by Jeff Vrolyks
“Other than telling Andrew, what do you think I should do? I’m telling you right now that Theo isn’t going to want anyone to know. He’s going to be angry that I told you. This is a secret we’ve shared these ten years.”
“The man needs to be confronted. He has to be asked why he entered your house and took the wallet and gun, and what his intentions are. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s contemplating blackmail. If he knows Theo is going to be in the NFL, he can all but name his price. A young quarterback wouldn’t want this story saddled over him.”
“He has my gun, so you can understand that I’d be more than a little timid to confront him.”
“Yes, that is a pickle. What if you, Theo, and myself paid him a visit? I have a few guns at home, they would intimidate him, in case he got any funny ideas in his head.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Sure I would. And not just for you and Theo. This is a matter which would interest our community, as it’s a matter of safety. An unscrupulous man breaking into one of our resident’s homes, and stealing a weapon.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to Theo when he gets here. I’ll need privacy.”
“He can trust me, Georgette. Tell him that.”
She grinned at him. “I will. Thanks, Gary, I feel better already.”
“I’m glad. We’ll get this cleared up.”
“You’re so good to me.”
They heard a car pull up to the medical office. The doctor asked Georgette if they had a twelve-thirty, and she referred to the computer before saying no. The door opened and a postal worker had a box in hand.
“Kurt,” Gary said cordially and stood. “How are you this fine day?”
“Not bad. Yourself?”
“I’m doing great.” He signed his name on the hand-held, accepted the box from him.
Another car pulled up beside the postal truck. Carmen could see it from her angle: it was Matthew, the last person she wanted to see. He was carrying two Styrofoam containers. Kurt wished them both a good afternoon and left the office, keeping the door open for Matthew.
“Hi, hon,” Matthew said.
“Hello.”
Gary took the box filled with bottles of medicine into the examination room.
“You probably already had lunch, but in case you didn’t I brought burritos.”
“Actually, I am hungry. Thanks.”
He sat in the chair still warm from Gary’s butt and set the food on the desk, handed her a plastic fork and knife. She opened her container and wasted no time digging into the burrito.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
“Yeah, why?”
“You look like you’ve been crying.”
“Nope. No crying.”
He dismissed the idea. “I was thinking,” he began, “maybe this evening I’ll rent a movie and you could come over.” He took a bite of his burrito.
“Tonight’s no good. Can I take a rain-check for tomorrow?”
He nodded as he chewed. Once swallowing he said, “Do you have any plans this weekend? Friday night and Saturday?”
“No, why?”
“I have a surprise lined up, if you want to get away for a night.”
Her eyes probed him with interest. “Intriguing. What did you have in mind?”
“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
“I hate surprises.” She sectioned off a bite.
“It’ll be fun, I promise. What did you do last night? I tried calling twice.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot to call you back. Eh, just read a book. I get enraptured in them, probably didn’t even hear the phone ring.”
“What were you reading?”
She considered it for a moment, then said, “David Copperfield.”
He took another bite. Carmen thought he looked contemplative. “Is everything okay, Georgette?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’ve never known you to lie to me. You weren’t really reading David Copperfield, were you? You had to think about it. A person enraptured, as you called it, in a book wouldn’t need to think about what book they were reading.”
“What are you, a detective? I said I was reading that book, and I was. It’s for my American Literature class.”
“American Literature?” He repeated. She nodded. “Why would you read a book written by an English author for American Literature? Shouldn’t you be reading Melville or Hawthorne, or Thoreau?”
“Are you going to be badgering me the entire time I eat this?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that, well… you’ve been acting a little differently these last few days. A little distant. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it began when Theo came into town.”
“I told you, he’s just a friend. An old friend. He was my friend way before I ever met you. So respect that, please.”
“I do.” He scrutinized her. “Do you like him?”
She dropped her plastic fork. “No, I do not like him. I like you. End of story.”
“Yesterday when he was here, he said he’d be at your place at six-thirty with a bottle of vodka. I gathered it was humor, ill-humor, but him coming over wasn’t a joke, was it? You saw him last night.”
“Yes. Yes! So what! Big deal!”
He nodded and ate in silence. The doctor put on a coat and said he’d be back in twenty minutes and left. Both burritos were eaten before either spoke again.
“If you want some space, Georgette, we can back off a little.”
“Not necessary. What do you think, that a man living in California is going to court me? That it’s possible? Because it isn’t. He’s a famous athlete, living in his own convoluted world, and that’s that. He’s not Mormon, and never will be.”
“How do you know he never will be?”
“Because he said so when I asked.”
“You asked if he’d ever become Mormon?”
“Yeah, if you must know.”
“That says a lot,” he said and rubbed his temple.
“What do you mean it says a lot? It says that he and I are friends and only friends and will never become more.”
“That you were curious if he’d ever adopt our religion, there’s only one reason for that. But I believe you, Georgette, that it never will be more than friendship. When he answered you that no he never will be Mormon, that was the end of it, like it or not.”
“Like it.”
“Huh?”
“You said like it or not. I like it. I’m happy with you.”
He grinned faintly. “Thank you. This last month has been incredible, really. I don’t stop thinking about you. Literally, I don’t stop thinking about you. When I wake up, at work, in bed. I can see a future with you. I pray you feel that way too.”
“I do. I do see a future with you. I care for you so much, Matthew. You’re a good man, a beautiful soul, tender heart.”
His grin was greater now. “You’re sweet to say. I’ve been reluctant to tell you something, was thinking about telling you this weekend if you agreed to come away with me. I’ve never said it before, never felt it before you. But I think I should tell you now.”
Her stomach cramped. This was horrible timing, she thought.
“I love you, Georgette. Sincerely, I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said, not quite apathetically, but void of heart.
He studied her; she looked below his eyes. He stood, gathered their trash and stuffed it in the waste-basket beside her desk. “I’ll call you later. If you’re busy, as you suggested you might be, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, Matthew.”
That she apologized to him made him feel worse. It meant she had something to be sorry for, and it wasn’t quite clear what that was. That her I love you didn’t sound genuine? That she wouldn’t be speaking to him today? That she had feelings for that quarterback, even though she wouldn’t admit to it to Matthew or even herself for that matter? He really did love her, and at that momen
t he wished he didn’t. She was breaking a heart that was just learning what it was like to be in love. He felt moisture in his eyes when he said bye and closed the door behind him.
Carmen sat in the empty room with a heavy heart and full stomach. She was a little thunderstruck that she just said I love you. But it wasn’t the first time she had said it, was it? No, she did say it before, but maybe not so directly. She thought back ten years to the last time she saw Theo, and remembered with surprising clarity. It was in her clubhouse she last saw him.
They bi-passed her house and went straight to the clubhouse. Carmen turned on the lights, flashlights were extinguished. She sat on the two-seater couch, legs tucked under herself, and looked down at her palm, which stung. A red gash slanted across it, the blood already dry. Theodore sat beside her, elbows on his knees, head in hands.
“What if someone finds out,” he said.
“They won’t know it was us,” she replied, still staring at her palm.
“Why’d we have to go on the cart!” he cried. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
She unfolded her legs and sat at the edge of the cushion against him. She put an arm around his shoulder and looked over at him. “Accidents happen. Don’t hate yourself for it. I bet he was a bad man, anyway. Probably a murderer. We did the world a favor today, Beaver. Try to think of it that way, because we can’t undo what happened.”
“My life is ruined,” he said at the floor.
“Just yours?”
“And yours. And the man we killed.”
“We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.” His voice was distant.
“I don’t want to lose you, Theo. I need you.”
“What for?” He pulled his head out of his hands to look at her.
“I don’t know, I just do. I’m scared. We’re in this together. You’ll still come over to see me, right?”
“I guess.”
“And you’ll come back out to Montana next year, and the year after?”
“Probably,” he said noncommittally.
“You’re worrying me, Theo. Please don’t do this to me.”
“Do what?”
“Forget me. Do you promise you’ll come back every year?”
“I can’t promise that. We’ll see. What’s the big deal, anyway? You have friends who live here. You don’t need me.”
“I do so! I like you!”
“Okay, okay. Calm down.”
“It’s more than like. I want to be around you, and don’t want it to stop. That this horrible thing happened, it doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes a heck of a lot for the man we killed.”
She hung her head, eyes stinging. “I know. But what can we do about it? Should we kill ourselves too? Even things out?”
“I don’t know, should we?” he said thinly, gaze heavy at the floor between his feet.
“Of course not.”
He stood up. “I’m going to use your phone, have my dad come get me.”
Her tears began. She erected and stepped into him, gently caressed her hands on either side of his head and peered deeply into his dark vacant eyes. Then she leaned in to kiss his mouth. He dodged it and went to the door.
“Beaver,” she said, tears now rolling down her cheeks. He opened the door and looked back. Her hand was over her heart. “You’re hurting me.”
“We’ll forget this in time, hopefully.”
“This…? Us? Did the kiss mean nothing to you?”
He stepped outside.
“Wait!” she called after him. He sighed and faced her. “Can we write each other letters?”
“I guess.”
Her rosy wet cheeks balled up with a grin. She dashed to a plastic tote in the corner of the room and thrashed around until she found what she was looking for, a notepad. She couldn’t find a pen or pencil. She checked back with Theo, who was looking quite impatient just outside the clubhouse. She discarded the notepad and returned to Theo.
“What’s your address? I’ll remember it.”
“Thirteen-oh-two, Piedmont Lane.” He put his hands in his pockets and plodded toward the house.
“Thirteen-oh-two Piedmont Lane,” she repeated, and repeated it aloud again. “San Francisco, right?” The back of his head showed a nod. “Zip code?”
“Nine-five-zero-zero-two.”
“Nine-five-zero-zero-two,” she repeated. “I’ll write you and you can write me back, using the return address. You will write, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I’ll write you.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. It seemed that he just wanted out of this conversation and out of her life.
“Promise me you’ll write me back.”
“Would you leave me the heck alone already?” He didn’t look back.
“If I told you I loved you would it make a difference? Would you come back knowing someone loved you?”
“You don’t love me,” he mumbled. He was almost at the back door of her parents’ house.
“I… I think I do, Theodore.” She began pacing toward him. He heard her footfalls and looked over his shoulder, held up his hand to gesture her to stay away.
“You’ll come back because you love me too,” she said in almost a whisper. “You’ll come back, I know you will. We have something special together.”
He went inside and closed the door behind him. Through the window she saw him lift the home phone off the receiver and call his dad to come pick him up and take him away, away from her. And never, never bring him back here.
Georgette went inside her clubhouse, weeping and searching around for the pen she knew she had somewhere. She found it wedged inside her math book and scrawled on the notepad Theo’s address. She drew a heart around the address, much as she would carve a heart around their initials on the tree the following day.
Carmen stared down at her scarred palm, a thin white line stretching from below her thumb to the pad of her pinky. A cruel reminder it had been. How many times had she stared at it and remembered Theo? He had to have done the same thing these ten years, wouldn’t he have? If they hadn’t run in to each other a few days ago, he would have been content to never see her or hear from her for the rest of their lives. And when he did see her, when it was no longer possible to ignore her, how easily he opened up to her and regained interest. It’s as though it was always there, a latent desire for her just waiting to be revisited, rekindled. And now he wanted more. He wanted it all. Wanted more than she did, in fact. The shoe was on the other foot, so to speak. But that wasn’t true, the shoe was on both of their feet, and at last. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. If only she had known he was coming to Fallbrook River this year, things would be different. When Matthew was here for a routine check up almost six weeks ago, lingering in the reception room after his appointment, making small talk, nervously, and asked if he could take her out to dinner that night, she would have conveyed her interest in him just the same, but would have said this is a bad time for her; she had a hectic schedule, most of which was term papers and studying for tests, and she’d have taken his number and promised to call when things lightened up (the truth being she’d call him after Theo had come and gone). But what if Matthew had given her an ultimatum, date now or never? Of course that was ludicrous, he wouldn’t have done that, but sometimes what-if’s are interesting. Had she known Theo would reenter her life a month after being asked out by Matthew, would she had accepted, knowing refusing him would mean never having a chance with him?
She leaned back in her chair and exhaled loudly, stared out the window of the office at the empty parking lot. “Yes, I would have,” she said, and felt good about that answer. She wished Matthew had been let in on this resolution of conflict, this epiphany. He’d be thrilled to know it, she thought.
Something didn’t sit right, though, something which resided in her chest, left-center. Why was she feeling this way if she really was confident she made the right decision? She was sure she fel
t that way, that she’d have accepted his proposed dinner-date knowing that Theo was coming to town, if a negative response to Matthew meant she’d never have a chance with him. She knew the reason why, too, but didn’t care too much to bring it to light. It wasn’t because she would prefer a life with Matthew over Theo, it was because she couldn’t have a life with Theo, but could with Matthew. If Theo lived here in town, that would be another story. That would be a game-changer, so to speak. In fact, if that were the case, she was fairly confident that when Matthew said he loved her a few minutes ago, she wouldn’t have returned those weighty words. But then again, she wouldn’t have heard them in the first place because she wouldn’t have accepted his dinner-date from day one. My oh my how life was simpler when nobody wanted her. Her first boyfriend at twenty-one years old. And he was her boyfriend, even if they hadn’t defined their relationship. She’d do best to remember that. Twenty-one years she lived without a boyfriend. Sure she went on a date with Paul a few years ago, but that was a disaster. She watched a number of her friends fall in love, some of who got married, but Carmen had remained single and emphatically available. Her dad had said that it was because she was so pretty and intelligent that boys were intimidated by her, and that was laughable. If that were the case, if boys were intimidated by her because of her prettiness, she’d have noticed them gawking at her and that didn’t happen. Had her father said boys didn’t ask her out because she came off as independent and reclusive, happy in her solitude, she’d have been more receptive to that. But that was neither here or there, she had Matthew now. He was the town’s most desired bachelor, too, she thought. As handsome as they come, more intelligent than her, she judged, and made a comfortable living as the vice president of Cedar Hills Bank, at the tender age of twenty-three.
“Vice president,” she scoffed. Banks and their pretentious titles. He was an assistant store manager, that’s what he was. Didn’t mean it was any less a good job, but there was nothing presidential about what he did. He made enough to support her, that’s all that mattered. Enough to raise a large family, and she’d be a stay-at-home mother, if she wanted. And did she want to? No. She was enjoying her classes, though it wasn’t easy taking a full load of classes and working full time. Some day she’d be Doctor Georgette Handle, and wouldn’t trade that for the world. Would Matthew oppose her ambitions of becoming a doctor, especially when it meant she’d have to leave Cedar Hills for many years as she endured grad school? Their relationship was too young to have discussed that. He seemed delighted when he learned that she was striving for a medical degree, but that might change when he considered proposing marriage to her.
