puzzled her. She didn’t see me as much of a caretaker, and yet there I was, winging off to Vegas every time Augie had so much as a cold. He’s more like a brother, I had told her, and she seemed satisfied with that.
“Is he sick?” she said. “Is he depressed?”
“He’s dead.”
“Jon?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Jon. You poor thing. How?”
“How you would expect.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“So am I, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? It just gets you thinking about things. I never got a chance to tell him that I loved him. That I was sorry the way things turned out. That I wish I had been a better friend.”
“But you
were
a good friend to Augie. Surprisingly, shockingly good.”
“Not as good as I could have been. I let things get between us. I saw him more as a burden than as a crucial part of my life. Something to be handled. As things got messier I pulled away when I should have been stepping up. I let the detritus of life get between us, and I’m sorry for that.”
She pushed herself off the refrigerator, stepped toward me with her arms out. “Jon, sweetie, come here.”
I stepped toward her and I let her hug me and it felt good, letting myself be hugged, just standing there with my tears while my wife hugged me. I felt small just then, a little boy being hugged by his mother—not my mother, I don’t remember her ever hugging me, but some idealized figure of a mother. I felt safe, loved, cocooned.
“We don’t have to go out tonight,” she whispered. “We can stay in. I’ll call Denise and cancel. We’ll stay home and talk it out. About Augie, I mean.”
But she meant more, didn’t she? Something had cracked in the barrier of habit between us and there it was, a final gift from Augie, an opening toward my wife. For what? Who knew, but it was there, for an instant. What scared me more, the thugs from Vegas or that opening? But what could I do? For everyone’s benefit I had to disappear, I had to meet Harry, I had things to plan, there wasn’t enough time.
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “We should go out. Thad’s been looking forward to it.”
“Is that what he said?”
“Yeah. We’ll go out, we’ll laugh, we’ll forget about things. We promised.”
“All right, sweetie, if you insist. But we can leave early, come home, spend some time together, talk.”
“That would be nice, really nice,” I said, enjoying the last hug with my wife before I pushed myself away. “But I can’t. Maybe Thad and Denise can drive you home from the restaurant.”
She stepped back, stepped away, stared at me.
“I have to leave a little early,” I said, missing the hug, but plowing on like a plow horse. “I have to meet someone at ten.”
“Who?”
“Harry.”
“Your boating friend? Why?”
“He’s having trouble with a loan.”
“Why tonight?”
“He’s desperate.”
“And he thinks you can help?”
“He’s grasping at straws.”
“He’s not the only one,” she said.
An instant before, the atmosphere in our kitchen had crackled with opportunity. Now it was suffused with our usual brew of bitterness and suspicion. Caitlin had opened herself to me and I had kicked the opening back into her face so that, as far as she knew, I could get drunk with Harry. And there it went, my last chance to win back my wife, gone, another sacrifice upon the altar of what I had done with my two best friends twenty-five years before.
14. Stems
I T WAS A UGIE’S idea to break into the Grubbins house, a matter of fairness, he said. Augie, our bent wheeler-dealer, talking about fairness was like…well, yeah, exactly. And the whole thing was a harebrained scheme from the start. I mean, of all the houses in Pitchford to break into, only a drug-addled fool would pick the Grubbins house, which explains how Augie came up with the idea.
We were seventeen, still hanging out together, bonded like brothers, a crew of our own, the immortal three. We had found a place for ourselves in the woods
“Is he sick?” she said. “Is he depressed?”
“He’s dead.”
“Jon?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Jon. You poor thing. How?”
“How you would expect.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“So am I, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? It just gets you thinking about things. I never got a chance to tell him that I loved him. That I was sorry the way things turned out. That I wish I had been a better friend.”
“But you
were
a good friend to Augie. Surprisingly, shockingly good.”
“Not as good as I could have been. I let things get between us. I saw him more as a burden than as a crucial part of my life. Something to be handled. As things got messier I pulled away when I should have been stepping up. I let the detritus of life get between us, and I’m sorry for that.”
She pushed herself off the refrigerator, stepped toward me with her arms out. “Jon, sweetie, come here.”
I stepped toward her and I let her hug me and it felt good, letting myself be hugged, just standing there with my tears while my wife hugged me. I felt small just then, a little boy being hugged by his mother—not my mother, I don’t remember her ever hugging me, but some idealized figure of a mother. I felt safe, loved, cocooned.
“We don’t have to go out tonight,” she whispered. “We can stay in. I’ll call Denise and cancel. We’ll stay home and talk it out. About Augie, I mean.”
But she meant more, didn’t she? Something had cracked in the barrier of habit between us and there it was, a final gift from Augie, an opening toward my wife. For what? Who knew, but it was there, for an instant. What scared me more, the thugs from Vegas or that opening? But what could I do? For everyone’s benefit I had to disappear, I had to meet Harry, I had things to plan, there wasn’t enough time.
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “We should go out. Thad’s been looking forward to it.”
“Is that what he said?”
“Yeah. We’ll go out, we’ll laugh, we’ll forget about things. We promised.”
“All right, sweetie, if you insist. But we can leave early, come home, spend some time together, talk.”
“That would be nice, really nice,” I said, enjoying the last hug with my wife before I pushed myself away. “But I can’t. Maybe Thad and Denise can drive you home from the restaurant.”
She stepped back, stepped away, stared at me.
“I have to leave a little early,” I said, missing the hug, but plowing on like a plow horse. “I have to meet someone at ten.”
“Who?”
“Harry.”
“Your boating friend? Why?”
“He’s having trouble with a loan.”
“Why tonight?”
“He’s desperate.”
“And he thinks you can help?”
“He’s grasping at straws.”
“He’s not the only one,” she said.
An instant before, the atmosphere in our kitchen had crackled with opportunity. Now it was suffused with our usual brew of bitterness and suspicion. Caitlin had opened herself to me and I had kicked the opening back into her face so that, as far as she knew, I could get drunk with Harry. And there it went, my last chance to win back my wife, gone, another sacrifice upon the altar of what I had done with my two best friends twenty-five years before.
14. Stems
I T WAS A UGIE’S idea to break into the Grubbins house, a matter of fairness, he said. Augie, our bent wheeler-dealer, talking about fairness was like…well, yeah, exactly. And the whole thing was a harebrained scheme from the start. I mean, of all the houses in Pitchford to break into, only a drug-addled fool would pick the Grubbins house, which explains how Augie came up with the idea.
We were seventeen, still hanging out together, bonded like brothers, a crew of our own, the immortal three. We had found a place for ourselves in the woods
Similar Books
