kurt paused, and then spoke a half-truth. “I try not to worry about what other people think about me.”
“So you have no one to prove anything to?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that,” he replied.
“So there is someone,” she said. “Tell me who. Is it a woman? Is there a Mrs. Austin, or future Mrs. Austin, waiting for you back home?”
Kurt shook his head. “I wouldn’t be here if there was.”
“So who is it?”
Kurt chuckled. The conversation had certainly turned. “Tell me the secret you’re holding, and I’ll give you the answer.”
She looked disappointed again. “I suppose dinner ends as soon as I give you that?”
Kurt didn’t want it to end, but then again… “Depends on the secret,” he said.
She picked up her fork as if she could stall him just a little longer and then she put it down dejectedly.