Chapter 22

 

The two investigators sat facing each other across the small booth at Callaway’s. Dark wood paneling, dim lighting, and the smell of stale beer served as atmosphere in this expanded version of the corner tavern. The present clientele and staff were exclusively male. “The worst part, Harry,” Bart was saying, “is the damn loneliness at night. I can’t get used to the empty house. I go to bed and I swear I can still smell her sweet scent in the room. I lie there and turn to cuddle behind her and lay my hand on her shoulder, but there’s nothing there. My arm falls limply on the other side of the bed. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night and it’s all I can do to keep from getting out of bed and going into Sara’s room to make sure she’s covered and breathing okay.

“So I close my eyes, and I see them again. They’re there, but then I open my eyes again and they’re gone. They’re not anywhere I can reach them. It’s like the soap bubbles we used to blow when we were kids. Try to catch one and it’s gone, like it was never there. Sometimes, if you’re really careful and very gentle, you can make a bubble land on the back of your hand. You think you’ve got it, but a second or two passes and it bursts. It’s nothing but illusion, just self-delusion and self-torture. That’s what my life is, Harry. I can usually deal with it okay during the day. I get so involved in my work I forget. Then the bubble bursts.“I can’t believe how lost I am, how completely and absolutely lost. How in God’s name am I supposed to accept something so terribly unacceptable?”He stared at the dust encrusted blades of the slowly rotating ceiling fan. “And I worry, Harry. Worry one morning I’ll wake and won’t remember what they looked like, or the sound of their voices, or how it was being with them. They’d be lost to me forever, and I’d be left with nothing…nothing. It would have been a kindness if I’d been in the car with them. It would have been the best thing that could have happened.

“My wife, my daughter and my work were my entire life. Being back on the job helps some, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.”

Tallman reached across the small table and put his hand on his friend’s forearm. There was nothing to say, so he said nothing.

Bart stared into his half-empty beer mug. “Sorry, Harry. I just had to let it out. It got much too heavy to carry alone, so I had to share it with someone.”

“Can I do anything for you, friend?”

“Thanks, you already have.”