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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wednesday, June 16
The next threedays fall into a predictable pattern of driving, junk food, sharing stories, driving, more junk food, listening to good music, more driving and more junk food. Each night, Connor and I conclude our bedtime routines by falling asleep cuddled together. The only change is that Connor has switched from his usual decorating shows to cooking shows.
We’ve also seemed to work ourselves back into our no sex sleepover arrangement. Other than a few passionate kisses, Connor has made no effort to make love to me. I’m shocked to discover that I’m not the least bit concerned that I’ve done something wrong this time. I know that he’s battling his own insecurities that come as a result of what happened with Shana. And, I know part of his hesitation comes out of deference to me as I was a bit sore “down there.” He wants to be a good man to me, and I’m letting him.
I make sure to keep his candy stash replenished, and give him playful pats and touches to remind him he’s very much desired and his efforts are appreciated.
On the fourth day, we turn off the highway and onto a dirt road that seems to lead to the middle of nowhere.
“Our campground is pretty far off the beaten path, isn’t it?” I comment. It’s a passive-aggressive way to ask where the hell we’re going, I know. But I know Connor understands I’m curious, but I don’t want to second-guess him.
“We’re staying with some friends of mine tonight. I hope that’s OK.”
I sit up in my seat. I’ve spent the last hundred miles leaning back with my feet propped up on the dashboard. How Connor sits rigid and upright in that driver’s seat all day is beyond me. He can’t even stand up straight inside the Minnow Bucket. No matter how many times I offer to drive and let him stretch out, he insists he is enjoying himself and politely declines.
“That’s great. Who are we meeting?”
“Morris and Georgia Krazanski.”
Something in his tone clues me in that these people are more than casual friends. “How do you know them?”
“Dr. Krazanski is one of the therapists who helped me when I was recovering from the death of …” he stops, not even wanting to utter her name. I get that. He has no idea how much.
“She who shall not be named?” I say, trying to diffuse his pain.
“Yeah. I like that. Thanks. Dr. Krazanski said if I was ever in the area, I should stop by. I texted a few days ago and she and her husband insist on meeting you.”
So, Morris Krazanski, as it turns out, isn’t the doctor in the relationship. His wife Georgia is.
“I’m honored,” I admit. And it’s not a lie. I am honored.
“Really? Because we don’t have to go if you’d rather not.”
“They just want to meet me, and see you. You obviously have a friendship with her; it’s not just doctor and patient with this woman, right?” I’m guessing, but the look on Connor’s face tells me immediately that I’ve nailed it.
“Exactly. I thought I’d have a harder time getting you to understand that. But then again, you’re not …”
“She who shall not be named?” I say, this time with a bit more boldness.
“You really are wonderful, Lainey Bird.”
Morris and Georgia Krazanski are undoubtedly the cutest couple I’ve ever met. Their farm is at the crossroads of the Ends of the Earth and the Middle of Nowhere. I swear, there’s no cell coverage and they must have to pay to pipe in the sunshine this far off the beaten path. But their house is cozy. Every nook and cranny is filled with some little knickknack or another. Every piece of furniture has a hand-crocheted doily on it. The wallpaper is floral, the furniture threadbare and the camaraderie amazing. I can see why Connor obviously cares about these people so much.
We’re greeted on their front porch with a rolling cart of cocktails. Morris mixes up Cosmopolitans tonight. Apparently, every “cocktail of the day” is different. The drinks are sweet and strong. Miss Adventure throws back a second before I remind her that we can’t go overboard in front of Connor’s friends.
Morris is a slight man of around eighty with not a single hair on his head. He wears a wrinkled smile that never fully fades and has bright twirling eyes that look like sparking coal dust against his dark tanned skin. Dr. Krazanski, Georgia, as she insists I call her, is a stout woman with fluffs of gray hair that mostly stay in a loose wispy bun on the top of her head. Her full figure is wrapped in a flowing rayon bag of floral material and she laughs so frequently and with such genuine gaiety that it’s impossible not to laugh right along with her.
“My goodness, Connor, you look wonderful. How have you been doing?” Georgia asks as we plant ourselves on their front porch and watch Morris mix up his next batch of Cosmos.
I notice Connor sits on the edge of his chair like he’s anxious about something. Literally on edge somehow. He reaches over and takes my hand in his and holds it tight. It’s hot and clammy. I suddenly realize he’s nervous. About me? About what she’ll say? Am I here for her approval? Perhaps it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with reliving the horror of Shana’s suicide.
“Good. The restaurants are all doing well, and I confronted the manager of theDay Old Bagellike you suggested, and I think things will be better going forward.”
“Good to hear. And, of course, there’s this happy addition to your life.” Georgia winks at me.
Connor squeezes my hand. “She’s wonderful,” he says and I smile at the familiarity of his words.
