them! Here, sit down, you look feverish. Can I get you a sprig of mint? It’s very refreshing. Opens the passages.” Cricket is following his own advice, fanning himself and breathing deeply.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar. What is that ?” With a dainty finger, Cricket points to the swelling above her eye.
“Nothing. I hit my head. Some woman—” she begins, but stops. It’s too much to get into now. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll stop by tonight and catch you up on everything you’ve missed.”
“I won’t be there.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll be somewhere else.”
Bess can’t remember the last time Cricket went away overnight. She knows he doesn’t like to sleep anywhere other than on his own extra-firm, dust-free mattress, special-ordered from New York’s Lower East Side, approved by nine out of ten doctors and twelve rabbis according to the label Cricket won’t cut off because it says not to. “Why can’t you tell me where you’re going?”
“Oh, now suddenly you care about my well-being.”
Bess steps up to the front door. “Cricket, I hope it’s nothing serious and that you’re okay, but I really have to go. I’m supposed to be at my grandparents in half an hour. Call me from the road if you need me and let me know when you’re back, okay? I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Go away then. You’re dismissed. But write everything down that you must tell me. You have a terrible memory.”
Her apartment smells as musty and fermented as a frat house basement. She opens a window and double checks that her stereo is turned off. Her friends had been kind. They stripped her bed, rinsed and lined up the wine bottles for recycling, and wrapped the cheese in the fridge. There are still crushed chips in her rug and half-full plastic cups abandoned on shelves. She finds someone’s black sweater bunched in a corner, and on her pillow a business card that reads: “Harry Selwick, patent attorney.” She has to think about this for a minute. Harry Selwick? Oh, right, the divorcé who, toward the end of the night, interrupted a story she was telling to let her know he could see her nipples were hard. On the back of the card, Harry had written, “Call me.” Bess calls him several things as she tosses the card into the trash.
She has minutes to jump into the shower, get dressed, and get over to the lot where she reserved a Zipcar for the day, but she allows herself a moment to strum the strings of her banjo and think about Rory. Perhaps this is the time to squelch her pride and try and find him. If she is supposed to be learning anything in karate it’s to have confidence. Confidence, she says aloud, clapping to the syllables. Con. Fi. Dence.
Chapter Six
I didn’t mean to hurt Lorraine. She was such an innocent girl and I was a real ass. But then that’s just it, isn’t it? Nice and innocent—don’t we so often use those words with a tinge of disdain? When there isn’t a whole lot of substance there to grab on to? Listen to me, still the ass. But you know what I mean, right? No edge? Maybe she had an edge, I don’t know. Maybe at the time I wasn’t looking for an edge. I was looking for someone calm and steady, that’s what I needed. They say with distance you’re supposed to get perspective, but it seems harder to do with Lorraine and the way I was then.
I met her at church. I wanted to leave Boston and get a fresh start with my green card, so I traveled west, found myself in Toledo one day and landed a job at a computer company. This was in, let’s see, 1984. I had taken classes on music and literature and even television production, but I ended up with a college degree in computers, mostly because it was a new field back then and it seemed the most practical. Practical . Maybe Maggie was still in my head then, I don’t know.
I was feeling kind of lost and decided to go to confession and unload some of the things I’d been thinking about my marriages, you know, to get
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar. What is that ?” With a dainty finger, Cricket points to the swelling above her eye.
“Nothing. I hit my head. Some woman—” she begins, but stops. It’s too much to get into now. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll stop by tonight and catch you up on everything you’ve missed.”
“I won’t be there.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll be somewhere else.”
Bess can’t remember the last time Cricket went away overnight. She knows he doesn’t like to sleep anywhere other than on his own extra-firm, dust-free mattress, special-ordered from New York’s Lower East Side, approved by nine out of ten doctors and twelve rabbis according to the label Cricket won’t cut off because it says not to. “Why can’t you tell me where you’re going?”
“Oh, now suddenly you care about my well-being.”
Bess steps up to the front door. “Cricket, I hope it’s nothing serious and that you’re okay, but I really have to go. I’m supposed to be at my grandparents in half an hour. Call me from the road if you need me and let me know when you’re back, okay? I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Go away then. You’re dismissed. But write everything down that you must tell me. You have a terrible memory.”
Her apartment smells as musty and fermented as a frat house basement. She opens a window and double checks that her stereo is turned off. Her friends had been kind. They stripped her bed, rinsed and lined up the wine bottles for recycling, and wrapped the cheese in the fridge. There are still crushed chips in her rug and half-full plastic cups abandoned on shelves. She finds someone’s black sweater bunched in a corner, and on her pillow a business card that reads: “Harry Selwick, patent attorney.” She has to think about this for a minute. Harry Selwick? Oh, right, the divorcé who, toward the end of the night, interrupted a story she was telling to let her know he could see her nipples were hard. On the back of the card, Harry had written, “Call me.” Bess calls him several things as she tosses the card into the trash.
She has minutes to jump into the shower, get dressed, and get over to the lot where she reserved a Zipcar for the day, but she allows herself a moment to strum the strings of her banjo and think about Rory. Perhaps this is the time to squelch her pride and try and find him. If she is supposed to be learning anything in karate it’s to have confidence. Confidence, she says aloud, clapping to the syllables. Con. Fi. Dence.
Chapter Six
I didn’t mean to hurt Lorraine. She was such an innocent girl and I was a real ass. But then that’s just it, isn’t it? Nice and innocent—don’t we so often use those words with a tinge of disdain? When there isn’t a whole lot of substance there to grab on to? Listen to me, still the ass. But you know what I mean, right? No edge? Maybe she had an edge, I don’t know. Maybe at the time I wasn’t looking for an edge. I was looking for someone calm and steady, that’s what I needed. They say with distance you’re supposed to get perspective, but it seems harder to do with Lorraine and the way I was then.
I met her at church. I wanted to leave Boston and get a fresh start with my green card, so I traveled west, found myself in Toledo one day and landed a job at a computer company. This was in, let’s see, 1984. I had taken classes on music and literature and even television production, but I ended up with a college degree in computers, mostly because it was a new field back then and it seemed the most practical. Practical . Maybe Maggie was still in my head then, I don’t know.
I was feeling kind of lost and decided to go to confession and unload some of the things I’d been thinking about my marriages, you know, to get
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