The office was closed for three weeks while I spent time with Amy, hiding from the media. Being a member of that obnoxious little militia, Amy has great expertise in how to avoid them. While I was gone, clients got nothing but a voice mail saying the absence was indefinite. Joe came by my apartment on the third Monday after I’d closed the office to tell me I needed to get down and open the place again.
“You stay shut down for another week and you may not recover, LP. When a client takes his business somewhere else, it’s likely to stay there.”
I nodded. “You’re right. But it’s been a hell of a few weeks, Joe. I couldn’t work. You know that.”
“I know that. And now I’m telling you it’s time to start again.”
He was standing in my living room, using his index finger to turn a lampshade that he’d decided was crooked. He wouldn’t look at me.
“Time to start again,” I said. “Yeah, I guess it is. Does that go for you, too?”
He stopped playing with the lampshade. “No, LP. I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
I sat and stared at him. He looked sad but resolved. He stepped away from the lamp and paced across the room.
“I’m going to take the winter off. Get out of town, go somewhere warm. I can’t do another winter in this town. Not right now. You know I’ve never been gone from Cleveland in the winter? You believe that? All those trips I took with Ruth, they were always in summer or fall. Maybe one in the spring. But I’ve always been here for winter, and, shit, I need a break. I’m thinking Florida, maybe Texas, somewhere down along the Gulf.”
It took me a minute to say anything. When I did speak, all I could say was “Okay.”
He finally stopped walking and sat down on the chair across from me, ran his hand over his jaw and studied the carpet.
“I just need a break, Lincoln. Don’t know for how long, exactly, but I know I need to get out of here for a while. You can handle it without me.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but it’s not going to be a whole lot of fun.”
He snorted. “Damn, almost like a real job. You know, a lot of guys haven’t had the luxury of working with someone like me. Now you’ll have to appreciate it for the treat that it is.”
I managed a smile. “Okay, Joe. But don’t go down there and get lost. Spring comes and it starts to warm up around here, you damn well better be on your way north.”
“I will be.”
He left on the first Sunday of December. His arm was improving all the time, but he still needed help packing the car, and I went down and loaded the Taurus up as well as I could, Joe growling out irritated instructions from over my shoulder. Finally, I wedged the trunk lid shut and stepped back. He handed me his house keys.
“Don’t forget to water the plants. And remember—no parties.”
“Right.”
Amy came out of the house and walked down to join us. “Is that it? You’re really leaving now?”
“I’m leaving, my dear. And, yes, I know that you’ll miss me.”
She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. A brisk wind was blowing, and the broad gray clouds overhead promised snow. The forecasts said it could be heavy. Joe zipped up his jacket and smiled.
“A few hours, and I’m ditching this thing for a polo shirt and a seat by the pool.”
“Rub it in,” I said. “Nice.”
It was quiet for a minute, and then I said, “Be in touch, Joe.”
“Absolutely.” He put out his hand, and I shook it, and then he got in the car. By the time he hit Tennessee he’d probably have doubled the total miles on that damn Taurus. He started the engine, and I thumped my hand on the trunk and then stepped back and waved. He turned out of the driveway and went down Chatfield toward the interstate ramp at West 150th. I watched him go, and out of nowhere Andy Doran’s voice was in my head.
Amy stepped close to me and wrapped her arm around my waist. “I’m going to miss him.”
“Me, too.”
She squeezed me and then stepped back. “No sense being sad about it all day, though. I’ve got plans for us.”
“Browns game,” I said. “Right. We can watch that.”
“Christmas decorations at my apartment,” she said. “They don’t hang themselves.”
I looked at her in horror, then back out at Chatfield. “If I run really fast, do you think I can catch him?”
We locked Joe’s house and got into my truck and drove away. Snowflakes were falling now, remaining as crystals for a few seconds on the windshield before the heat from the truck reduced them to water. On the radio, the announcers were predicting six inches by nightfall. Joe would beat the storm on his way south, and I was glad for him. Amy and I were here for the duration, but that was fine, too. The snow would melt. It always does.
