(Monday Evening, May 11)
The weekend is filled with long walks around the neighborhood. Slowly, Lindsey and I start to talk our way through things that have been ignored for a long time. Sometimes the conversation starts to get heated, but I find myself immediately backing off and letting things cool down. I’m starting to learn to admit it a little quicker when she lets me know my anger is ramping up.
I take Monday off, which surprises Lindsey. We drive up the coast to a tiny café in Carpinteria that we used to visit a lot when we were first married. In the same corner booth where we celebrated our first anniversary, we linger over some great food and wine. The place is nearly empty. I tell her the story of meeting Andy and my first trip to Bo’s. About Cynthia, Carlos, Hank, and Bo himself. We are still awkward and tentative. But as I get to talking about the deck crowd’s humor, we start to relax and laugh together.
Later in the evening, we are leaning back, together, in the same side of the booth, finishing off our biscotti and Italian coffees. We’re happy being quiet together. Eventually Lindsey asks me, “So, where do we go from here?”
Something beautiful and fragile has happened. But we both agree we don’t know how to turn this around by ourselves. Reaffirming our love and commitment to each other won’t do it alone. There’s still so much we’re unwilling to touch. We’re both afraid we’ll soon figure out how to undo the magic God worked for us several days ago.
All of a sudden, I suggest something that would have sounded ridiculous even yesterday. I ask her to accompany me to Bo’s.
“Lindsey,” I say, “we’ve got to go there.” I find myself repeating Andy: “They have a shrimp cocktail that’ll cure rickets. They serve it on a plate. On a plate, for crying out loud!”
She laughs at me. “Do you think they’d mind? It is your place.”
“Once they get some time with you, I won’t be invited anymore.”
“I would like to meet Andy.”
“I’d like that too.” I squeeze her hand tightly in mine.
“I’ll send him an e-mail. He can pick us up. He’d love that. You just gotta take a ride in his car. We don’t happen to have any out-of-style sunglasses lying around, do we?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“You might need ’em. Never mind. I’m sure he’s got plenty. You’re gonna love the Electra. Just wait.”
“But didn’t you tell me that he sold the Electra?” she asks.
“Yes, he did,” I answer. “Yes, he did.”
It’s eleven thirty the next morning. And I’m walking up the stairs to the patio deck at Bo’s. I’ve come by myself, having called ahead and learned Andy would not be here until after noon. Perfect. As I reach the deck I spot Cynthia, Carlos, and Hank, all sitting together at their regular table. I’m incredibly nervous. Each of them, as well as others from tables nearby, call out my name. I am silent as I stand in front of them.
Carlos says, “Dude, you gonna say something?” Then, “Oh, I get it—we’re playing charades!” He excitedly rubs his hands together. “Give me a second. I love this game! Two words? Is it like the name of a movie? Come on, man, give us something. I can’t do this alone.”
I love Carlos.
I am not sure what to do next. Everything I rehearsed on the drive over seems corny now. So instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out a single key and place it on the table in front of Hank.
“What’s this?” he asks.
I pause before I can answer.
“It’s the key to Andy’s Electra.”
The deck area near the table goes silent. Everyone is staring at the key.
“But… how… ?” Hank mutters, unable to finish his sentence.
“It’s a long story,” I answer, repeating Hank’s line from our last time together. He looks up at me for a long time. Then, slowly, his face forms a deep, warm smile. He nods his head. I smile back at him, and nod mine. I turn to see Cynthia and Carlos grinning like proud parents. Sometimes things actually work out better than you can rehearse them. This is one of those times.
“Hank, if you would, tell Andy the paperwork’s in the dash. The car’s all his.”
He looks at me and then over to Carlos. He shakes his head, looks back at me, and smiles. “I’d be glad to, Steven.”
I turn to walk away. After a few steps I turn and come back.
I look directly into Hank’s eyes. “Thank you, Hank. It was your care for Andy that got his car back. It was your care for me that made me go get it.”
He pushes his chair back, stands up, and reaches for my hand. He shakes it firmly and slowly. “No, you’re wrong, Steven. This was all you, my friend. This was all you.”
I wave to everyone and then turn to walk away. I don’t want to spoil this moment by saying something stupid. As I reach the stairs I look back. Hank is still standing there, holding the key in his hand.