Osborne said finally.
Ray nodded, then turned his head sideways to look at Osborne. “Doc, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you….”
“Shoot.” Osborne hoped to hell he wasn’t going to ask him how to raise children.
“Why did you stay married to Mary Lee?”
That was a bullet out of the blue. Osborne turned away from his friend to stare into the velvet blackness. Tiny pinpoints of light stood out on the far shore. A cloud cover overhead shut out the stars. Osborne paused before he spoke. “I’ve never discussed this with anyone, Ray, you know that. Not even myself, I guess. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Ray waited.
“Okay … I’ll talk about it on one condition: You promise not to touch that bottle again.”
A long, long wait. The water was silent. No voices whispered in the tall pines guarding the shore behind them.
“Okey-doke.” Osborne heard a rustling and saw the outline of an arm arc overhead. A soft plop and the pint bottle sank into the weed bed ten yards out from the dock.
“I like to think I’m an honorable man,” said Osborne. “I keep my promises. It’s as simple as that. My generation, Ray, whether it was the Depression or the wars or growing up Irish Catholic, I don’t know … We weren’t raised to feel we had the choices you have.”
“Even though you were miserable.”
“Being happy wasn’t the issue. Being responsible was.”
“ ‘All men lead lives of quiet desperation'?”
“Something along that line. Who said that, anyway, Thoreau? G. K. Chesterton?”
“David Letterman.”
“Baloney.”
“You were happy being unhappy.”
“No. I had no alternatives, Ray. I made my living here, I had children to raise. Loon Lake has been my home since I was a young man. I could never see changing one thing without changing everything. Why are you asking me this tonight?”
“I’m trying to figure out how I messed up, Doc. I mean, what the hell do I think I’m doing? I fish, I dig graves, and now some poor kid finds out he’s got me for a father. I feel … I feel … I have nothing to offer this boy, Doc.” Despair edged his voice like a tear down a cheek. “Now, someone like you, someone who has always done the right thing—”
“The right thing? Hold on. Let me finish what I was saying,” said Osborne. “I kept my promises, all right, but it was the easy way out. I wasn’t fair to Mary Lee those last years. To be married to her and to feel about her the way I did. I can tell you I was an honorable man, but I can’t tell you that I am proud of that. Does keeping promises mean I never made a mistake? I don’t think so. Strange as it may seem, I envy you , Ray. You live an honest life.”
“O-o-h, I don’t know about that,” said Ray. “I’ve made promises. Lots of promises.” He was leaning forward, right elbow on one knee, his chin cupped in his hand. Osborne figured he was thinking back to when he was eighteen on a warm summer night, promising Elise whatever it took to get what he wanted. “I’ve kept none. Not a one.”
“Now that’s not true,” said Osborne. “You’re being a little too hard on yourself, don’t you think?”
“Name one I’ve kept.”
“You promised me that if I stayed off the booze, you would show me your secret weed bed over on Dog Lake. And you did.”
“That’s true, I did, didn’t I?”
“You’ve kept many promises, Ray. You’re a good man.”
“I’d like to be a good father. I’d like to not embarrass the kid, y’know?” Ray stood up and stretched. “Thanks, Doc. Time for bed. And no booze … I promise.” He picked up his chair and started to walk north toward his own property. When he reached the path he could follow through the trees to his trailer, Osborne called out.
“Ray,” he said softly, knowing his voice carried through the still air. Ray paused on the rise above him, his face hidden in the shadows. “I didn’t keep all my promises. Look at
Ray nodded, then turned his head sideways to look at Osborne. “Doc, there’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you….”
“Shoot.” Osborne hoped to hell he wasn’t going to ask him how to raise children.
“Why did you stay married to Mary Lee?”
That was a bullet out of the blue. Osborne turned away from his friend to stare into the velvet blackness. Tiny pinpoints of light stood out on the far shore. A cloud cover overhead shut out the stars. Osborne paused before he spoke. “I’ve never discussed this with anyone, Ray, you know that. Not even myself, I guess. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Ray waited.
“Okay … I’ll talk about it on one condition: You promise not to touch that bottle again.”
A long, long wait. The water was silent. No voices whispered in the tall pines guarding the shore behind them.
“Okey-doke.” Osborne heard a rustling and saw the outline of an arm arc overhead. A soft plop and the pint bottle sank into the weed bed ten yards out from the dock.
“I like to think I’m an honorable man,” said Osborne. “I keep my promises. It’s as simple as that. My generation, Ray, whether it was the Depression or the wars or growing up Irish Catholic, I don’t know … We weren’t raised to feel we had the choices you have.”
“Even though you were miserable.”
“Being happy wasn’t the issue. Being responsible was.”
“ ‘All men lead lives of quiet desperation'?”
“Something along that line. Who said that, anyway, Thoreau? G. K. Chesterton?”
“David Letterman.”
“Baloney.”
“You were happy being unhappy.”
“No. I had no alternatives, Ray. I made my living here, I had children to raise. Loon Lake has been my home since I was a young man. I could never see changing one thing without changing everything. Why are you asking me this tonight?”
“I’m trying to figure out how I messed up, Doc. I mean, what the hell do I think I’m doing? I fish, I dig graves, and now some poor kid finds out he’s got me for a father. I feel … I feel … I have nothing to offer this boy, Doc.” Despair edged his voice like a tear down a cheek. “Now, someone like you, someone who has always done the right thing—”
“The right thing? Hold on. Let me finish what I was saying,” said Osborne. “I kept my promises, all right, but it was the easy way out. I wasn’t fair to Mary Lee those last years. To be married to her and to feel about her the way I did. I can tell you I was an honorable man, but I can’t tell you that I am proud of that. Does keeping promises mean I never made a mistake? I don’t think so. Strange as it may seem, I envy you , Ray. You live an honest life.”
“O-o-h, I don’t know about that,” said Ray. “I’ve made promises. Lots of promises.” He was leaning forward, right elbow on one knee, his chin cupped in his hand. Osborne figured he was thinking back to when he was eighteen on a warm summer night, promising Elise whatever it took to get what he wanted. “I’ve kept none. Not a one.”
“Now that’s not true,” said Osborne. “You’re being a little too hard on yourself, don’t you think?”
“Name one I’ve kept.”
“You promised me that if I stayed off the booze, you would show me your secret weed bed over on Dog Lake. And you did.”
“That’s true, I did, didn’t I?”
“You’ve kept many promises, Ray. You’re a good man.”
“I’d like to be a good father. I’d like to not embarrass the kid, y’know?” Ray stood up and stretched. “Thanks, Doc. Time for bed. And no booze … I promise.” He picked up his chair and started to walk north toward his own property. When he reached the path he could follow through the trees to his trailer, Osborne called out.
“Ray,” he said softly, knowing his voice carried through the still air. Ray paused on the rise above him, his face hidden in the shadows. “I didn’t keep all my promises. Look at
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