long agonizing pause, during which I wondered if Maria had picked up on my little white lie.
“I heard about what happened.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I finally said.
“Not as much as I was.”
“What can I say? As I told Wayne, I screwed up. There is nothing more I can offer. I can’t find Linda to apologize and Samantha . . . well . . .”
“I don’t remember asking for an apology,” Maria said, cutting me off.
“Not yet, but in time you would have. Linda was your friend and I broke her heart because I’m a self absorbed a-hole.”
“Even though I wholeheartedly agree with your self-diagnoses, you should know by now I’m not the ‘I-told-you-so’ type.” She paused, then added, “For which you should be eternally grateful. As for you and Linda, I’m probably one of the few people who knew things weren’t working out the way you hoped it would.”
“Did she tell you or was that just your womanly intuition?”
“We had a few telephone conversations over the past several weeks.”
“I didn’t know you two had become so close—especially with our past.”
“You mean that little high school, puppy-love, crush thingy we shared fourteen long years ago?”
I could picture the wide smirk on Maria’s face and laughed. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”
“In all honesty, I think aside from books, you were the common denominator between us. I loved you then, she loved you now and thankfully she didn’t feel threatened talking to me about you.”
“I’m sure you had a lot of nice things to say about me, didn’t you?” She didn’t reply to my sarcasm. “I guess I’m fortunate she didn’t bond with Trudy.”
“You’d be in real trouble there,” Maria chuckled.
“But seriously, Maria, did Linda suspect I was fooling around? If you don’t want to tell me I’ll understand.”
Without hesitation she replied, “She never came right out and said so but I think phrases like, ‘He works long hours’ and ‘He’s often out of town,’ were her code words for ‘That rat bastard is cheating on me with his slutty assistant.’”
Before I could stop myself, I blurted angrily, “Samantha wasn’t a slut. Not that anyone cares, now that she’s dead and all.”
“Steven, I didn’t mean to . . . I never met her . . .” Maria started.
“Stop, Maria. I know you didn’t mean anything by that.” I glanced over at the blank TV screen. “I’ve got a lot going on right now. A set of new problems I’m trying to figure out. I didn’t mean to shout like that.” I took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t call to get yelled at by a low-life like me.”
“I called to see how you were doing,” Maria replied. “That’s all. No hidden agenda. When I heard about what happened, I didn’t know if I should be furious with you or sad for you.”
“So you took the pity route over the pissed-off route?”
“Neither,” she said defiantly. “I went the concerned route! I was worried about you and thought you might need someone to talk to—besides news reporters and homicide investigators. And even though Linda is a friend and didn’t deserve any of this stupidity, I don’t have a history with her like I do with you.” She stopped, maybe waiting for me to say something. Getting no response, she added, “And if you don’t think I’m emotionally conflicted, you’re wrong.”
“Maria—”
“Maybe calling you was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a—”
“Right now it feels like it is, so I’m going to hang up and get some dinner.”
“What about Max’s phone call?” I asked, trying desperately to keep her on the line.
“I’ll call him tomorrow. Good night, Steve.”
The line went dead.
In my notorious past, I might have ripped the phone out of the wall and smashed it into a hundred pieces on the floor. Not today. As I unclenched the receiver and placed it in its cradle, I asked myself the question that had been echoing through my brain for the past two days: Why bother?
I grabbed my coat and walked out the front door, leaving the TV on and my frozen dinner in the microwave. As I proceeded to the nearby Sunsetter Pub & Eatery (a little watering hole I hadn’t frequented in months), I was hoping an alien life form would notice me, decide I was the best human specimen on Earth and beam me up—never to be seen again by friend or foe. Without a doubt, the news stories of my disappearance would focus on the TV and my uneaten meal. What a story they all would tell. I imagined columnist Jeremy Atkins writing that after destroying so many lives, I had ended my own in order to stop the madness once and for all.
On the other hand, like me, Mr. Atkins and his ilk might discuss my plight at the morning pitch meeting and collectively say, “Why bother?”
Unable to interest any extraterrestrials in my intergalactic kidnapping scheme, I entered the nearly empty pub and barricaded myself in a corner booth. An attractive new waitress was soon standing before me asking if I’d like a drink. When I looked up I saw she was staring at me. This can’t be good, I worried.
“I know you from somewhere,” she said, tilting her head a bit to the side.
I met her quizzical gaze and also felt a sense of familiarity. She was in her early 20s, with a petite curvy frame and dark curly brown hair, which bounced on her shoulders as she walked. “I live in the neighbourhood,” I answered, hoping she wasn’t a news junkie.
Her face quickly lit up. “I know—you were sitting in a van down at the lake today, right?”
Her joyful smile and little laugh transported me back to the beach. “That’s right. I was down there.”
“We didn’t talk or anything. I’m just good with faces.”
“I’m sure that comes in handy working here,” I said. “You don’t want to give the wrong order to the wrong customer.”
“I never thought about it that way but it makes sense, I guess.” She pondered this revelation as she took her order pad out of her pocket. “So, do you go to the beach often?” she asked in a tone that was slower and softer than before.
At this moment I didn’t know if I should be surprised, confused, or flattered that my “new-in-love-sparkle” girl was flirting with me, right here, right now.
“Every once in awhile,” I offered. “What about you? Do you and your boyfriend hang out there much?”
“No, he hates the beach.”
