You remember how exciting it was to come to class and see a film projector set up? Well, a field trip to Garvises’ creamery was even better. Those were really good days.”
Claire leaned against him, but focused on staunching the ice cream that dribbled down the sides of her cone. Some of it clung to the lower rim of her sunglasses after she tried to catch a hesitant trickle with her darting tongue. She wasn’t licking the ice cream as much as it was licking her.
Claire, a normally dignified woman seldom at the mercy of undignified circumstances, was fighting a losing battle with an ice cream cone.
“If I eat any faster, I’m gonna get a brain freeze. You’ve got to help me here,” she begged.
Mildly exasperated, Claire surrendered what was left of the dribbling cone to her husband and wiped her long fingers with a wadded paper napkin. Her tongue made a quick round trip around her chilled lips, which she dabbed at the corners with her napkin. Claire wasn’t dainty, but whether she had just stepped out of the shower or was preparing to go grocery shopping, she had a scrupulous way of making herself look fresh without much makeup or primping.
Morgan did his best to finish the ice cream before it dissolved in the summer night, then tossed what remained of the soggy cone in a trash barrel chained to a nearby honeylocust tree.
“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” he offered.
He held her hand as they walked slowly, listening to children playing in the fading light. A meadowlark trilled from somewhere high in the trees until a teen-ager in a bright yellow Camaro rumbled past them on the street, his robust stereo woofer thumping like an inside-out kettle drum on mag wheels.
The pumping bass faded away and again the meadowlark sang a lilting soprano refrain.
“Listen, Claire, I’m sorry I’ve been so wrapped up with the paper,” Morgan said. “I don’t know where the time goes. It seems like we just get the paper to bed and it’s deadline time again. I didn’t mean for you to share so much of me with the paper.”
“Things will slow down,” she said. “I’m with you all the way on this, Jeff. You’ve got to know that. We’ll do just fine. Try not to bite off more than you can chew. Just one scoop at a time, okay?”
Claire could be funny, even hilarious, but it took a good listener. Her humor was often cerebral where Morgan’s was frisky.
“I’ve been too pre-occupied to show you how happy I am about the baby, I mean, you and me and the baby. It seems like one thing after another ... the move, taking over the paper, this murder thing ...”
Finally, he heard her little joke. “One scoop. I get it. Sorry.”
Claire squeezed his hand and kept the conversation moving.
“The murder thing. What’s new with that?”
“Trey Kerrigan isn’t going to be much help. He’s pissed off because I won’t endorse him.”
“You won’t? Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know if I won’t. I just told him I wasn’t sure I’d be doing endorsements.”
“Wimp.”
“Hey, what the hell good does it do for some newcomer to start throwing his political opinions around as if he knows what the hell is going on? I just don’t think it would be credible. That’s no way to start off in a new job.”
“That’s crap, Jeff,” she said. “You grew up here. You know these people. You know their politics. I just think you’re afraid you might rock the boat a little. You kicked ass in Chicago where nobody knew you, and now you’re chickening out just when you can make a real difference as a newspaperman. You need to loosen up and do what you do. Let the Force be with you.”
“Thanks, Yoda,” he said sheepishly. “I notice how effortlessly you dispatched Darth the Sugar Cone back there. Do you think you can teach me that tongue thing?”
“Watch it, Luke, or you and your light-saber will never see my tongue again.”
They laughed
Claire leaned against him, but focused on staunching the ice cream that dribbled down the sides of her cone. Some of it clung to the lower rim of her sunglasses after she tried to catch a hesitant trickle with her darting tongue. She wasn’t licking the ice cream as much as it was licking her.
Claire, a normally dignified woman seldom at the mercy of undignified circumstances, was fighting a losing battle with an ice cream cone.
“If I eat any faster, I’m gonna get a brain freeze. You’ve got to help me here,” she begged.
Mildly exasperated, Claire surrendered what was left of the dribbling cone to her husband and wiped her long fingers with a wadded paper napkin. Her tongue made a quick round trip around her chilled lips, which she dabbed at the corners with her napkin. Claire wasn’t dainty, but whether she had just stepped out of the shower or was preparing to go grocery shopping, she had a scrupulous way of making herself look fresh without much makeup or primping.
Morgan did his best to finish the ice cream before it dissolved in the summer night, then tossed what remained of the soggy cone in a trash barrel chained to a nearby honeylocust tree.
“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” he offered.
He held her hand as they walked slowly, listening to children playing in the fading light. A meadowlark trilled from somewhere high in the trees until a teen-ager in a bright yellow Camaro rumbled past them on the street, his robust stereo woofer thumping like an inside-out kettle drum on mag wheels.
The pumping bass faded away and again the meadowlark sang a lilting soprano refrain.
“Listen, Claire, I’m sorry I’ve been so wrapped up with the paper,” Morgan said. “I don’t know where the time goes. It seems like we just get the paper to bed and it’s deadline time again. I didn’t mean for you to share so much of me with the paper.”
“Things will slow down,” she said. “I’m with you all the way on this, Jeff. You’ve got to know that. We’ll do just fine. Try not to bite off more than you can chew. Just one scoop at a time, okay?”
Claire could be funny, even hilarious, but it took a good listener. Her humor was often cerebral where Morgan’s was frisky.
“I’ve been too pre-occupied to show you how happy I am about the baby, I mean, you and me and the baby. It seems like one thing after another ... the move, taking over the paper, this murder thing ...”
Finally, he heard her little joke. “One scoop. I get it. Sorry.”
Claire squeezed his hand and kept the conversation moving.
“The murder thing. What’s new with that?”
“Trey Kerrigan isn’t going to be much help. He’s pissed off because I won’t endorse him.”
“You won’t? Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know if I won’t. I just told him I wasn’t sure I’d be doing endorsements.”
“Wimp.”
“Hey, what the hell good does it do for some newcomer to start throwing his political opinions around as if he knows what the hell is going on? I just don’t think it would be credible. That’s no way to start off in a new job.”
“That’s crap, Jeff,” she said. “You grew up here. You know these people. You know their politics. I just think you’re afraid you might rock the boat a little. You kicked ass in Chicago where nobody knew you, and now you’re chickening out just when you can make a real difference as a newspaperman. You need to loosen up and do what you do. Let the Force be with you.”
“Thanks, Yoda,” he said sheepishly. “I notice how effortlessly you dispatched Darth the Sugar Cone back there. Do you think you can teach me that tongue thing?”
“Watch it, Luke, or you and your light-saber will never see my tongue again.”
They laughed
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