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Chapter 43
I didn't go to sleep right away. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could discern the silhouette of my bird perched on the backrest of the chair beside my cot. From across the room the sound of MacClayne's snoring was already starting in; he always seemed to doze off as soon as the lights were out. I could hear Wendy stirring on her mattress on the floor next to me. Having napped much of the afternoon, I wasn't sleepy and I lay there thinking of Moll Flanders. I had the feeling that, were I to meet her, I'd probably like her, but I'd do best to be on my guard around her. Rogues in a novel could be charming, especially when the story was read by Wendy.
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"You asleep?"
"No."
"Me neither," she said.
I held my breath and lay very still, wondering uneasily what she might be up to this time. After a brief silence, she spoke again.
"The schooner's sailing the day after tomorrow."
"Oh?" I said, not wishing to reveal that I already knew that.
"I was going to take you out there for a visit."
"It would've been fun," I said, trying to put a tone of indifference into my voice, but I did feel I'd missed something by not getting aboard.
"You know what?" she said; I could hear her moving, apparently rising up to lean on her elbow.
"What?"
"We could go there now."
"Now? It's close to twelve."
"They might still be up. They're night owls."
I took a deep breath.
"Wanna go?"
The truth is, I did want to go, but something told me it wasn't a good idea for me to be going out into the night with Wendy. I tried to think of some reason to say no. Then I thought of something. "Is there any chance that Jeff might be on that boat?"
"No, why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling, a hunch," I said.
"Oh?" There was a note of irony in her voice. "Tell me about your hunch."
"Where else could he be staying? This is the only hotel in town."
"He's got a room three doors down from here."
"Really?"
"Yes really," she said. "So, what made you think he'd be on the schooner?"
"Well, he's a sailing enthusiast."
"How did you find that out?"
"Well--"
"Yes?" The tone of her voice was sweet, yet demanding. Patiently impatient.
"Jeff told me," I said at last. "I ran into him in a restaurant this evening."
"Did he say anything about me?"
"I'd rather not repeat things Jeff told me," I said.
"Olaf, you're such a gentleman! But let me tell you something: I know exactly what he told you because he's said it so many times before to so many people and it gets back to me. He even goes and tells my friends bad things about me. The guy has no sense of discretion. No finesse. Well, you're my friend and so you heard it for yourself. Right?"
"Please, Wendy."
She laughed. "I'm not trying to pump you. I don't have to, because I already know everything. For example, I know for a fact that the bastard told you I've had a roll in the hay with every guy around." She paused, her voice had gotten slightly shrill during that last line.
I tried to think of some defusing reply, but my mind was blank.
"He said that about me, didn't he?" she added.
"Wendy, I'd rather not--"
"No, it's okay, you don't have to answer. You have your principles and I wouldn't want you to violate them. I just want you to know that I know all about what goes on behind my back. But can you imagine a guy who'd talk like that about his own wife?"
"No, I can't," I said, wondering at the same time if I wasn't being a little too supportive. Then, in an attempt to be a little more honest, I added, "What I mean is, I can't condone his saying that, no matter what the situation." I wondered if I'd gotten it right this time.
"I understand what you meant to say. You don't approve of people speaking badly about others, and that's one of the things I admire about you."
Though I could hardly make out more than the silhouette of her face, I sensed that she was smiling. A moment later she continued, "And it's not just the gossip that comes back to me--Jeff also comes back! Sometimes he'll be gone for a day and sometimes for a week. Once it was for a whole month. The bastard always leaves me forever but he always returns before long. He'll be back this time too, only this time it's too late. I've had it. This time, it really is over."
I tried to think of some words of commiseration. Nothing came to mind.
"I just want you to know this. I no longer consider myself to be a married woman. I'm not Jeff's wife. That's over. For good. For ever!"
She paused. "Olaf, can I ask you to go to the ice chest and get me a beer? I don't have my clothes on."
I hadn't realized that Wendy was shy about walking around without her clothes on, but I assented.
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"Bring a couple of them. One for yourself too."
I brought only one back and passed it to her.
"Thank you, Olaf." She popped it open and stopped. "Where's yours? You didn't get one for yourself, did you."
"No, I didn't."
"Well get one!" she demanded. It was a sweet demand, but nevertheless a demand.
I didn't move.
"Olaf. I don't want to drink alone. Not tonight. You understand? Normally it doesn't matter, but right now I want you to have a beer with me."
"I--"
"What do I have to do to get you to drink a beer with me? Here, I'll get one for you!" She stood up, and even in the near-darkness of the room I could see she was completely naked, not even wearing panties. I was too astonished to close my eyes as I had the previous night, or maybe it was the murkiness that made it seem okay to look at her, or whatever. Anyway, for a full five seconds I was unable to take my eyes off her. Then she walked over to the ice chest, reached in and brought one back, popped open the top and handed it to me, just as Jeff had done earlier that same evening.
Instinctively, I took a swallow. The beer was bitter, but it was appropriate to the situation. Wendy sat down cross-legged on her mattress, pulled a sheet over her shoulders and modestly wrapped it about her. "Olaf, this is one of those times that I just don't want to drink alone. I want you to be here for me and just listen to what I have to say and tell me the truth on everything. The truth, okay?"
"I'll try," I said weakly. This whole thing had me off balance.
"Do you think I drink a lot?" she said.
I tried to think of some noncommittal reply.
"The truth now. Do I drink too much?"
"Well, yes."
"That's an honest answer, and you're right, I do. But you know something else? I didn't used to."
"No?"
"No. Not till I met that damn--Well I'm not even going to say his name again. But you know who I mean. Just being around him drove me to drinking. It's what he does to people, something in him!"
Her voice had risen, and her words echoed in the darkness. MacClayne was still snoring, but it worried me that he might wake up and hear what we were saying. I heard a soft plop; Cuauhtémoc had hopped onto my cot and was now perched beside me.
"We gotta keep it down," I said as softly as I could.
"I'm sorry. You're right, I am getting loud. Here, sit down beside me so I don't have to yell ."
I hesitated. What's this leading to? I felt a frightened, empty feeling in my stomach as I pictured Chayo looking on. Was this something Chayo would understand? Actually, Wendy and I were practically point-blank face-to-face; how much closer could I get?
"Olaf. Please. Do as I say. I need you to be here for me, to listen to what I have to say."
I did as requested and moved down onto her mattress, leaning my back against the wall. Cuauhtémoc hopped down and sat on my lap. My bird. My chaperon. If I was going to be there for Wendy, my bird was determined to be there for me.
"Thank you," Wendy said. "You're my knight in shining armor. Ready for another beer?"
"Not quite."
"Well, I am. But you just sit there, I'll get this round." She got up, modestly wrapped in the sheet this time as she went to the ice chest and returned with two more cans. "I know, I do drink too much. But this is my last night of boozing and I might as well drink up. No more Jeff, and, starting tomorrow, no more booze either. It's all over, I'm beginning a new life."
I nodded. Of course this was the sort of thing I'd heard before. But I wanted to believe it--and it just might be real. Maybe there really is a time when a person reaches a place in his life where he rounds a bend in the road and becomes a new person. Maybe both Jeff and Wendy had finally come to such a turning point; together they'd certainly been a bad combination, but separately perhaps, each might go his own way and become a new person. Who could say?
Neither of us spoke for some time. Wendy broke the silence. "Olaf," she said.
"Yes."
"Let's go visit the schooner."
Though I couldn't read my watch in the dim light, I knew it was after twelve. The crew would certainly be asleep by now. But if that's what Wendy wanted to do, then we'd go. We'd find out when we got there. Anyway, I did feel like getting out and walking a bit, wearing off some of this tension, and also getting away from this uncomfortably seductive nearness to Wendy.
"Sure," I said. "Let's go."
Wendy went in the bathroom to get dressed, and I groped around till I found my jacket. I was wearing my shorts, but, figuring that it was likely to be chilly at this hour, I changed to my trousers.
"Cuauhtémoc," I said, as Wendy and I were finally ready and about to go out the door. "I think I'd better ask you to just stay here. We're going aboard a ship, and you're not a seabird."
We stepped from the murky room to the dim shadows of the courtyard and quietly closed the door behind us. No light was on, and the moon was hidden by clouds. Everything was still, not even the crickets were chirping.
"Noche oscura del alma," I said aloud, but mostly to myself.
"What?"
"Dark night of the soul. It's a poem," I said and recited a couple lines:
Salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
"I love the way you say that in Spanish, what does it mean?"
"It means, 'I slipped out unnoticed, my house being quiet,'" I said. "It's by Juan de la Cruz, a 16th century Spanish mystic; he's describing how a soul goes to find union with God."
"You kidding?" she said.
"What do you mean?"
"It's got nothing to do with mysticism--it's about a woman slipping out to have sex with her boyfriend."
"I never thought of it that way."
"Olaf, you are so innocent!" she laughed. "But that's what I like about you."
Something nudged my leg and I looked down to see a small shadowy figure beside me. He hopped onto my arm. I hadn't intended to bring him along, but now I was glad to have him with me. Somehow I didn't feel right without him.
"You also slipped out unnoticed," Wendy said. "You're such a clever rooster."
"He is," I said proudly. I was always flattered when people said nice things about my bird.
The street lamps were off, but our eyes were accustomed to the darkness as we made our way around mud puddles and other obstacles. Wendy led us to the cliff face. There the street ended in a staircase which we descended to the beach.
The ship was riding at anchor not far from shore. Wendy called it a schooner and Jeff had called it a yawl; apparently both terms were correct. Several lights glowed in the darkness, but I couldn't make out any human figures on deck. A small rowboat was tied to the bowsprit; I guessed it was used for ship-to-shore trips.
"Ahoy!" Wendy called out. "Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!"
Her voice echoed out over the water and as we waited, I studied the rigging. All I could see was a tall foremast and a much shorter mizzen.
"Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!" she called out again, but there was no reply. "They're not responding," she said to me exasperatedly.
"Well, it must be well past midnight," I said.
"So?"
"They're probably sleeping."
"But they must've heard me." She shook her head unbelievingly, and took me by the arm. "Hold my hand. I just need you to hold my hand."
I envisioned Chayo watching me from afar. Would she understand? But maybe it was important for Wendy to have some friend there with her and hold her hand at this moment. Was it wrong? I somehow felt it would be wrong to refuse, even if it did displease Chayo.
Holding her hand didn't make me her lover, just her friend. Maybe a brother. As to whether I was a big brother or a little brother I wasn't quite sure; it seemed to go back and forth. This morning she'd been Wendy the big sister, and now this evening I was Olaf the big brother; but there was also that bit of Moll Flanders lurking around somewhere. I had to be careful. Cuauhtémoc perched on my shoulder, as though to watch over me.
We sat on the seawall for a while and gazed out over the harbor. While the surf crashed in the distance, the waves lapping against the base of the seawall were quiet and gentle.
After a long silence, Wendy spoke. "Olaf, do you ever have the feeling that the world just isn't there for you?"
"The world?" I repeated.
"That nobody gives a damn what happens to you," she said, "that you're just completely alone and with nobody to care about you."
What she was saying sounded a bit extreme, but I guessed that she must be going through some trauma over her breakup with Jeff. I tried to think of something supportive. "Yeah, there're times when I feel lonely."
"Just lonely?"
"Yeah, lonely. Isn't that what you mean?"
"I don't think you get it." She shook her head and looked out over the water but at the same time gripped my hand tightly.
"Then what do you mean?"
"You saw what happened. I kept calling to the people on the schooner, and nobody answered."
"They were asleep," I said.
"They didn't care," said Wendy.
I didn't see how she could associate sleeping with not caring, at least not in this case, but I sensed that it would do no good to argue with her. I thought of the times I'd tried to argue with MacClayne and gotten nowhere. And it does no good to ever tell a person who's in an irrational mood that he's being irrational--that was something I'd learned from my association with MacClayne.
We sat there for some time in silence, Wendy gripping my hand, and Cuauhtémoc gripping my shoulder. The bird's presence was reassuring, and I was glad he'd slipped out the door to come with me.
Eventually we headed back to the hotel. By now I was sleepy.
As I sat down on my cot, Wendy asked for one last thing, that I lie down on the mattress beside her, just to hold her hand and be next to her. I thought about it for a full minute before I finally sighed and told her, "Wendy, that is something I cannot do."
"Well, say something. I like to hear your voice. Tell me about when you were a little kid. You're from Minnesota, right?"
"Yes, I am."
"Tell me about it."
I started to tell about a place where I went camping with my uncle Rolf. We got to talking about it.
"Here, slide in beside me," Wendy said. I could hear the sound of her patting the mattress with her hand.
"I really can't."
"You can't?"
"No."
"It's not that girlfriend again?"
"Yes, it is."
"What about me?"
"You? What about you?"
"How can you talk to me like that?" She sounded offended.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you even care about me?"
"Of course I care about you."
"Well then," she said, and took my hand as though to draw me towards her.
"I can't."
"Then don't!" she snapped in a huff, and it bothered me that I'd perhaps said something that hurt her feelings, but by now I was too tired to say anything more. I must have fallen asleep immediately because the next morning I didn't remember anything further of our conversation.
continued in Chapter 44
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"You asleep?"
"No."
"Me neither," she said.
I held my breath and lay very still, wondering uneasily what she might be up to this time. After a brief silence, she spoke again.
"The schooner's sailing the day after tomorrow."
"Oh?" I said, not wishing to reveal that I already knew that.
"I was going to take you out there for a visit."
"It would've been fun," I said, trying to put a tone of indifference into my voice, but I did feel I'd missed something by not getting aboard.
"You know what?" she said; I could hear her moving, apparently rising up to lean on her elbow.
"What?"
"We could go there now."
"Now? It's close to twelve."
"They might still be up. They're night owls."
I took a deep breath.
"Wanna go?"
The truth is, I did want to go, but something told me it wasn't a good idea for me to be going out into the night with Wendy. I tried to think of some reason to say no. Then I thought of something. "Is there any chance that Jeff might be on that boat?"
"No, why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling, a hunch," I said.
"Oh?" There was a note of irony in her voice. "Tell me about your hunch."
"Where else could he be staying? This is the only hotel in town."
"He's got a room three doors down from here."
"Really?"
"Yes really," she said. "So, what made you think he'd be on the schooner?"
"Well, he's a sailing enthusiast."
"How did you find that out?"
"Well--"
"Yes?" The tone of her voice was sweet, yet demanding. Patiently impatient.
"Jeff told me," I said at last. "I ran into him in a restaurant this evening."
"Did he say anything about me?"
"I'd rather not repeat things Jeff told me," I said.
"Olaf, you're such a gentleman! But let me tell you something: I know exactly what he told you because he's said it so many times before to so many people and it gets back to me. He even goes and tells my friends bad things about me. The guy has no sense of discretion. No finesse. Well, you're my friend and so you heard it for yourself. Right?"
"Please, Wendy."
She laughed. "I'm not trying to pump you. I don't have to, because I already know everything. For example, I know for a fact that the bastard told you I've had a roll in the hay with every guy around." She paused, her voice had gotten slightly shrill during that last line.
I tried to think of some defusing reply, but my mind was blank.
"He said that about me, didn't he?" she added.
"Wendy, I'd rather not--"
"No, it's okay, you don't have to answer. You have your principles and I wouldn't want you to violate them. I just want you to know that I know all about what goes on behind my back. But can you imagine a guy who'd talk like that about his own wife?"
"No, I can't," I said, wondering at the same time if I wasn't being a little too supportive. Then, in an attempt to be a little more honest, I added, "What I mean is, I can't condone his saying that, no matter what the situation." I wondered if I'd gotten it right this time.
"I understand what you meant to say. You don't approve of people speaking badly about others, and that's one of the things I admire about you."
Though I could hardly make out more than the silhouette of her face, I sensed that she was smiling. A moment later she continued, "And it's not just the gossip that comes back to me--Jeff also comes back! Sometimes he'll be gone for a day and sometimes for a week. Once it was for a whole month. The bastard always leaves me forever but he always returns before long. He'll be back this time too, only this time it's too late. I've had it. This time, it really is over."
I tried to think of some words of commiseration. Nothing came to mind.
"I just want you to know this. I no longer consider myself to be a married woman. I'm not Jeff's wife. That's over. For good. For ever!"
She paused. "Olaf, can I ask you to go to the ice chest and get me a beer? I don't have my clothes on."
I hadn't realized that Wendy was shy about walking around without her clothes on, but I assented.
"Olaf."
"Yes."
"Bring a couple of them. One for yourself too."
I brought only one back and passed it to her.
"Thank you, Olaf." She popped it open and stopped. "Where's yours? You didn't get one for yourself, did you."
"No, I didn't."
"Well get one!" she demanded. It was a sweet demand, but nevertheless a demand.
I didn't move.
"Olaf. I don't want to drink alone. Not tonight. You understand? Normally it doesn't matter, but right now I want you to have a beer with me."
"I--"
"What do I have to do to get you to drink a beer with me? Here, I'll get one for you!" She stood up, and even in the near-darkness of the room I could see she was completely naked, not even wearing panties. I was too astonished to close my eyes as I had the previous night, or maybe it was the murkiness that made it seem okay to look at her, or whatever. Anyway, for a full five seconds I was unable to take my eyes off her. Then she walked over to the ice chest, reached in and brought one back, popped open the top and handed it to me, just as Jeff had done earlier that same evening.
Instinctively, I took a swallow. The beer was bitter, but it was appropriate to the situation. Wendy sat down cross-legged on her mattress, pulled a sheet over her shoulders and modestly wrapped it about her. "Olaf, this is one of those times that I just don't want to drink alone. I want you to be here for me and just listen to what I have to say and tell me the truth on everything. The truth, okay?"
"I'll try," I said weakly. This whole thing had me off balance.
"Do you think I drink a lot?" she said.
I tried to think of some noncommittal reply.
"The truth now. Do I drink too much?"
"Well, yes."
"That's an honest answer, and you're right, I do. But you know something else? I didn't used to."
"No?"
"No. Not till I met that damn--Well I'm not even going to say his name again. But you know who I mean. Just being around him drove me to drinking. It's what he does to people, something in him!"
Her voice had risen, and her words echoed in the darkness. MacClayne was still snoring, but it worried me that he might wake up and hear what we were saying. I heard a soft plop; Cuauhtémoc had hopped onto my cot and was now perched beside me.
"We gotta keep it down," I said as softly as I could.
"I'm sorry. You're right, I am getting loud. Here, sit down beside me so I don't have to yell ."
I hesitated. What's this leading to? I felt a frightened, empty feeling in my stomach as I pictured Chayo looking on. Was this something Chayo would understand? Actually, Wendy and I were practically point-blank face-to-face; how much closer could I get?
"Olaf. Please. Do as I say. I need you to be here for me, to listen to what I have to say."
I did as requested and moved down onto her mattress, leaning my back against the wall. Cuauhtémoc hopped down and sat on my lap. My bird. My chaperon. If I was going to be there for Wendy, my bird was determined to be there for me.
"Thank you," Wendy said. "You're my knight in shining armor. Ready for another beer?"
"Not quite."
"Well, I am. But you just sit there, I'll get this round." She got up, modestly wrapped in the sheet this time as she went to the ice chest and returned with two more cans. "I know, I do drink too much. But this is my last night of boozing and I might as well drink up. No more Jeff, and, starting tomorrow, no more booze either. It's all over, I'm beginning a new life."
I nodded. Of course this was the sort of thing I'd heard before. But I wanted to believe it--and it just might be real. Maybe there really is a time when a person reaches a place in his life where he rounds a bend in the road and becomes a new person. Maybe both Jeff and Wendy had finally come to such a turning point; together they'd certainly been a bad combination, but separately perhaps, each might go his own way and become a new person. Who could say?
Neither of us spoke for some time. Wendy broke the silence. "Olaf," she said.
"Yes."
"Let's go visit the schooner."
Though I couldn't read my watch in the dim light, I knew it was after twelve. The crew would certainly be asleep by now. But if that's what Wendy wanted to do, then we'd go. We'd find out when we got there. Anyway, I did feel like getting out and walking a bit, wearing off some of this tension, and also getting away from this uncomfortably seductive nearness to Wendy.
"Sure," I said. "Let's go."
Wendy went in the bathroom to get dressed, and I groped around till I found my jacket. I was wearing my shorts, but, figuring that it was likely to be chilly at this hour, I changed to my trousers.
"Cuauhtémoc," I said, as Wendy and I were finally ready and about to go out the door. "I think I'd better ask you to just stay here. We're going aboard a ship, and you're not a seabird."
We stepped from the murky room to the dim shadows of the courtyard and quietly closed the door behind us. No light was on, and the moon was hidden by clouds. Everything was still, not even the crickets were chirping.
"Noche oscura del alma," I said aloud, but mostly to myself.
"What?"
"Dark night of the soul. It's a poem," I said and recited a couple lines:
Salí sin ser notada,
estando ya mi casa sosegada.
"I love the way you say that in Spanish, what does it mean?"
"It means, 'I slipped out unnoticed, my house being quiet,'" I said. "It's by Juan de la Cruz, a 16th century Spanish mystic; he's describing how a soul goes to find union with God."
"You kidding?" she said.
"What do you mean?"
"It's got nothing to do with mysticism--it's about a woman slipping out to have sex with her boyfriend."
"I never thought of it that way."
"Olaf, you are so innocent!" she laughed. "But that's what I like about you."
Something nudged my leg and I looked down to see a small shadowy figure beside me. He hopped onto my arm. I hadn't intended to bring him along, but now I was glad to have him with me. Somehow I didn't feel right without him.
"You also slipped out unnoticed," Wendy said. "You're such a clever rooster."
"He is," I said proudly. I was always flattered when people said nice things about my bird.
The street lamps were off, but our eyes were accustomed to the darkness as we made our way around mud puddles and other obstacles. Wendy led us to the cliff face. There the street ended in a staircase which we descended to the beach.
The ship was riding at anchor not far from shore. Wendy called it a schooner and Jeff had called it a yawl; apparently both terms were correct. Several lights glowed in the darkness, but I couldn't make out any human figures on deck. A small rowboat was tied to the bowsprit; I guessed it was used for ship-to-shore trips.
"Ahoy!" Wendy called out. "Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!"
Her voice echoed out over the water and as we waited, I studied the rigging. All I could see was a tall foremast and a much shorter mizzen.
"Ahoy! It's me! Wendy!" she called out again, but there was no reply. "They're not responding," she said to me exasperatedly.
"Well, it must be well past midnight," I said.
"So?"
"They're probably sleeping."
"But they must've heard me." She shook her head unbelievingly, and took me by the arm. "Hold my hand. I just need you to hold my hand."
I envisioned Chayo watching me from afar. Would she understand? But maybe it was important for Wendy to have some friend there with her and hold her hand at this moment. Was it wrong? I somehow felt it would be wrong to refuse, even if it did displease Chayo.
Holding her hand didn't make me her lover, just her friend. Maybe a brother. As to whether I was a big brother or a little brother I wasn't quite sure; it seemed to go back and forth. This morning she'd been Wendy the big sister, and now this evening I was Olaf the big brother; but there was also that bit of Moll Flanders lurking around somewhere. I had to be careful. Cuauhtémoc perched on my shoulder, as though to watch over me.
We sat on the seawall for a while and gazed out over the harbor. While the surf crashed in the distance, the waves lapping against the base of the seawall were quiet and gentle.
After a long silence, Wendy spoke. "Olaf, do you ever have the feeling that the world just isn't there for you?"
"The world?" I repeated.
"That nobody gives a damn what happens to you," she said, "that you're just completely alone and with nobody to care about you."
What she was saying sounded a bit extreme, but I guessed that she must be going through some trauma over her breakup with Jeff. I tried to think of something supportive. "Yeah, there're times when I feel lonely."
"Just lonely?"
"Yeah, lonely. Isn't that what you mean?"
"I don't think you get it." She shook her head and looked out over the water but at the same time gripped my hand tightly.
"Then what do you mean?"
"You saw what happened. I kept calling to the people on the schooner, and nobody answered."
"They were asleep," I said.
"They didn't care," said Wendy.
I didn't see how she could associate sleeping with not caring, at least not in this case, but I sensed that it would do no good to argue with her. I thought of the times I'd tried to argue with MacClayne and gotten nowhere. And it does no good to ever tell a person who's in an irrational mood that he's being irrational--that was something I'd learned from my association with MacClayne.
We sat there for some time in silence, Wendy gripping my hand, and Cuauhtémoc gripping my shoulder. The bird's presence was reassuring, and I was glad he'd slipped out the door to come with me.
Eventually we headed back to the hotel. By now I was sleepy.
As I sat down on my cot, Wendy asked for one last thing, that I lie down on the mattress beside her, just to hold her hand and be next to her. I thought about it for a full minute before I finally sighed and told her, "Wendy, that is something I cannot do."
"Well, say something. I like to hear your voice. Tell me about when you were a little kid. You're from Minnesota, right?"
"Yes, I am."
"Tell me about it."
I started to tell about a place where I went camping with my uncle Rolf. We got to talking about it.
"Here, slide in beside me," Wendy said. I could hear the sound of her patting the mattress with her hand.
"I really can't."
"You can't?"
"No."
"It's not that girlfriend again?"
"Yes, it is."
"What about me?"
"You? What about you?"
"How can you talk to me like that?" She sounded offended.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you even care about me?"
"Of course I care about you."
"Well then," she said, and took my hand as though to draw me towards her.
"I can't."
"Then don't!" she snapped in a huff, and it bothered me that I'd perhaps said something that hurt her feelings, but by now I was too tired to say anything more. I must have fallen asleep immediately because the next morning I didn't remember anything further of our conversation.
continued in Chapter 44
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