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And yet I felt he wasn’t through with me yet.
II
“Is that Sam Blake? Or are my eyes deceiving me?” The words, followed by the tinkle of feminine laughter, stopped me in my tracks on Lunt Avenue. Even Vito paused to look.
I thought of the Dorothy Parker quote,What fresh hell is this?I turned to see who spotted me. I just wanted to get home, and I was so close. Damn, just two more blocks, across Clark Street, and then one more block south and I’d be there.
Why was the universe trying so hard to prevent such a simple desire?
But I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her. Debbie Alexander and I had worked for several years together as catalog copywriters out in Des Plaines for an office products company. The work was mind numbing and dull, but Debbie and I had bonded over our pretentious boss, Marcia Silverman, and what we thought of as her plan to make us all fat by bringing a cake in every Friday.
But since I’d been hired as an editor for one of the American Medical Association’s publications downtown five years ago, she and I had lost touch. At first, we stayed connected. There was the occasional email or lunch on a Saturday, but as friendships like these tend to do, the occasions of our meeting up grew further and further apart as time intervened. Friendship withered on the vine of good intentions, as it often does.
“Debbie!” I cried. “How long has it been?” I moved toward her and we hugged. She smelled good, citrusy and clean. I leaned back to take her in. She looked great, and I told her so. “Love the new hair color.” She’d gone red when before her hair had been a mousy brown, streaked through with premature gray, mostly tied back in a braid. Now it was cut short, framing her face.
“Thanks, hon.” She gestured toward her tall frame, clad today in a midriff top, distressed jeans, and rhinestone-bedazzled sandals. “I did a makeover after the divorce—lost thirty pounds, more like two hundred if you count that asshole I married, got Botox, changed my hair, and now I’m living my best life here in the city.”
“Wow. We’vereallybeen out of touch.” I was actually glad I’d run into her. Her happiness at seeing me helped obliterate some of the tension I felt, erasing the need to flee. Her appearance made the world a little less creepy and threatening. She was like the sun coming out. “I didn’t know about the divorce or that you’d moved from Park Ridge.”
“Out of the suburbs and into life!” She laughed. “That place was suffocating me.”
“And do you realize you’re a five-minute walk from me?” I laughed with a bit of joy. “Girl, we need to do Friday night drinks again!”
“I didn’t know until just now. But I’m thrilled! And drinks? You bet.” She looked down at Vito and squatted beside him, holding her hand out a foot or so away so he could sniff if he chose. He chose and before a minute had passed, she’d won him over. Today seemed to be his day for warming to strangers. But hehadmet Debbie on a couple of occasions before. He flopped on to his belly and let her rub it, something he rarely did for people he didn’t know. Much to his displeasure, she took her hand away after a minute or so and stood. “You got a little time? Wanna come up and see the place? It’s just a one-bedroom, but I have a peekaboo view of the lake, if you lean the right way.”
I was going to refuse, given my desire to get home. But then I glanced down at my watch and relented. The roast in the slow cooker needed at least three more hours. What was my hurry? A bit of distraction might be just the thing for getting this derailed day back on track. “I’d love that.” I followed her into her high-rise building.
Debbie’s apartment was tiny, but she told me the landlord had allowed her to paint it and it had a mid-century modern vibe which was really cool. Bright white walls with pops of orange everywhere—the doors, a minimalist clock on the wall, a giant hyper-realistic tangerine painting over the couch.
“You’ve done a fantastic job with this place.” I plopped down on the couch, gratified that I had, at least somewhat, put Jeb’s appearance on the lakefront trail behind. I even felt a little gaslit. Had it really even happened?
Debbie busied herself in the kitchen, but wasn’t gone long. She showed up with a tray on which there was a bottle of Chardonnay, a row of water crackers, and slices of what I hoped would be a good sharp cheddar.
“You didn’t have to go to this trouble.” Vito obviously disagreed. He was on his hind legs, poised to sniff, if not pilfer. I shooed him away.
“Pfft. No trouble at all. Reunions should be celebrated. If I had a bottle of champagne in the fridge, I would have opened it.” She sat beside me and squeezed my knee. “This is such a wonderful surprise! I’m so happy to see you.”
I was touched. We toasted and got busy catching up. I told her how things were going with Marc, how my job was still boring, but being allowed to work two days a week from home made the ennui go down a lot smoother, and how long Vito had been with us. She told me about how she’d finally broken free from a cheating and emotionally abusive man, gone back to school to get an associate’s degree in interior design, and how she was dating absolutely no one. “And everyone!” she added with a laugh. “Playing the field, baby. I’m just getting around to sampling the man banquet that I was pushed away from when I married that asshole when I was fresh out of high school.”
It was surprising how easily a bottle of wine went down and how quickly a couple of hours had passed. But now, I really did need to get myself back home. I stood and told Debbie we’d have her over for dinner soon.
“And then drinks and dancing in Boystown?” she asked, hopeful.
“Sure, whatever you want.” It had been so long since I’d had a night out like what she proposed that I almost said no. But it would be good for Marc and me to get out, to hit a dancefloor again, to admire pretty boys, sweaty and shirtless, on a crowded dance floor to a thumping techno beat. We weren’t exactly old, not yet.
I hugged her, a little buzzed, leashed up Vito, and we headed out.
While we’d been inside, the sky had darkened more, with a bank of charcoal clouds moving in from the east. The wind was cooler and more intense, bringing the smell of the lake with it. Leaves rustled in the trees. Cars switched on their headlights.
A storm, or at least rain, was on the way. Maybe the idea of a roast for dinner wasn’t so out-of-season after all.
Vito and I hurried toward home, the wind at our backs.
The sky continued to darken.
III
Vito jumped against the condo front door, as he always did. His excitement at being home, at seeing his other daddy, never wore out. Up, down, up, down, as though his stubby legs were spring-loaded. I chuckled and made haste with the keys.
