Read Online Onward Toward What We're Going Toward by Ryan Bartelmay - Free Book Online

He was shy. What would Jane have said?
    Green had spent twenty-five years working at the Las Vegas Bank and Trust, but after Jane died two years, four months, and sixteen days ago, he retired from the bank and got rid of his cardigan sweaters, khaki pants, and button-up Oxford shirts. A sixty-six-year-old in a cardigan sweater and a turtleneck was somebody’s uncle, and no woman wanted to date somebody’s uncle. Lately, Green had been telling women he was a bookie.
This was halftrue. In his life as a bank teller, he’d kept records—“books”—and moved money from this “hand” to that “hand,” so he sorta was a bookie, kind of. Plus, he thought, telling someone he was a bank teller sounded a little, well, a little boring.
    After Mary won her fourth straight game, Green finally slid off his barstool. He was a big man, about six foot two and thick around the middle like a steak eater. Mary had her back to him, talking to a guy wearing a Runnin’ Rebels sweatshirt. Green walked over and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned around, the bartender pushed play on the CD player. (Green had tipped him twenty-five bucks.) It was Randy Travis covering Hank Williams’s “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.” Mary let Green pull her close. He smelled like breath mints. All the railbirds hushed. A bowling ball rolled down the lane and crashed into the pins. Green moved his giant hand down to the small of her back and whispered, “I want to take you to dinner.”
    In the parking lot, Green unlocked the door of his Ford minivan. He could tell Mary liked that he unlocked the door for her. Jane had been the same way. She’d never asked him to do things but had an expectation he’d do them. He had to have ESP, or at least, always be studying her face for the slightest hint of those expectations. Jane and Green had met in a divorcee support group, and after a few months of dating, Green moved out of his one-bedroom apartment and into her trailer—an Airstream with an above-ground pool. Jane liked to sunbathe in the nude next to the pool, and some of Green’s fondest memories were coming home from the bank and walking up the deck stairs to find her soaking up the Nevada sunshine. He loved how she waved, rolling her fingers. They were married twenty-one years before she got cancer.
    Mary liked how this was starting out. At the diner, a twenty-four-hour greasy spoon, he ordered for her—pancakes and eggs and a mug of decaf coffee. How did he know she wanted decaf?
    â€œIf you drink regular, you’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

    â€œHow do you know I want to sleep?” She smiled, and he smiled. The waitress dropped off their food, two steaming plates of eggs and pancakes with an orange wedge and a sprig of parsley on the side. Mary picked up the hot sauce and bathed her eggs in it. Green watched her for a while, then finally said, “How about we get married?”
    Mary almost spit out her eggs.
    He took off his gold wristwatch and scooted out of the booth and knelt down. “Mary . . . what’s your last name? Actually, forget your last name. You’re going to change it anyway. Have you ever been married?”
    She noticed how big his hands were as he tried to fit the watch on her wrist. He seemed like a guy who could take care of things.
    Green was having trouble fitting the watch around her wrist. She was a big woman with wrists like plumbing pipes. “We’ll get a bigger band. Or, you know what, I’ll get you a ring. You probably want a ring.”
    â€œI’d like a ring.”
    â€œSo that’s a yes?”
    The loud voice said, Do it. Yes. Marry him. The whisper voice said, You don’t even know this guy. The loud voice said, Who cares? This is your chance, maybe your last chance. The whisper voice said, Get to know him. Play it slow. The loud voice said, Marry him. He held the door open for