Fair-Weather Friends

Faye walked me up to the casket and we knelt down to pay our last respects. There was quiet, soothing organ music being piped through the sound system but I could still hear whispers from the crowd behind us. During my silent prayer I caught fragments of the whispered conversation.

"...unforgiving bastard..."

"...walked out on her, he..."

"...he caused this..."

"...hypocrite..."

"...son-of-a-bitch killed her..."

Faye took my hand and squeezed it. She must have heard the same words I had.

The preacher's words were comforting. The hymn sung by Connie's longtime friend was poignant and sad. It wasn't the usual funeral hymn but a song that Connie loved. At the end she shook Megan and Stuart's hand and went to her seat. I thought it odd that she didn't say anything to me, or Faye. Several friends spoke to the gathering when the preacher asked if anybody had anything they wanted to say. Megan was the last to get up and she spoke of mercy and forgiveness and how Jesus forgave those that nailed Him to the cross and we should be as kind to those around us as He was.

I'm not usually that dense but sitting right there listening to my daughter preach about forgiveness, I got it. I finally understood.

The wind was cold and brisk when we arrived at the gravesite. Everyone sat in silence listening to the preacher's final words. At the end of the service the preacher handed each of us a red rose to place on the coffin as we departed. I went first followed by Faye, Megan and Stuart. An old work buddy of Dad's wheeled him past the coffin. It had been one of the most emotional days of my life. I held out my hand to stop Megan and Stuart before we left the gravesite. With all the bile I could muster I said what was boiling in my heart.

"Megan, Stuart, I know what's been going on and I've made a decision. Because of what you did, because of the hatred you spread, and the moral position you took defending your mother and making me evil and villainous to all our friends and family, both of you are as dead to me as the woman we just put into the ground. Don't ever talk to me or come to my house, or in any way communicate with me. From now on I am no longer your father."

I turned and glared at the gathering of what used to be my friends and said, "That goes for all of you too." They were in shock at the unabashed expression of my hostility. Without saying another word I took Faye's hand and we walked back to the limousine. I told the driver to drive away when my father and his wheelchair were in the car with us, leaving Megan and Stuart standing beside the road.

The only people who came to the after funeral gathering were my boss and his wife and two old friends from down the street. That was all the friends I had left in the world, them and Faye of course. Megan and Stuart went to her house to commiserate. Faye told me later that everyone heard how I abandoned Connie after she made a small mistake and refused to talk to her or forgive her and pushed her into committing suicide. In other words, everybody knew that I killed my wife.

********

Faye went back to school leaving me alone and friendless. When she came back between semesters and at spring break it was like turning a light on in an otherwise dark and dreary room. Megan was with her husband and his family and Stuart went back to school. He made other arrangements when he was between semesters. The only thing that made any sense was for me to concentrate on my work and to try to put the pain of the past behind me. It wasn't easy. I would wake up in the middle of the night, two or three times a week, expecting Connie to be next to me in bed or with the horrible image of her and John Jablonski screwing in their room at the Holiday Inn. She told me in her letter that her lover was our old next door neighbor. He and his wife moved to the other side of town about two years ago. The son-of-a-bitch was even at our 25^th wedding anniversary party.

Time moved forward and the pain became easier to bear. Megan had a baby girl and named her Connie. A year later she had a little boy she named Chance, after her husband's father. I haven't seen my grandchildren. Stuart got married to the girl of his dreams he told me about from college. I received an invitation to their wedding but didn't attend. Two years later she filed for divorce. Evidentially he followed his mother's example and cheated on his own wife. He said that everyone cheats at one time or another and I guess that warped attitude led to his divorce. He moved to California and I haven't seen him since the funeral. I know all this because Faye slips little tidbits of information into the conversation whenever she can. She wants me to know because for as wrong as they were they're still my children.

My boss at work was my best friend in the entire world. He helped me by being there when I needed to talk and looked the other way when I was too sick to work. He did tell me early on that he would give me one year to get my shit together or else he was going to have to replace me. That one little speech motivated me to become the best manager in the company, so good in fact that they offered me a senior manager's position in Florida four years after my new life started. Within three months I had my house sold, moved everything to a new, much smaller home in Orlando, and started managing the entire distribution facility for the eastern half of the United States. Oh, I didn't forget Beau. During all the turmoil he pretty much got pushed aside and forgotten about. When we moved to the new house I made it up to him by getting another younger Golden Retriever for him to harass. All three of us are happily ensconced in our new little home.

I lost all of my friends back in Maryland. Only a couple people would even talk to me let alone invite me anywhere. Things were not the same and everybody, but a very few, turned away from me and left me alone. I was persona non grata and invisible to everyone.

Faye graduated Summa Cum Laude and got a wonderful entry level management position in one of the major entertainment facilities in Florida. She said she was going to live with me until she found a place of her own. I hope it's not too soon.

Dad died a year after Connie.

********

It's been five years since my world changed. I lost everything I held dear, all except for one thing, my daughter Faye. But even she's been looking to create a life for herself. I had to find my own or be destined to die a miserable old man with no one to love except my Golden Retrievers.

Boy doesn't that sound pathetic? Let's face it, I needed something to do.

A hobby I've always had was writing. I haven't done anything but write business reports in the last few years but as my job became routine and as I got older I started writing short stories again. I even sold a couple to a local literary magazine. One weekend while Faye was out on a date with her boyfriend I started an outline for what I thought was going to be another short story. It became the outline for a story about a particularly difficult part of my life and it ended up being a lot bigger than a short story. I thought long and hard about starting it because I knew that it would dredge up memories and emotions from the past that were better off lying dormant in the dark recesses of my mind. One evening I started writing. Four months later, working every evening after work, I had a completed first draft manuscript that I thought was pretty good. But I didn't want anybody to read my innermost secrets so I set it in a box and placed it on a shelf in my den. The catharsis was in the writing and I had faced the demons of my past and they were defeated. I found that I could start living again.

I signed up for a creative writing class at the local community college hoping to enhance my writing skills. Mostly it contained 20-something kids who couldn't tell the difference between an adverb and an adjective. There were two other 'older' people like myself in the class so we banded together to show the youth of America, or at least the youth of Orange County Florida, what good writing was all about. Maurice was retired and looking to write a book about his family's part in the Civil War. Alicia was a widow who was working her way through the community college's course catalog to keep busy and to find something that she might be good at. She raised five children as a stay at home mom and when they were all gone she quietly retired and moved to Florida using the insurance money she got when her husband died as seed money for a new life.

The more Alicia and I talked the more we found things in common. I learned early on in life to let my date talk and listen carefully to whatever they said because there was always a quiz later. I haven't dated for almost 30 years so I had to pay very careful attention to her. She talked and I took notes, mental notes that is. One day she realized that she'd been doing all the talking so she asked me where I came from and why I was alone in central Florida taking a community college course in writing. I gave her the 30 minute, thumbnail version and tried to turn the conversation back to her, but she wasn't going for it. She poked and prodded and questioned me until I finally told her that my story was difficult to tell and if she wanted to know about me then she had to come to my house for dinner next Saturday. She gave me the biggest and prettiest smile I've seen in quite a few years as she said "Yes, I'd love to."'

"Dinner was lovely Marc," Alicia said as we walked out to the patio to enjoy the night air under one of my palm trees. "I don't know many men that can make vegetable lasagna at all and especially not as good as that one. What other surprises do you have up your sleeve?"

"I think you know just about everything about me. I manage the distribution center for Folks Industries over in Eastside, my daughter Faye lives with me and kindly agreed to make herself scarce tonight, my wife died just over five years ago, I've got two other kids, and you met my two Golden's, Beau and Luke. That's me in a nutshell. I'm kind of boring anyway, nothing interesting to tell."

"Well, you bribed me to come to dinner tonight by saying that if I wanted to know your story then you would tell me. Well? I'm waiting for all the gory details."

Instead of saying anything I got up and went in the house. When I came back I was holding the box filled with my novel, the novel about the biggest events in my life.

"One thing you don't know is that I've been writing for years and even sold a couple short stories to the local literary magazine. I've got a computer full of short stories, some based on my life and some that just popped out of my warped little brain. Before I signed up for the creative writing class I wrote something that I don't quite know what to do with. The sad story of me and my family is all in here, in this little box. Writing it all down was helpful in getting past the pain I went through at the time my wife died and my family disintegrated. I've never showed this to anyone before but would like your opinion on it. I think it's only good for holding the door open on windy nights but I really would like the opinion of someone whose writing I admire"

She looked at me with eyes full of admiration. "I'd love to read your book. What's it called?"

"I call it Fair-Weather Friends."

"Wow, its heavy," she said as she took if from my hand.

"987 Pages in all. I want you to tell me what you think. Be honest, brutal if you have to, but I want someone other than me to give comments on it. I don't want to show it to my daughter because she went through everything I wrote about and it would just bring up the old feelings again. I don't want to do anything to hurt her."

"Marc, it would be a pleasure to read your story and give you my opinion. One thing I may have forgotten to tell you about is that I'm very opinionated. I call it like it is and let the chips fall as they may, or however that old cliché goes. I'll start it tomorrow."

We talked about our writing class, about Florida night life for people our age, and ended up trading opinions on some of our favorite movies. We had a pleasant evening, and for once the Florida weather cooperated. When I walked her to her car she gave me a little kiss on the cheek. I felt like a teenager again as I cleaned up from our little dinner party.

********

Alicia wasn't in class at the next meeting and I hadn't heard from her since our dinner. I was beginning to wonder if asking her to review my book proved to her that I was some kind of nut and should be avoided at all cost. I thought about calling her but didn't want to seem pushy.

Two weeks later she called me when I was out and left a message on my answering machine.

"Hello Marc, this is Alicia. I want you to come over to my place for dinner Friday night. My son is in town and staying with me for a few days and I want you two to meet. I may have a bit of a surprise when you get here so bring a bottle or two of that lovely white wine we had the other day and be here at seven. Call me back and let me know. Bye."

Friday night I dressed casually but nicely and brought along two bottles of Balthasar Ress Riesling Kabinett Hattenheimer Schutzenhaus 2012. I read in the local Orlando magazine that this was one of the best white wines of the year and since I didn't know anything about wines I decided to trust the author of the article. It was good with lasagna and I hoped it would be good with whatever Alicia was serving.

"Hi Marc, come on in," Alicia's face lit up as she gave me the tour of her home. When we got to the patio I saw a small table set for three with candlelight and wine glasses. A man walked from between the two orange trees and into the light of the dinner table. "Marc, I'd like you to meet my son Barry. Barry this is Marc Jenkins."

"It's a real pleasure to meet you," he said as we shook hands. "Mom has told me a lot of good things about you. She's impressed and it takes a lot to impress her."

"It's nice to meet you too Barry. But whatever she said is probably some of the fiction from our creative writing class. There isn't too much exciting about me."

Alicia smiled and pointed to the table. She took the wine bottles and put them in a chiller as we sat down. When she finally sat down she smiled that big beautiful smile again and took my hand.

"Marc, I've asked you here under false pretenses. We'll eat as soon as the wine is chilled but I first want to talk first and give you what I think is exciting news. I think it will be quite a surprise for you, hopefully a good one."

My curiosity was peaked but at the same time I was more than a little bit nervous.

"Marc, my son is here tonight to meet you because of something I did that you might not have approved of if I had asked you ahead of time. But I did it and it's too late now so if you're going to get mad then just go ahead and get mad. Okay, here's what I did. I finished your book in two days and it completely blew me away. I couldn't put it down once I got about half way through it. It was the most inspiring and heart rending story I've ever read. I cried at the end of the chapter where you went to live with your dad after finding out about your wife. I cried at the end when you talked about your children. Marc, it was the most fantastic book I've ever read and I had to share it with my son. I sent it to him and he read it. He doesn't usually read unsolicited books from unknown authors but he did so at my request. He's my son and he had no choice. Marc, he loved it too and wants to help you edit it so he can publish it. Isn't that fantastic?"

I just sat there looking at her as she smiled back at me. I didn't know what to say or do. I probably looked quite stupid but there wasn't anything I could do about it. When I looked over at Barry he smiled back and started where his mother had finished.

"Mom's right Mr. Jenkins. It was the best first novel I've ever read and I've read a lot of them. You see I work for Prentiss Press in New York and I'm the assistant chief in charge of screening submissions from authors like yourself. We get in about 100 new books a month and I've got to read them and evaluate them before sending them on to two other screeners. If we all agree that what we've read is worthy of publishing then we work with the author to get their manuscript edited and in shape for publication. Your book has been through the process and we want to publish it. We can talk after dinner about the details but for now I want to congratulate you for creating such a moving book. It's going to be a real winner."

I was dumbfounded. Now I'm sure my expression went from stupid to blithering idiot in a heartbeat. Alicia's smile grew ten fold as she watched me sit with an asinine look on my face not knowing what to say. Finally she got up, kissed me on the forehead, and went to get dinner.

Some time during the salad course I found my voice again. We talked about my book and about specific parts of the story. I could see Alicia tear up when we talked about certain parts and I know I did too. We ate Alicia's version of poached Mahi Mahi and talked some more. While we ate a sweet peach cobbler Barry outlined the process and the work I needed to do. He talked about promoting the book and what I could expect in royalties. I wasn't going to be rich. By the time he excused himself to go to bed my head was swirling with everything I had just learned. Alicia poured the last of the wine and we sat together in the cool night breeze and talked about what it must be like to be a famous author like Stephen King or J. K. Rowling. I wasn't in their class but it was really fun to fantasize about it for a little while.

It was after midnight when I came back down to earth and decided it was time to go home. Alicia walked me to my car and this time gave me more than a little kiss on the cheek. I got a full blown deep soul kiss that reminded me that I may be 55 years old but I wasn't dead. The stirring in my pants paid tribute to that.

I hadn't felt anything like that since Connie. That thought made me sad. The erection I went home with made me very, very happy.

********

Over the next three months I worked with one of the Prentiss Press editors to fix and polish my manuscript. We did everything with one face to face meeting and a whole lot of emails and telephone calls. The first thing I had to do was transfer my version in MS Word to a software package they recommended. I found it to be very easy to use for editing but rather clunky when creating whole new pieces from scratch. When we were both satisfied with the final product a printed galley sheet showed up in the FedEx overnight mail and I spent an entire weekend going over it sentence by sentence, word by word. No matter how many times I read it I would always find something to change that I just knew made it 100% better. My editor warned me that it would happen. She was right as usual.

I worked all day at Folks Industries and all evening on my novel. Faye was way beyond ecstatic about my book. I told her she couldn't read it until I got the first copy from the publisher. She made sure I ate and got enough exercise and watched the nightly news before going to bed. She was like an old mother hen.

Alicia on the other hand came over only on weekends. She said she didn't want to sap the creative juices. We went to dinner or I cooked something at home. We talked about everything, nothing was off limits. I don't think any expensive psychiatrist could have done more for me than what she did. The more I talked about my past the better I felt. Obviously I never got over what Connie did to me and what I did to her. I now saw that we were both to blame and every bit of it came out in my book. Our friendship had progressed a lot and on the day I sent my final galley sheet changes back to Prentiss she said she was "going to give me an end-of-writing reward." She stayed the night and we rewarded each other, over and over. Faye came home for a few minutes and once she realized that I had company, went back out and stayed with her boyfriend. Alicia opened up in me a new appreciation for living.