“Sure.”
In high school, everyone at their caf table used to tease her about not eating meat – she used to say, If it had a face or a mother, I don’t want it on my plate. And she stuck to her guns. That was one of the things Jack had found attractive about her. She walked her own road.
“Well, now she’s a total vegan – won’t eat anything that’s even been in contact with anything that moves on its own. I mean, she won’t even eat cheese, Jack. And she’s like totally into this whole radical feminism thing.”
“Well, she always leaned that way. That’s why she chose Berkeley in the first place.”
“Would you believe she sent me a card for Emma Goldman’s birthday?”
Jack had to laugh. “Oh, no.”
“At least you know who she is. I had to look her up. She was some kind of anarchist! I could see the signs of something going on when she came home after freshman year, but–”
Jack held up his hands. “Whoa! After freshman year? But she stayed out west.”
Cristin lowered her head. “Crap.”
“What?”
“You weren’t ever supposed to know.”
“You mean she came home but didn’t tell me? But those times when I called her house and her parents told me…”
Cristin shook her head sadly. “They said what Karina told them to say. Truth was, she was involved with someone else at the time. She didn’t want you to know and didn’t want to face you.”
Jack leaned back. This was a couple of years gone – the summer of ’88. Seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet it still hurt.
Karina Haddon had been his first love. They’d both lost their virginity to each other over the summer between sophomore and junior year and spent the rest of high school joined at the hip. A tearful good-bye in August of ’87, with Jack unable to understand why she had to go to a college all the way out in California, and Karina unable to imagine going anywhere else but Berkeley. A flurry of letters and phone calls during the first semester, a passionate reunion at Christmas break, followed by a slowing of communications during the spring, but a promise of catching up during the summer. Then the first bombshell: She wouldn’t be coming home for the summer. She’d offered a plausible explanation: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for an extended field trip through the southwest with a famous professor to study Indian cultures and volunteer at the reservations.
“So the whole field-trip story was a lie.”
Cristin nodded. She looked embarrassed. “That was to keep you from flying out to Berkeley to see her.”
“It worked. Because that’s exactly what I would have done.” He shook his head. “Sheesh. I believed every word.”
“Come on, Jack,” she said, her expression dubious. “You must have had some inkling.”
“Well, it made her priorities clear, but I never thought she’d found somebody else.”
“You mean you didn’t hook up with anyone at Rutgers during that first year? You had to miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“Sex.”
Cristin apparently didn’t believe in mincing words.
“Well, yeah, of course. And I had opportunities, but…”
She reached across the table and put a hand over his. “Faithful Jack. I knew it.”
Her touch felt good. And then he realized something.
“Hey, wait a minute. If she was involved with someone else out there, why was she back here?”
“Jack, it was years ago. The details blur… it was just for a week or so. I can tell you she said over and over how she was going to drive down to Johnson, show up at your door, and tell you face to face. But she kept putting it off and before we knew it, she was flying back west.”
“The ‘Dear Jack’ letter arrived in September.”
The second bombshell, a bigger blow than the field trip. And yet not a terrible surprise. After no word from her all summer, he’d suspected something was wrong. But seeing it in black and white… she hit all the it’s-me-not-you clichés, though they seemed sincere. He’d filled up when she’d told him he was her first love and might very well end up being the best love of her life.
“Do you see her at all?”
She gave her head a quick shake. “She was back in Tabernacle last Christmas. She called but we never got together. We swap letters once in a while, and she’ll send a card now and then. Sent me a copy of something called The Female Eunuch for my birthday.”
“Wow. Happy birthday to you. Did you read it?”
“No way. The title turned me off.” She shook her head. “She’s a different person from the Karina we grew up with.”
“That was the gist of her ‘Dear Jack.’ She said she’d become a different person over the year and we both had to move on.” He shrugged. “And it looks like we have.”
She seemed to be studying him. “And you’re all right with that?”
He hadn’t been. Took him a long time to adjust.
“I wasn’t given much choice in the matter. She was an important person in my life. It hurt like hell – would have hurt even more if I’d known she’d been hooked up with someone else – but I wasn’t about to start stalking her.”
Their salads arrived. Cristin attacked hers. Jack poked at his strips of ham, Swiss, and turkey, wishing it were a bacon cheeseburger. He started on the sliced boiled egg. After a few bites, Cristin looked up.
“So, you’re over her?”
He nodded. “It’s been two years. Time helps. How about you? Anybody serious?”
She shook her head. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m not ready for one. Maybe when I grow up, but not now.” She frowned. “I might not ever grow up.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
She laughed. “I’ve kind of got my own thing going here and I don’t want some guy horning in.”
He remembered Cristin had been pretty popular in high school. A reputation for being easy might have contributed to that.
Hot-to-trot Ott.
“In other words, no strings.”
She beamed. “Exactly.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m sort of in that position myself.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Don’t want a woman in your life?”
“It’s not gender specific.”
Now a puzzled look. “I don’t get it.”
He knew it was going to sound weird, but he had to bring this up.
“I cut a bunch of strings earlier this year. I don’t want them reattached.”
“Still not following you.”
“I don’t want to get into the details, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself that you saw me.”
She leaned forward, eyes bright. “You’re on the lam?”
He smiled. “Did you really just say ‘on the lam’?”
“Yes! You committed some terrible crime and you’re hiding out, right?”
“No, I–”
“You’re running from the mob, then. You’re in witness protection and–”
He laughed. “Cristin, I’m not on the run from anyone. I swear.”
Except maybe the old me.
“Then why don’t you want me to mention I saw you?”
“It’s complicated. I’m not even sure I know myself… not entirely. But please… it’s a privacy thing.”
“Privacy…” She nodded. “I can buy into that – one hundred percent. And easy to do. I mean, who would I mention it to anyway? I don’t know your family, and don’t think my folks ever met you. Though I most likely would have mentioned it to Karina next time I wrote her.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“I won’t. Promise. But why? I mean, is it Karina? You’re not like getting into some kind of monk thing, swearing off sex and all that.”
“No. Told you: I’m way over her.”
“It’s what happened to your mother then.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Ohmygod. I’m sorry. I sh
ould just shut up and eat.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Unlike the Karina thing, I have not gotten over that – it’s way early yet – but I’m not huddling in some room in a ball of grief. Like I said, it’s complicated. Can we just leave it at that?”
“Sure.” Another smile. “For now.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m going to find out.”
“It’s no big secret, Cristin. I simply want people from my past to stay in the past.”
She looked down and concentrated on her salad. “Oh.”
“What?”
“I guess that means me.”
He then realized what he’d said. “Aw, jeez. I didn’t mean–”
“Of course you did. Sorry for intruding.”
“No, listen.” He reached across and grabbed her hand.
She pulled it free. “No, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. Let me back up a bit. Confession time: I did see you last night and I ducked into the elevator to avoid you.”
“Thanks a lot.” She kept her head down.
“Don’t take it personally. It wasn’t because of who you are, it was because of where you’re from. I didn’t want anyone from home going back and saying they saw me. But you know what? I’m glad I came back and ran into you. I’m glad we’re sitting here together. Because you’re safe.”
Finally she looked up. “Safe?”
“We don’t have a history, you and I. We have a mutual friend and that’s about it.”
“So?”
He wanted to tell her, So you met the old Jack but didn’t really know him. So you can’t make comparisons to the new Jack… the new Jack taking shape here… whoever he might be.
But he said, “So whatever we know about each other is only second hand.”
“True, I guess.” A small smile. “But I bet I’ve got lots more second-hand dirt than you.”
“Yeah?”
She shrugged. “Girls talk.”
Of course they do. True as that was, it hadn’t occurred to him. He wondered how detailed Karina had been about him… them.
“But whatever you know or think you know is old news. In a way we’re starting fresh. We can go on from here as if we just met.”
She smiled. “You mean make it like a game?”
Not for me.
“You’re into games?”
The smile broadened as she nodded. “Love them.” She extended her right hand across the table. “Pleased to meet you, Jack. I don’t believe I caught your last name.”
He shook her hand. “Moore. Jack Moore.”
She frowned. “Hey, that’s not–”
“It is now.”
“Should I change my name too?”
“No. I am known as Jack Moore now. Really.”
She cocked her head. “You sure you’re not on the run?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Then what–?”
“It’s really not that interesting, I swear.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A man of mystery. I like that. But not for long. Told you, I’ll find out.”
“You’re going to be disappointed.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She flagged down the waitress and borrowed a pen. She scribbled on a paper napkin and slid it across.
“My number. What’s yours, Mister Moore?”
Jack hesitated. This was kind of embarrassing. “I don’t have a phone at the moment.”
“What? Oh, I see. You don’t want to give it to me.”
“No-no-no. I really don’t have a phone.”
“As the saying goes, my birth certificate has a date, but it’s not yesterday. Everybody has a phone.”
“Jack Moore has no credit history, no bank account, no Social Security number. If you know of a phone company that’ll take him on, let me know.”
“So there’s no way to get in touch with you?”
He told her about the phone in the hall outside his room and gave her that number.
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’d want to live like that.”
“Obviously it’s not for everybody, but I’m okay with it.”
He signaled to the waitress to bring the check. When it arrived, Cristin reached for it but Jack got there first.
“My treat,” she said.
Jack cupped a hand behind an ear. “I missed that. What did you say?”
“Lunch was my idea, so–”
“Your lips are moving but I can’t seem to hear a word you’re saying.”
He pulled a C-note from the roll in his pocket and laid it on the table with the check.
“I thought you might not have a phone because you couldn’t afford it,” she said, eyeing the bill, “but I guess not.” Her gaze lifted. “You never did say how you were making ends meet.”
The dreaded question he’d hoped to avoid.
“Making deliveries.”
The waitress picked up the money.
“Must pay well.”
“The tips are good.”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “We’re not talking drugs, are we?”
“Not unless you consider nicotine a drug.”
“I do, but at least it’s legal.” Nodding toward a guy puffing away and creating a cloud around a nearby table, she grimaced and waved a hand in front of her face. “Though I wish it weren‘t.”
Jack had never got smoking either. He’d tried it but hadn’t liked the feeling.
He said, “It’s not a job I want to do forever, but it pays the bills for now. I’m living below my means and socking the rest away for when I grow up.”
She laughed. “I hear you. I don’t want to be planning parties the rest of my life, but I make a good living doing something that most of the time doesn’t seem like work.”
The waitress brought back the change and Jack left her a tip in the twenty-five-percent range.
“Generous,” Cristin said. “I like a good tipper.”
Well, he was feeling flush at the moment and took advantage of the opportunity to share a little.
He shrugged. ”When the bill is that small, the difference between a decent tip and a great tip can be as little as a buck. I like to round up to great.”
Who knew? Tipping might turn out to be the only thing he’d be great at.
“Well, thanks for lunch,” she said as they rose from their seats.
“This was fun.”
No lie. Cristin had a light, easy way about her and he enjoyed being with her.
“Where do you want to eat dinner?”
“Dinner?”
“Well, yeah.” She stretched “yeah” to two syllables. “New acquaintances that we are, how else are we going to get to know each other if we don’t spend some time together?”
Spend some time together… was that wise? She seemed good company, but she was from home, from the past. She’d said she didn’t want a relationship, and neither did he, especially not with someone from the other side of the line he’d drawn across his life.
Wait, what was he thinking? He had to hit the road around six.
“No can do. I’m working tonight.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Tomorrow night then.”
Just dinner. And at a real restaurant. Be nice to have a real sit-down meal with someone. He’d eaten once at The Spot – something Julio had microwaved to death – and would not make that mistake again. Nibbling snacks and such hunched over the rear counter in Abe’s store wasn’t a meal either.
“Tomorrow night I can do. But we’ll have to eat on the late side. I’m working all Wednesday and I’m never sure when I’ll get off.”
She shook her head. “Tomorrow night’s no good for me. Got to see a client.”
“But you just said–”
She started walking toward the door. “I know. But I wanted to see how many times you’d back out.”
“I really am working tonight.”
“And I’m really working t
omorrow night.”
When they reached the bright sunshine and cold November air of the sidewalk, she turned to face him.
“I know what’s going on in your head, Jack… Moore. You think if we hang out too much I’m going to fall in love with you and get all clingy and possessive and start to horn in on your life.”
He’d never organized the feeling into a coherent thought, but now that she’d laid it on the table… yeah, that pretty much nailed it. Of course, he couldn’t admit it.
“Come on, Cristin–”
“Can I just tell you something, Jack? No offense, but you’re no Pierce Brosnan. You’re on the skinny side and not at all my type. I want a relationship less than you do. What I do want is to get to know you, learn all your secrets–”
“What secrets?”
Her mouth twisted, “Like how Karina was in bed–”
“Oh, jeez.”
“–and what kind of deliveries you make and why you’re hiding out here in the city under a phony name. Stuff like that. And when I’ve sucked you dry of everything interesting, I’m going to dump you like a week-old newspaper and move on to someone else.” She put her hands on her hips and gave him a fierce look. “There. Feel better now?”
Well, truth be told… yeah. Lots.
He put on a hurt look. “You really think I’m skinny?”
The tight line of her lips wavered, and then she cracked up – throwing head back and laughing. Jack laughed too. A hug seemed in order at that moment so they clinched briefly,
As Cristin stepped back, Jack said, “Who is your type?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“How about Friday night?”
She shook her head. “Friday and Saturday are N-G. But Thursday–”
“Another work night. You seem to work a lot of nights too.”
She shrugged. “It’s not a nine-to-five job. That’s one of the things I like about it. I can go a couple of days without a call, and then I might run my cute little butt off for a week straight.”
She did indeed have a cute little butt.
“But weekends too?”
“The holidays are coming, in case you’ve forgotten. I see corporate clients Monday to Friday during work hours. The private clients often are free only at night. As for the out-of-towners, a lot of them can only get into the city on weekends. But they’re almost always gone by Sunday night, so that tends to be a reliably free night for me.”
Cold City (Repairman Jack: Early Years Trilogy) rjeyt-1 Page 12
