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I'm thinking about the Ace of Clubs again and where the stones of home might be.
"Ed?" He claps at me. "You there?"
For a brief moment, I consider asking Marv if he's heard of the stones of home, but something stops me. He won't understand, and I know without exception now that if I'm going to be this messenger, I have to do it alone.
"I'm fine, Marv," I tell him. "Just thinking of some things."
"That'll kill you," he warns. "You're better off not thinking at all."
In a way, I wish I could be like that. You'd never worry or care about anything that really mattered. You'd be happy, in the same pitiful way someone like our friend Ritchie is. Nothing affects you, and you affect nothing.
"Don't worry, Marv," I say. "I'll be all right."
Marv feels like talking tonight. He says, "Remember that girl I used to see?"
"Suzanne?"
He says her full name, drawing it out. "Suzanne Boyd." He shrugs now. "I remember when she left with her family and never even said a goddamn thing to me about it. That was three years ago now.... I thought about it till it drove me crazy." He echoes my previous thoughts now. "Someone like Ritchie, he wouldn't care less. He'd call her a slurry, drink a beer, and put a bet on at the betting shop." Marv smiles ruefully and looks down. "All over."
I want to talk to him.
I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her.
Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other?
There's a long quietness until I finally break it open
. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.
"Marv?" I ask.
"What?" His eyes tear at me, suddenly.
"How would you feel if you had to be somewhere right now and didn't know how to get there?"
He examines the question. He seems to be over the girl for the moment. "Like missing the Annual Sledge Game?"
I allow him that much. "Okay."
"Well..." He thinks with all of him, rubbing his rough hand over the blond stubble on his face. That's how important the game is to him. "I'd always be imagining what's happening there, knowing I can't change it because I'm so far away."
"Frustrating?" I ask.
"Definitely."
I've looked up maps now. I've found some old books that belonged to my father and read local histories. Nothing, however, gives me any idea where I'll find the stones of home. The days and nights come apart. I feel them corroding at the seams. Every minute lets me know that something might be happening that I need to adjust or add to. Or stop.
We play cards.
I've been to Edgar Street a few times and nothing has changed. The man still hasn't returned. I don't think he's ever coming back.
The mother and the girl have looked happy when I've watched them. I leave it at that.
One night I go to Milla's place and read to her.
She's delighted to see me, and I must tell you it's nice to be Jimmy again. I drink tea and kiss Milla's wrinkled cheek on my way out.
On Saturday I go and watch Sophie run. She still comes in second but, true to her word, runs barefoot. She sees me and nods. Nothing is said because it's while she's running. I'm standing behind the fence along the back straight. Just in that passing moment, we recognize each other, and it's enough.
