The Shortest Way Home (32 page)

When he woke it was light out, and finding her gone was like getting pencils and Scotch tape in his stocking on Christmas morning. He heard a shower running, and it was tempting to go and join her. He was pretty sure his “enthusiasm” was in need of some time to recharge, but the thought of being naked with her under a stream of warm water was enticing all the same.

Just then the shower shut off. She probably had to get to work.

Work!

He was scheduled at the Confectionary and had forgotten entirely. He looked around for a clock. All the furniture was white with hearts carved into it; it was little girl furniture. The walls were painted blue. He finally spied the clock on the bookcase. It was 8:15.

He jumped out of bed and almost knocked her over as she came into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. That smell—really nice soap. He wanted to rip the towel off and smell every inch of her. But he was so late for work. He grabbed up his boxers. “I’m supposed to be at the Confectionary,” he told her, “like two hours ago.”

“You’re going to shower first, though.”

“No, I really gotta go.”

“Sean, you have to shower,” she said. “You smell like sex.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I would definitely not buy a cruller from you.”

“No?” he said, dropping the boxers and putting his arms around her.

“Well . . .” She smiled up at him. “I guess
I
would. But trust me, every other person on the planet will find you offensive.”

He called the Confectionary and told Cormac he’d overslept, which was certainly no lie. When they pulled into the Confectionary parking lot, he noticed that she didn’t put the car in park, but let it idle in drive with her foot on the brake.

“So, um . . . are you around tonight?” he asked.

“I have plans,” she said.

“Plans.” One word. With the impact of a gut punch.

“Uh-huh. But let’s get together tomorrow, okay? Are you open?”

“Yeah,” he said, still slightly stunned. “I’m open.”

“Great. Okay, so I’ll see you then.” She smiled at him, and he didn’t see the joy in it. But maybe he was just comparing it to last night. Hard to compete with that kind of joy.

They leaned toward each other for what ended up being a goose-necked awkward kiss. He got out of the car, and she drove away. He felt a weird, gauzy kind of bereavement descend on him, in part because of being separated from her body. And in part, because of her plans.

* * *

“I
s it possible you’ve had a minor stroke?” said Tree. “Because you have messed up like eighty percent of the orders since you got here.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Huh,” she snorted. “I’m a teenager. We’re in a constant state of sleep deprivation, so you aren’t scoring any sympathy points with that one.”

Cormac came by and clapped a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Seriously,” he murmured low enough so no one else could hear. “What the fuck?”

“Complications,” muttered Sean.

“Yeah?”

“Like you read about.”

“Wanna go for a beer tonight?”

“Yeah, but it’s Thursday. Doesn’t Barb have her class on Tuesdays?”

“That class ended last week. But, um . . . I’ll check in and let you know.”

“She could come if she wants,” offered Sean. He had a new appreciation for Barb’s powers of discernment since that “if you call yourself an old soul, you aren’t one” comment. And a woman’s perspective might come in especially handy with the Rebecca situation.

“Yeah . . .” said Cormac, scratching the back of his neck and leaving a powdery trail of flour. “She’s hanging close to home these days.”

“Everything okay?”

“She’s on this new fertility drug. Makes her kind of . . . emotional.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “Sort of like a weepy grizzly on crack.”

Sean nodded sympathetically. “Good times.”

“Like you read about.”

CHAPTER 39

W
hen Sean got home, all he wanted to do was down a handful of ibuprofen and pass out for about six hours. But Aunt Vivvy was wandering around the house in a semivague state, George stalking by her side on high alert, and Sean was afraid to close his eyes until the two of them settled down some. Also, he remembered that he’d never checked that e-mail from Kevin’s teacher, as he’d meant to do at Rebecca’s house. Just the briefest thought of exactly how he’d gotten distracted made his nether region start to perk up a little.

He focused on locating Deirdre’s laptop and found it in her bedroom under some clothes. He powered up right there in her room, found the e-mail, and skimmed to where it said,

Kevin’s a wonderful boy, a pleasure to have in class, but he does have his challenges. I’m concerned that middle school might be especially tough for him. Would it be possible for us to meet and discuss this? I feel strongly that it’s in Kevin’s best interest to get some supports in place under the circumstances.

Best,

Claire Lindquist

He replied that he was free to meet her anytime and thanked her for her concern.

There was another e-mail, this one from the middle school administration, notifying parents “and other guardians” that class schedules for the upcoming school year had been sent to the e-mail address specified. Copies were available in the main office.

He had promised Kevin two things: to walk the dog and pick up the schedule. Since he’d so far failed miserably at the former, he was especially anxious to fulfill the latter. He could walk over to the middle school and take George with him, killing two guilt birds with one stone.

A new e-mail dropped into his in-box. It was from Claire Lindquist, telling him that she would be prepping in her classroom all day tomorrow, and if that was convenient for him, he could come by. He wasn’t scheduled to work for Cormac, so he replied that he’d be there at ten.

He got his aunt a cup of tea and some Fig Newtons, fanning them out on a china dessert plate the way she always did.

“How did you know I like these?” she asked.

Because you eat them every day.
“Just a guess,” he said.

She seemed calmer after that, and decided to go up to her room for a nap. George stood up to escort her. “Oh, no, you don’t, beast,” muttered Sean. “You’re with me.”

George allowed herself to be clipped to the leash, but stood immovable as a statue in the foyer until Aunt Vivvy’s bedroom door clicked shut. If a canine could be said to feel conflicted, George was the poster dog. She clearly needed a walk, but she didn’t want to leave the house.

A thought occurred to Sean as the two of them stepped down off the porch and out toward the street: he and George had the same problem. They both wanted desperately to get out into the world, and they both felt guilty about going.

He stopped for a moment and looked down at the dog. She looked up at him, waiting for his lead. The ibuprofen had kicked in, and Sean’s back had downgraded from a high-pitched squeal to a dull roar. Carefully he squatted down and gave the dog’s neck a good rough scratch.

“Listen,” he told her. “Viv’s the queen, and Kevin’s the prime minister. But you and me, we’re just rank and file. We’re on the same team, so let’s try to help each other out, okay?”

George turned her muzzle into Sean’s hand and gave it a little lick.

When they got to the middle school to pick up Kevin’s schedule, Sean looped George’s leash through the bike rack and went into the main office. The exterior of the building looked the same as it had thirty years ago, but inside, things were different. The glass trophy case was crowded with art and music awards, in addition to sports trophies. He glanced into the library across the hall and saw that a third of the room was now filled with computer terminals.

In the main office, he told the secretary he was there for Kevin’s schedule.

“Great, let me just get you to sign off on this form,” she said. “You’re his dad, right?”

“His uncle.”

“Oh.” This seemed to throw her off for a moment. “Um, his legal guardian?”

Having dealt with bureaucrats in every hospital and clinic he’d worked in, Sean could smell a paperwork problem, and he did what he’d learned to do years ago: figure out the right answer and bend the truth to approximate it. “Yeah, I’m his guardian,” he said. Not legal, perhaps, but he was “guarding” Kevin a heck of a lot more than anyone else at the moment.

He signed the form and left with the packet, leafing through it as he and George walked down the street. There was a notice on yellow paper that caught his eye:
SUBSTITUTE NURSE NEEDED
. Apparently the school nurse had recently been in a car accident and was on medical leave. A full recovery was expected, but she wouldn’t be able to return to work until October.

School nurse,
thought Sean.
Could there
be
a job more boring than that?
It basically amounted to being a human Band-Aid dispenser. And you’d spend your day sitting in a Petri dish of viruses and flu bugs. He’d take a gangrenous wound over that any day of the week.

As he walked, his mind wandered to Rebecca and the satiny feel of her thighs against his, but then turned quickly to speculating about her plans for tonight. If she was just going out with a friend, why would she be so tight-lipped about it? Maybe it was something she was embarrassed about . . . like a support group of some kind . . . Unhealthily Controlled by My Parents Anonymous? Women on the Verge of a Good Career Move, But Not Quite?

Or maybe it was a support group for women trying not to get into bad relationships with guys who would inevitably leave them. The thought hit him like an electric shock. If he really cared about her—and he did, he knew that without a doubt—he should nip this thing in the bud before she truly
did
need a support group.

* * *

H
e expressed this opinion to Cormac over beers and wings at The Pal.

“Hold up—you finally broke it off with Chrissy?” said Cormac.

“Okay, you don’t have to say it like I
finally
realized the world is round or something.”

“Touchy!” snorted Cormac.

“And what do you mean ‘break it off’? We only went out a couple of times. It wasn’t like we were together.”

Cormac shrugged. “You brought her to meet your friends. That means something.”

“What does it mean?”

“Hell if I know.” He laughed. “Jesus, where’s Barb when you need her? No, it’s like a
thing
. Like you wanted to . . .
include
her. In your life. Which, at the time, you kind of did.” Sean squinted skeptically. “Oh, please,” said Cormac. “Bullshit yourself if you want to, but don’t bullshit me. You were practically wagging your tail, hoping she’d take you home like one of her rescue dogs.”

“So now I have to . . . what—say something? Like call her up and tell her it’s over?”

“I think you probably should. You know, so she’s not waiting around. It sucks when something’s over and you don’t even know.” Cormac took a swig of his beer. “Kind of ironic, though—worrying about her feelings when she certainly never worried about Becky’s.” He nodded approvingly. “Becky Feingold. I always liked her.”

Sean felt a primitive little zing of competition. It must have shown because Cormac said, “Chill out. I don’t mean
liked her
liked her. I just mean she was a good egg. A nice person.”

“Yeah,” said Sean. “Too nice to be screwing around with me, and no chance of a future.”

“Hey, you don’t know that. Maybe you’ll change your tune and stick around. Or maybe she’d go with you.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“I mean, I don’t know how likely it is. The conditions you’re talking about are pretty rough. But it’s not out of the question, is all I’m saying.”

Not out of the question. She could make the choice to be with him. It turned the burner way down under his little pot of conflictedness.

They ordered another round of beers, and Sean told Cormac about seeing Da.

“No wonder you couldn’t tell a whoopie pie from a cannoli this morning,” said Cormac. “Hell of a day you had.”

Sean chuckled. “Yeah, you think?”

Cormac took a swig of beer. “I’m pretty sure this is what those daytime self-help shows call ‘a crossroads.’ ”

“You don’t watch daytime self-help shows,” scoffed Sean.

“No, but Barb does, and she tells me about it. In between crying at diaper commercials, yelling at me for smelling like old coffee grounds, and jumping me every time her temp goes up a tenth of a degree.” Cormac tipped his beer up and finished it. He raised it in the direction of the bartender, who put two more bottles up on the bar for the waitress to bring over.

“Hormones are pretty powerful drugs,” said Sean. “She can’t help acting crazy.”

“Which I remind myself on an hourly basis. But honestly, I’d kinda like my wife back.”

“Are you okay with not having biological kids?”

“I’m okay with anything. But she keeps saying that she loves me so much, she wants a baby with my gene pool. A little me.” He gazed distractedly out the window into the dark. “What the hell’s the comeback for that?”

CHAPTER 40

T
here were more beers than usual on their tab at the end of the night. Before they parted ways in the parking lot, Cormac pulled Sean into a back-slapping hug. “Keep the faith, brother.”

“You, too, man,” said Sean. “She’s a good girl. Hang in there.”

“She is.” There was a choky little sound to Cormac’s voice, and it caught at Sean.

“You okay walking home?”

“Totally fine. ’Sides, it’ll give me a chance to air out a little before I get there. Gotta blow the stink of old coffee grounds off me.” They both laughed, though it was not that funny, but knowing they had to part on a lighter note.

Sean walked home thinking,
It never ends. You meet the perfect girl, get married, settle down somewhere you both are happy . . . and shit still happens.

When he arrived, he went into the kitchen for another round of ibuprofen, now doubly necessary for his back and to stave off the hangover that would surely result from the evening’s intake. The phone rang, and it felt like someone was blowing a party horn in his ear. He grabbed it up quickly to make the satanic thing stop.