I’ve got to get control of myself and erase these self-doubts. The last thing I ever want to do is ask my bookie if he has a wagering line on the Joffrey or an over/under on how many haircuts will be given by the barber of Seville.
Tara is a help to me at times like this. She gets me to focus on that which is important: the beer, the potato chips, the dog biscuits, and the couch. I’ve taught her to fetch the remote control, and her soft golden retriever mouth never damages it.
Laurie’s having dinner with some of her girlfriends tonight and then coming over tomorrow to spend the day. She doesn’t seem to be acting strangely anymore, and I would spend time reflecting on how pleased I am by that if I didn’t have to watch these games…
* * * * *
LAURIE COMES INTO the room carrying a blanket. That’s not what’s worrying me. What’s worrying me is that she also has two pillows. I have to assume that she intends for my head to be occupying one of them, which is a problem, because it’s Sunday evening and I have other plans for my head. At least for the next two hours.
“Let’s go,” she says, instantly confirming my fears.
“Go where?”
“Outside. It starts in less than half an hour.” I think she can tell from my blank expression that I have no idea what she is talking about, so she explains. “The
I do remember, at least partly. I remember that Laurie had said an eclipse was coming and that it would be really nice if we could lie outside and watch it together. Unfortunately, it never entered my mind that God would have scheduled an eclipse at the same time the Knicks were in their first play-off game in four years.
My mind races for a solution; there must be something it can instruct my mouth to say to get me off this literally astronomical hook. “Now? The eclipse is now?” Suffice it to say, I was hoping to come up with something stronger.
“Eight-thirty-one,” she says, since eclipses are really precise things.
“Just about the beginning of the second quarter,” I say. “Talk about your coincidences.”
“Andy, if you’d rather watch the basketball game…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but based on her tone, an appropriate finish would be, “then you can kiss my ass.”
“No, it’s not that,” I lie. “It’s just that it’s a play-off game, and it’s the Knicks. How often does that happen?”
“The next eclipse won’t happen for over four hundred years,” she counters.
I shake my head. “That’s what they say, but don’t believe it. They always announce that the next one won’t come until 2612, so everybody goes out to see it, but then there’s another one two weeks later. The whole thing is a scam.”
“Who’s doing the scamming?” she asks, a slight gleam in her eye, which could mean that she’s either secretly finding this amusing or planning to kill me.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “It could be the telescope industry, or maybe blanket and pillow manufacturers. But take it from me, these people are not to be trusted.”
“I’ve got an idea,” she says. “Why don’t you tape it?”
“Great!” I say enthusiastically. “I didn’t even know you could tape an eclipse.”
Her expression turns serious; banter time is over. “Andy, we need to talk.”
Maybe there’s a more ominous phrase in the English language than “We need to talk.” Perhaps “Michael Corleone says hello.” Or maybe “I’m afraid the test results are back.” But right now what Laurie just said is enough to send spasms of panic through my gut.
I could be overreacting. Maybe it’s not so bad. “We need to talk.” That’s what people do, they talk, right? But the thing is, a talk is like a drink. It’s fine unless you
I take a pillow from Laurie and follow her outside. Tara trails along; she clearly considers this “talk” potentially more entertaining than the Knicks game. We don’t say anything as we align the blanket and pillows to view the stupid eclipse. I’m so intent on what is about to be said that if the sun and moon collided, I wouldn’t notice.
“The sky’s clear; we should be able to see it really well,” she says.
Is she going to chitchat first? I swallow the watermelon in my throat. “What is it you wanted to talk about?” I ask.
“Andy…” is how she starts, which is already a bad sign. I’m the only other person here, so if she feels she has to specify whom she’s talking to, it must mean that what she has to say is very significant. “Andy, you know that my father and mother split up when I was fifteen.”
I wait without speaking, partially because I am aware of her parents’ divorce, but mainly because I want this to go as fast as possible.
“My father got custody simply because my mother didn’t contest it. She no longer wanted a family-I don’t know and it doesn’t really matter why-and he made it easy for her. He found a job here and took me with him. One day I was living in Findlay, and the next day I wasn’t. I literally never even said goodbye to my friends.”
She takes a deep breath. “And I never went back. Not once. Not even a phone call. My mother died five years ago without me seeing or talking to her. That’s how she wanted it, and it was fine with me.”
With her voice cracking as she says this, it doesn’t take a keenly analytical mind to know that it wasn’t really fine with her.
She goes on. “In the process I cut off from my friends, my boyfriend at the time, everybody. I’m sure they must have heard where I had gone, but they wouldn’t have had any way to contact me, and I certainly never contacted them. I never even considered it.”
“Until this weekend” is my first verbal contribution.
She nods. “Until this weekend. I’ve been nervous about going back, but when I saw how it was for you to get back into this house… I know it’s different because you never left this area… but it gave me extra motivation.
“And it was wonderful,” she continues. “Better than I could have imagined. Not just seeing my old friends, though that was great. It was about going home, about reconnecting with how I became who I am. I even met three cousins I never knew. I have family, Andy.”
“That’s great,” I say.
“I was stunned by the impact the whole thing had on me, Andy. When I drove past my grammar school, I started to cry.”
That impact and the resulting emotions are clear as a bell, and it makes me feel for her. For a moment I even stop thinking about myself and how whatever is going to be said will affect me. But only for a moment.
“I had a boyfriend named Sandy. Sandy Walsh.”
“Uh-oh,” I say involuntarily.
“He’s a businessman and sort of an unelected consultant to the town.”
“Married?”
“A less significant question would be hard to imagine,” Laurie says, “but no, he’s not married.”
I simply cannot stand the suspense anymore. “Laurie,” I say, “I’m a little nervous about where this is going, and you know how anxious I am to watch the eclipse, so can you get to the bottom line?”
She nods. “Sandy talked to the city manager, and they offered me a job. They’ve been aware of my career; I’m like a mini-hometown hero. A captain’s position is going to be opening up on the police force, and Chief Helling is approaching retirement age. If all goes well, I could be chief of police within two years. It’s not a huge department, but there are twelve officers, and they do real police work.”
Kaboom.
“You’re moving back to Findlay?” I ask.
“Right now all I’m doing is talking to you about it. The captain’s slot won’t open for at least three months, so Sandy is giving me plenty of time. He knows what a big decision this is.”
“That Sandy’s a sensitive guy,” I marvel.
“Andy, please don’t react this way. I’m talking to you because I trust you and I love you.”
