said, “I don’t want to be rude, but I hear my bed calling. You want to sit here and relax, I’ll give you another free beer.”
“My bed calls, too,” I said.
I snapped Sam’s gate and started back to Camille’s for my bike. I had a million things to do, with thirty hours before my flight south. I patted my pocket to make sure I still had Sam’s ten grand.
* * *
One message waited at the house. Duffy Lee Hall, on a problem with two of the film rolls. “It doesn’t look like your work, Alex. It looks like a mild wide-angle lens, with a light leak. I can salvage most of these, but they’re fogged and it won’t be pretty.”
The boat team member would be disappointed to learn that his waterproof camera wasn’t anything proof. I didn’t want to be attached to that problem. I decided to let Duffy Lee break the news to Dexter Hayes in the morning.
6
I WAS AWAKE MOST of the night, wide awake after five A.M. with my head in an old Elmore Leonard book. I worried for Teresa’s safety, and fought an urge to bike around town looking for the yellow BMW. My gut analysis was that I didn’t trust Whitney Randolph, so I didn’t trust Teresa in his company. But I feared if I found her and all was innocent, she would end our relationship out of embarrassment on short notice. My consoling thought was that there had been dozens of nights in past months when we hadn’t slept together. If she had seen other men, I never would’ve known. I had never felt betrayed, and after all that time, she had moved in with me. Common sense said that, if she had other interests, she’d have found a place of her own. Yet another voice warned that Randolph was a fresh interest who had shown up just as Teresa became my housemate.
The rising sun grayed the sky. I knew I’d be worthless for the day ahead. I closed my book and began a must-do list, including stashing Sam’s “king” grand and pulling my passport from the safe-deposit box. I wanted to buy a new backpack-style tote and a tripod carrying case. I needed two or three decent dinner shirts.
My brain stumbled when I attempted to prioritize the list.
She arrived in a cab a few minutes after six, in unwrinkled clothing. She walked in sober, bleary-eyed, biting her upper lip, looking defiant and guilty. She wanted to have the first word, but it wouldn’t come. All she could do was shrug, look sheepish, show me the hint of a teardrop, and disappear into the bathroom.
I waited in the rocker. My mind stayed blank out of fatigue. I sensed no inner guidance. I didn’t know whether to be patient or defiant myself. She came out wrapped in a beach towel, carrying her soap and brush.
Eye to eye, we shared a moment of silence.
I said, “This is a guy you used to work with?”
“Not exactly.”
I had phrased my question to nudge her toward the truth. I’d hoped for a different answer. It was my turn not to respond. I walked to the kitchen and began the coffee ritual that had kicked off many more pleasant mornings. I liked equal amounts of Folgers, Bustelo Cuban, and Starbucks. The blend offered flavor, kick, and geography. Just like Key West.
Teresa stood just outside the kitchen. Her defiance had returned. “Alex, if you can’t handle answers, don’t ask questions. What am I supposed to say, Whit and I have a ‘past,’ or some other word for it?”
“I could’ve stood the truth the first time through.”
“Think about your friend Buffett’s song. What is it, ‘Pre-You’ that talks about the people we used to date?”
“Date?” I said. “How about ‘boink,’ or some other useless euphemism, some other word for it?”
“I think the lyrics suggested that previous lovers were stepping-stones to where we are now.”
“How previous are we talking? I thought you majored in communications in college.”
“We are not talking, we’re arguing,” she said. “I didn’t major in fucking, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I meant what I said. Timely
“My bed calls, too,” I said.
I snapped Sam’s gate and started back to Camille’s for my bike. I had a million things to do, with thirty hours before my flight south. I patted my pocket to make sure I still had Sam’s ten grand.
* * *
One message waited at the house. Duffy Lee Hall, on a problem with two of the film rolls. “It doesn’t look like your work, Alex. It looks like a mild wide-angle lens, with a light leak. I can salvage most of these, but they’re fogged and it won’t be pretty.”
The boat team member would be disappointed to learn that his waterproof camera wasn’t anything proof. I didn’t want to be attached to that problem. I decided to let Duffy Lee break the news to Dexter Hayes in the morning.
6
I WAS AWAKE MOST of the night, wide awake after five A.M. with my head in an old Elmore Leonard book. I worried for Teresa’s safety, and fought an urge to bike around town looking for the yellow BMW. My gut analysis was that I didn’t trust Whitney Randolph, so I didn’t trust Teresa in his company. But I feared if I found her and all was innocent, she would end our relationship out of embarrassment on short notice. My consoling thought was that there had been dozens of nights in past months when we hadn’t slept together. If she had seen other men, I never would’ve known. I had never felt betrayed, and after all that time, she had moved in with me. Common sense said that, if she had other interests, she’d have found a place of her own. Yet another voice warned that Randolph was a fresh interest who had shown up just as Teresa became my housemate.
The rising sun grayed the sky. I knew I’d be worthless for the day ahead. I closed my book and began a must-do list, including stashing Sam’s “king” grand and pulling my passport from the safe-deposit box. I wanted to buy a new backpack-style tote and a tripod carrying case. I needed two or three decent dinner shirts.
My brain stumbled when I attempted to prioritize the list.
She arrived in a cab a few minutes after six, in unwrinkled clothing. She walked in sober, bleary-eyed, biting her upper lip, looking defiant and guilty. She wanted to have the first word, but it wouldn’t come. All she could do was shrug, look sheepish, show me the hint of a teardrop, and disappear into the bathroom.
I waited in the rocker. My mind stayed blank out of fatigue. I sensed no inner guidance. I didn’t know whether to be patient or defiant myself. She came out wrapped in a beach towel, carrying her soap and brush.
Eye to eye, we shared a moment of silence.
I said, “This is a guy you used to work with?”
“Not exactly.”
I had phrased my question to nudge her toward the truth. I’d hoped for a different answer. It was my turn not to respond. I walked to the kitchen and began the coffee ritual that had kicked off many more pleasant mornings. I liked equal amounts of Folgers, Bustelo Cuban, and Starbucks. The blend offered flavor, kick, and geography. Just like Key West.
Teresa stood just outside the kitchen. Her defiance had returned. “Alex, if you can’t handle answers, don’t ask questions. What am I supposed to say, Whit and I have a ‘past,’ or some other word for it?”
“I could’ve stood the truth the first time through.”
“Think about your friend Buffett’s song. What is it, ‘Pre-You’ that talks about the people we used to date?”
“Date?” I said. “How about ‘boink,’ or some other useless euphemism, some other word for it?”
“I think the lyrics suggested that previous lovers were stepping-stones to where we are now.”
“How previous are we talking? I thought you majored in communications in college.”
“We are not talking, we’re arguing,” she said. “I didn’t major in fucking, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I meant what I said. Timely
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