The Damp, Gray Gone Ch. 02

It was almost eleven, and I was ready for bed. Then a thought occurred to me, though, and I decided to check it out.

I logged back into the secret e-mail account and clicked on the history. Sure enough, they were all now deleted. There was one message still in the box, and it was unopened. The content info line read simply, "Luke, I'm So Sorry."

I left the message unopened, clicked off the internet, and went to bed.

Fuck her. Let her wonder if I'd actually read them.

* * * * *

By nine-thirty Saturday morning, I was climbing the walls with boredom. Poor Sun Tzu had already been walked around the block to the tune of what seemed eleven miles, I had already read the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, my grapefruit-and-toast breakfast only took ten minutes, and I had nothing to do until the stores opened at ten.

"The park," I said to Sun Tzu. He did his level best to ignore me and hide.

"I'll carry you," I promised, finally catching him and holding him under one arm and his little cage under the other. He appeared partially mollified when I put his cage on the passenger seat, him in the cage, and went around to the driver's side. By the time the car was going, Sonny was snoring.

Five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Veteran's Park. There were a few people already there, some jogging on the paths and a few mothers pushing the children on the swings over to the side.

"Come on," I said, rousing the pup and holding him in my arms.

We took a leisurely stroll around the park, and Sun Tzu was content to lay in my arms and give sleepy looks to passing joggers. It was a warm morning, and the walk felt good; it definitely felt better than sitting in the living room staring at walls and listening to silence.

As we neared the swing set and the yells of happy children, Sonny's ears perked up and he pushed himself up in my arms, searching for the children. Once he spotted them, he started yipping and his tiny, curled tail began beating in rapid rhythm against my chest.

I was staring from Sonny to the children, smiling, when I saw her. She looked up and saw me at about the same time, and I froze.

"Hey," Kristin called, waving while she pushed a little boy near Kyle's age on the swing.

I lifted my head in greeting, just watching her for a moment. She seemed relaxed and easy around the boy, just happy with the simple pleasure of pushing the boy on the swing. I envied her, both her relaxed demeanor and the companionship of her child.

After a few minutes of watching, the little boy jumped off the end of the swing, tumbled through the grass, and got up smiling at me.

"Can I see your puppy, mister?" he said, running up to me with a lopsided grin.

"Sure," I said, bending down and releasing the pug.

"Come here, boy," he said.

"His name's Sun Tzu," I said.

"Sonny," he said. "I know. Kyle told us about him."

He was petting the dog, who was enjoying the company of the boy far more than he'd enjoyed my company all morning.

"What's that saying?" Kristin said, walking up. "'Something and snails and puppy dog tails; that's what little boys are made of.' I don't remember."

"Me neither," I said, standing.

"Alone this weekend?"

I nodded. "First time."

She gave a sympathetic smile. "Takes some getting used to."

"Yeah. So I'm noticing."

She bent down and petted Sonny, who all but ignored her in favor of the more rough and tumble attention of the boy.

"So this is what? Two Saturdays in a row, Luke? You stalking me?"

"Just killing time until the stores open," I mumbled, then decided to change the subject. "Your son?"

"Ben," she replied, standing up with her eyes on him the whole time.

"So you're in the same boat as me?"

She turned to me, her face unreadable, and nodded. "Pretty much."

"But at least it's your weekend, right?"

She shook her head. "I'm dropping him off at his dad's house in about twenty minutes."

I nodded, not sure how much more to ask. She was pretty--hell, drop dead friggin' gorgeous--and seemed nice. Add to that my loneliness and apparent isolation from anyone other than Doug in the same boat as me and I wanted to get to know her better. Still, I wasn't sure how to--

"So what're your plans for the rest of the weekend?" she asked, interrupting my thoughts. Her face was again polite inquisitiveness.

"Furniture shopping."

"Really," she said. "A man. Furniture shopping." She gave a chuckle. "I'd pay to see that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Like lunch?"

Her eyes narrowed. Was it too open?

"I just . . . well . . . I mean. . . ." I let my words die the embarrassed death they deserved.

The smile came back. "So you're asking for help in furniture shopping, and in exchange I get to buy lunch?"

Before I could say anything, she answered her own question.

"Okay, Professor," she said. "Sounds like a plan."

"I'll buy the lunch," I offered.

She shook her head. "Nope. I opened my big mouth, and you called me on it. Fair's fair. Woman of her word and all that."

I smiled, glad for the company on what was going to be an otherwise empty and miserable day.

"So where do you live?" she asked.

"Winston Hill."

"House number?"

"Seven fifteen."

She looked at her watch, then at Ben and Sun Tzu. "Okay, how about I take Ben out to his dad's house and meet you back at your place in about a half hour. I can take a quick tour of the house--get an idea what you need and what style and colors--and we'll go look at some things."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, wondering how much time I'd have for a thorough cleaning before she arrived.

"Thirty minutes then," she said, holding her hand out for Ben. "Come on, honey. Time to get you off to Dad's."

I scooped up the pug and followed them to the parking lot.

* * * * *

While the house would never pass a West Point inspection, it was clean enough for normal human beings.

"You're right," Kristin said, leaning against the door frame and staring in at my empty bedroom. "Stark. You definitely need furniture." She turned and looked at me. "Where the hell do you sleep?"

"Sofa in the den," I said. "It's a hide-a-bed."

"That must be comfortable," she snorted. "Let's go."

Three hours later, the furniture shopping was almost done. Contrary to my initial fears, Kristin's selections for me--I really can't pretend I had a major say in any of it--were tasteful and masculine. Well, at least there were no floral prints, and the colors were mostly browns and burgundies.

"Okay," she said as we left the Lazy Boy store. "Recliners, entertainment center, dresser, coffee tables, and end tables are out of the way. Just the bed left."

"Wanna go back to Bergner's?" I asked.

"Sleep Comfort," she said. "Pricey, but worth it."

So off we went to look at inflatable beds, something I'd never even heard about.

"Lay on this one," she said, sprawling across one side of a massive king size bed.

I sprawled on the other side. "Comfy, but a little soft."

"Then watch this," the sales lady said, and pressed a button on a remote control in her hand.

I heard a whirring sound, and a minute later the bed was hard as a rock.

"Cool, huh?" Kristin asked, hear head turned to me and a massive grin on her face. A grin and sparkling eyes that mesmerized me.

"Very," I agreed. "But the king size? I mean, can't I just go with a--"

"Not a chance," she insisted, then her face softened. "You're gonna find someone else again, Luke. You really will."

I nodded, then her grin returned.

"And when you do," she continued, "you don't want her hogging you right off the damned bed, right?"

I grinned back. "Right."

"He'll take it," she said, hopping off the bed.

I laid there for a moment, wishing I'd gotten the smaller bed. The one that came with Kristin in it. And smaller so she'd be forced to curl up against me.

"You'll need a headboard," she said. "This comes with its own bed frame, but you'll need to make--or have someone else make--a headboard."

"Or you can buy a king size bed frame and just put this inside of it," the sales lady suggested.

Kristin shook her head. "Tyler's dad still does woodworking. He can build you something that'll be ready by the time this is delivered."

"Tyler's dad?" I said.

"My ex father-in-law."

"And he'll know how big to--"

"He's already done a few of them," she said. "I'm sure the measurements haven't changed."

I nodded. "Fair enough."

We spent the next ten minutes filling out the delivery instructions and paying for the new bed. Then, before I really knew it, we were standing in the hallway of the mall with people rushing by us. We were done. My house pretty much furnished in a little over three hours.

"Lunch?" I suggested.

"Something light," she said.

"I'll buy," I assured her.

"It's not that. I'm just not that hungry."

"Me neither. Still, if we don't eat something, we'll be starving in an hour or two."

Kristin looked me up and down as if appraising a racehorse, seemed to make up her mind on something, then gave me a grin as she hooked her arm into mine.

"Come on, hero man," she said, pulling me along. "I think I know just the place."

Fifteen minutes later, we were parked outside a small bakery on Grant City's main drag.

"How've I never noticed this place before?" I asked, getting out of the car.

"You're not from here," she said, leading me into the tiny bakery. "It's a well kept secret."

A plump woman with steel gray hair, pince nez glasses, and a white smock with matching apron smiled and leaned toward us from behind the counter as we approached. Five minutes later, we were seated at a tiny table in the corner, nibbling on fresh croissants and sipping hot espresso.

"How did I ever miss this place?"

Kristin grinned. "I told you: You've got to grow up here to find these little out of the way cubbyholes."

"So why don't you tell me about yourself?" I asked, afraid to look at her as I spoke.

"What d'ya wanna know?"

I lifted my eyes to meet hers, and she was smiling easily. "I don't know. I mean, I know you're a teacher. And I know you've got a little boy--Ben. I know you were married to the writer. Tyler Whatever-his-name-is."

"Collins," she said, the smile still there. "Tyler Collins. He was my first husband. My second husband was a cop, and that one didn't last very long. Ben is Tyler's son. Randy and I--he's the cop--Randy and I didn't have any kids." She snorted. "That one barely lasted long enough to even get all the wedding presents unwrapped."

Over the next half hour--the latter half spent walking the main drag together--Kristin told me all about how she'd gone through two husbands. How she'd grown lonely and impatient with Tyler; left him in Florida and moved back to Illinois; married Randy; had Ben, who ended up being Tyler's son; gotten dumped by Randy; begged Tyler for a second chance; started teaching; was turned down by Tyler, who instead married his editor; and spent the past five years plus raising her son and going on the occasional date.

"Questions?" she said when it was done, her voice soft and resigned.

I stopped and turned, looking at her. "This isn't an interrogation, Kristin."

"I know. It's just that . . . well . . . I mean, I've made some real major mistakes. Some mistakes that've hurt a lot of people. Not just Tyler and Randy. Ben, too. And Tyler's folks and my folks and my cousin and . . . well, a lot of people."

"Did you do it to hurt them? Intentionally hurt them?"

She shrugged. "Doesn't really make any difference, does it? The point is that I did hurt them. Because of me, they all suffered. Why I did it doesn't really matter. It just matters that I did it."

"And you don't think that they're even a little bit at fault for any of this? You think Tyler--and especially Randy--aren't even a little bit at fault?"

"Tyler, maybe a little. Not really, though. I really put him in an impossible position. Randy, quite a bit more. But still, none of it wouldn't have happened without me. If I'd had my head out of my ass--maybe been able to think it all through better--then I'd like to think I wouldn't have done it. But . . . well, I'm pretty sure I'd have still done it. Then, at least."

"And now?"

She shook her head. "Not a chance."

"So what's different?"

"Ben," she said, surprised I had asked such a stupid question.

"That's all?"

She started walking again. "Of course that's all, Luke. C'mon, you've got Kyle. You know what I mean. You think you'd ever do all that shit if it meant putting him through all of that again? If he'd have to go through a second divorce with you?"

"I didn't even want him to go through the first divorce."

"No," she said, her low, reflective tone matching mine. "If I'd known I was pregnant, I'd have never left. I'd have come clean with Tyler and begged him to forgive me and I'd have spent the rest of my life trying to hold my family together."

"You think he'd have forgiven you?"

"Dunno," she said. "I'd like to think he would've. He was always a great guy. Still is."

"You sound like you're still in love with him."

"Sure. Why not? He's Ben's father, and he's a great guy."

"But?"

"But he's moved on. He's got a new wife now, and they've got a little girl of their own now, too. So yeah, sure, I still love him. But it's really a fond love. A comfortable love. Not a burning passion. I gave that up. Our ship sailed, and even if it came back to port I couldn't get on again."

I was silent, and she didn't say anything else until we were in the car driving back to my place.

"Penny for your thoughts," she said.

"I don't know," I replied, eyes on the road. "I just can't help but thinking that maybe Whitney--she's my ex--that she didn't really think this all through."

"I don't know," Kristin said, putting her hand on my forearm. "Sounds to me like she changed her mind toward the end. Like she wanted to do what I wish I'd had the chance to do. Beg your forgiveness and try to spend the rest of her life making it all up to you."

I shot a glance at Kristin, then back to the road. "Just one thing missing," I said.

"I know. She didn't want to have to come clean in the process."

"Bingo."

We pulled into the driveway beside her car, and I shut down the engine.

"Luke?"

"Kristin?"

"If she'd have come clean," she said, turning to me. "If she'd told you everything up front, would you have forgiven her?"

I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

"Guess we'll never know."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I'd asked Kristin to dinner for that night, but she begged off. Dinner with her folks. She promised to call me the next day sometime, and I told her I'd be there.

So my first Saturday night alone consisted of Puppy Chow for Sun Tzu and a bowl of soup for me. Five episodes into the Band of Brothers box set, I put the pup in his crate, went back to the couch, and went to sleep.

* * * * *

One of the worst parts about growing old is my inability to sleep much more than six hours a night. As a teenager, most of my weekend was spent in bed until almost eleven. At West Point, of course, that changed dramatically: I was up by 0430 every morning. That's really early for those of you not acquainted with military time. The rest of my time in the Army was similarly spent in snatches of sleep. After the Army, though, I enjoyed sleeping until at least eight or nine most weekend mornings, and managed at least eight hours of sleep nearly every night.

Now, though, when I most needed to sleep my time away to avoid the unbearable emptiness of the house, you think I could sleep now? Not a chance.

So there I was at five thirty, walking a clearly irritated puppy around the block for the fourth time. A few hundred yards into the fifth trip around, a tall, elderly man in pajamas and a bathrobe was waiting for me from his front porch.

"You shouldn't do that," he called.

I stopped and turned to him.

"Do what?"

He nodded down at the wheezing puppy. "Walk him so much. Or so fast, either. He's a pug."

"And you know this how?"

He smiled a patient smile. "Because it's what I do. I'm a vet."

I looked down at Sun Tzu, then back to the man on the porch. Scooping the dog into my arms, I walked to the front porch.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to be snotty or anything."

He looked at me for a moment, then to the dog now snuggled into my chest.

"Allen LaCroix," he said, reaching over to pet the puppy.

He was about seventy, tall and gaunt, bald with a gray, close-cropped monk's ring of hair and reading glasses. His forearms, though, belied his age. They looked like bands of steel.

"Luke Patterson," I responded.

"Pugs have a shortened, soft palate," he explained, looking at me as he spoke, "so they're just not good at breathing. It's why they snore so loud. And wheeze and pant so much, 'specially in hotter weather. They get winded and overheated real easy, so you need to keep an eye on 'em in this weather. Make sure he gets plenty of water when you get him home. And you may want to check out the pads of his paws. They're probably swollen pretty bad. Ice them."

"But I only--"

"Walked him four times around the block today," he said. "I know. I counted. And you walked him for nearly an hour yesterday. Probably two and a half, maybe three miles you walked him. I saw that, too, while I read my papers near the front window. You'll kill him, son. Sure as shit, you keep it up and you'll kill him."

I nodded, terrified of what I'd nearly done. "I didn't know."

He smiled. "Most first-time pet owners don't have a clue. Someone shoulda told you, but they didn't. So now I'm telling you."

He scratched Sun Tzu behind the ears. "Water. First thing when you get him home--and you'd best carry him there. See how he's already panting so's he can't quit?"

He was, but he was also looking up at me with adoring eyes and--to my eternal shame--love and happiness and trust.

"Promise," I said.

"Okay, Luke Patterson," he said. "Just thought you should know."

"How'd you know I'm a first-time pet owner?"

He chuckled. "Because you're letting the dog walk you instead of the other way around. Next time you walk him, keep him cinched in tight to your side. If he tries pulling ahead, jerk him back. You've got a harness collar here, so you won't be hurting him none. You'll just be showin' him who's the boss."

He chuckled again, then waved and went back into his house.

I walked back home, got Sonny a big bowl of fresh, cold water, and put him down. He drank nearly half the bowl in no time, and his panting started to subside.

"Sorry, boy," I said, petting him when he was done. He wagged his tail, then went to the living room and curled up in the middle of the floor.

I, on the other hand, spent the next hour getting over the shakes that had overcome me. Christ, how would I have explained to Kyle why Sonny was dead?

As if enough shit wasn't going wrong in his life, he came inches from having me kill his dog.

Jesus H. Christ!

* * * * *

By nine, I decided to go grocery shopping. Do you have any idea how bored you have to be before grocery shopping actually becomes the highlight of your day?

I was in the produce aisle when I heard the familiar voice behind me.

"Ewww," Heather Farley said, reaching in and smacking the zucchini from my hands. "Don't buy that, Professor. It's gross."

I looked at her and laughed. "Good morning, Ms. Farley."

She gave a bright smile, as did the shorter brunette next to her.

"Morning, Professor Patterson," she intoned in mock schoolgirl.

"Okay. Fine. We're not in class. Call me Luke."

"And you'll call me Heather?" she said.

"And me Brandi?" the other girl asked.

"Fair enough." I turned back to the zucchini. "So what's so gross about zucchini?"

"Not zucchini," Heather said. "Just that zucchini."