e-mail at the coffee shop first. But as she approached the place, a figure appeared before her, stepping out of a grotty-looking Ford and gathering some things from the backseat before slamming the door.
“Hey there, stranger,” she said.
Cramer turned to see her and got this flustered look on his face. “Hi,” he said, recovering somewhat. He wiped his head as if to push the hair out of his eyes had there been any hair. His other arm was full of electronic doodads, which he cradled against his chest.
“Heading to work?”
He nodded. “Any trouble with the computer?” he asked, bobbing his head at the case swinging from her shoulder.
“Have you ever heard of this theater game where you can only talk in questions?”
“Pardon?”
She laughed. “Forget it. Hey, do you have time for a coffee?” It was clearly the right thing to say. Mimi experienced the rare delight of watching his whole face seem to open up before her very eyes.
“I would really like that,” he said.
“Cool.”
“I’ll just put this stuff back in the car?”
“Or you can bring it along,” she said. She tugged at a cable hanging from one of the doodads. “You know, in case we can’t think of anything to talk about.”
He grinned. “We’d have to be pretty bored,” he said. And she laughed, which made his smile widen even more. His teeth weren’t great, but you can’t have everything.
As he put the electronic stuff in the car, she chatted away at him, and the next thing she knew, he wasn’t smiling anymore. “If you’re like meeting someone for lunch, I don’t want to horn in, eh?”
“Oh, boo,” she said. “You’re breaking my heart.”
He looked down, scuffed his shoe on the pavement. She had mentioned Iris’s name. Was that what had spooked him? “Do you know Iris?” she asked.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I guess I was just, you know…”
She did know. He has been hoping that it would be just the two of them. So she was right; he did like her. She checked the time on her cell phone. “Hey,” she said. “We’ve got twenty minutes all to ourselves.”
He gazed at her. “Maybe we could just walk?” he said. He nodded toward the end of the block. “Down to the park?”
“Sure.”
So they set off down the street, crossed the road into McGinty Park, and made their way to the river.
“You play hockey?” she asked.
He looked surprised. “Not much anymore. Why?”
“You look like a hockey player. All those muscles. Not that I know any hockey players.”
Cramer pointed at a little scar above his ear. “I got that playing hockey,” he said. “And that ain’t the only one, either.”
“Rough game,” said Mimi.
“Stupid game,” he said.
And Mimi laughed.
They sat on a bench right beside a wide pond. The water was high, well up over the bank. There were toddlers on the other side toddling under the watchful gaze of a small clutch of mothers, most of whom looked to be no older than Mimi.
“This is nice,” said Cramer.
She looked at him. “Oh, yeah? So why are you frowning?”
He looked surprised. “Was I?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged, looked out at the pond.
She poked him in the arm. “Come on, tell me. Wazzup?”
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He looked down, saw a stone, and picked it up. Chucked into the pond. One of the toddlers on the other side was drawn to the ripples and started walking toward the water only to be corralled by its mother and given a good hugging.
Mimi laughed. “That was close,” she said. But from the look on Cramer’s face, he hadn’t noticed the little drama.
“Hey,” said Mimi. “Talk to me, former hockey-player person. What’s eating you?”
He looked at her, and she looked back into his crazy blue eyes, knowing, somehow, he was getting up the courage to say something important, maybe even something intimate. Then he looked away, seemed to change gears.
“It’s my mother,” he said.
“Is she sick or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m beginning to wonder. But it’s not sick sick, like,” he said. And he tapped his head. “She’s an artist. A painter.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“So she’s not ‘ sick sick’ just arty?”
He rolled his eyes. “Some days,” he said. “Some days, it’s…” He paused. “She has good days and bad days.”
“And today was a bad one?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Really bad.”
“That’s really a coincidence because-”
But Cramer interrupted her. “She’s like on this creative journey?” he said. “She’s got this book called The Artist’s Path?”
“Oh,” said Mimi. “I know it.”
He looked stunned. “You’re kidding me.”
“No,” she said. “Honest.” She had been about to tell him her father was an artist, too, but she was glad she hadn’t. The Artist’s Path, as far as she could tell, was a book for dilettantes and dabblers.
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head, his mouth hanging open a little. “I never met no one-anyone-who ever heard of it or like that.”
She nodded again. “Well, now you have.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Now I have. So, you know what they can be like, eh? Artists?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Big-time.”
“Like it can be kind of, you know…” He waggled his hand in the air, palm down.
She did the same with her hand, and they both laughed.
“Wow,” he said again, and rubbed his head.
His hand was so large, so strong. Mimi looked away. She was feeling just the slightest bit short of breath. Then she noticed her cell phone, still in her hand, and saw that it was nearly noon.
“Listen,” she said. “I’ve got to meet Iris.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” He seemed flustered again and immediately jumped to his feet.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”
He thought about it, looked pained, she thought, but shook his head. “Hank’ll be waiting for me,” he said, but he didn’t fool her.
“Let’s do this again, Cramer, okay?”
He smiled. “Okay,” he said.
“Cool.”
They walked back to where his car was parked, and he gathered his electronics from the backseat again.
“It was good seeing you,” he said. “It was good to talk to you like that.”
“Same for me,” said Mimi, and reached out to shake his hand. He took it and almost lost the equipment he was cradling.
