Page 62 of Crocodile Tears
Before I can formulate a response that addresses her concerns, a familiar voice interrupts from behind us.
“That was certainly an interesting way to conclude a second date.”
We turn to find Red approaching with her characteristic energy and an expression that combines relief with obvious curiosity about our current state.We look exactly like what we are—two people who’ve spent several days in hostile territory and haven’t had access to proper hygiene facilities.
“Red,” Becci says with surprise that suggests she’d forgotten about the normal world that continued functioning during our adventure.“What are you doing here?”
“Monitoring police reports about missing clients and wondering whether my matchmaking service needs to start including international extraction insurance.”Red examines us with professional assessment that takes in our travel-stained clothes, visible injuries, and obvious exhaustion.“I have to say, you two look remarkably good for people who’ve been missing for a week.”
“We’ve had an interesting travel experience,” I say while trying to figure out how much of our situation Red needs to know for professional purposes.
“International travel for research and security consulting coordination,” Becci adds with the kind of diplomatic phrasing that technically isn’t lying but doesn’t provide any useful information.
Red crosses her arms with obvious skepticism.“Research and security consulting that required disappearing without notice and returning in clothes that look like you’ve been camping in hostile territory?”
“Fieldwork can be unpredictable,” Becci says with scientific accuracy that completely avoids addressing Red’s actual concerns.
Before our conversation can become more complicated, Margo appears at the building’s entrance with the kind of focused energy that suggests she’s been tracking developments with systematic precision.
“Dr.L,” she calls while rushing toward us with obvious relief.“You’re back!And you’re alive!And you brought Agent Scales!”
“His name is Cal,” Becci corrects with automatic precision.
“Agent Cal,” Margo says while examining me with obvious approval.“How was the rescue mission?Did you use advanced tactical maneuvers?Were there helicopters?Please tell me there were helicopters.”
Red stares between us narrowed eyes.“Rescue mission?”
“There may have been some tactical complications during our travel experience,” I say while trying to find the right balance between honesty and operational security.
“Tactical complications that required rescue operations?”Red’s voice rises with what appears to be professional concern mixed with personal curiosity.
Before either of us can explain, Margo jumps in with obvious enthusiasm for sharing information she’s clearly been organizing while we were gone.“I’ve been managing the situation perfectly,” she announces with pride that suggests extensive problem-solving activities.“I told the university that Dr.L had a family emergency involving a crocodile farm and explosive diarrhea.No one asked follow-up questions.”
Becci stares at her research assistant with horror that suggests she’s processing the professional effects of this cover story.“You told my colleagues I had explosive diarrhea?”
“I told them you had a family emergency that involved biological complications requiring immediate travel and limited communication capabilities,” Margo clarifies with obvious satisfaction at her creative solution.“The crocodile farm detail was just for authenticity.”
I struggle not to laugh at the mental image of Becci’s academic colleagues trying to understand this explanation for her sudden disappearance.The cover story is ridiculous enough to be believable while completely discouraging further investigation.
“Margo,” Becci says with the tone she probably uses for graduate students who’ve contaminated important experiments, “that is the most embarrassing professional excuse you could have possibly created.”
“But it worked perfectly.No one questioned why you weren’t answering emails or returning calls.”
The complexity of our situation increases exponentially when a car pulls up, and people I infer must be Becci’s parents emerge with the kind of concerned energy that suggests they’ve been deeply worried about their daughter’s welfare.
“Rebecca,” calls her mother while rushing toward us with a tower of casseroles that appear to have been prepared for emergency feeding situations.
Her father follows with the measured pace of someone conducting a security sweep.His attention focuses on me with the kind of analytical precision that suggests scientific training applied to evaluating his daughter’s romantic choices.
“Mom, Dad,” Becci says with obvious surprise, “what are you doing here?”
“Margo called us,” her mother explains while simultaneously trying to hug Becci and distribute emergency casseroles to everyone present.“She said you’d returned from your last-minute work trip, and you’d brought someone special.”
Her father approaches me with an extended hand and a look like he’s beginning a thorough interview process.“You must be Calvin.I’m Dr.Raymond Lawson, and I have questions about your intentions regarding my daughter.”
The interrogation that follows covers my professional background, financial stability, long-term objectives, and compatibility with Becci’s career requirements.Dr.Lawson approaches relationship evaluation with the same systematic methodology his daughter applies to everything, creating questions that require comprehensive responses about topics I’ve never discussed with anyone.
I answer each question with the honesty that someone who’s raised an extraordinary daughter deserves, but the systematic nature of the interrogation makes me feel like I’m defending a dissertation rather than discussing romantic intentions.
