Eighty

A week later, Lucy and I sat on my new couch. Lucy wore tight jeans and no shirt. So did I. We were smooching. As we kissed, my hand rubbed her breast in a clockwise rotation.

“Uh, honey,” said Lucy, “you’re wearing it out.”

I stopped rubbing. “Oh. Jeez. I’m sorry.”

We sat, side by side, partially disrobed but indifferent to our nudity. The week had been a long one, full of averted eyes and half-started comments. Lucy stood and retrieved her bra from the floor. She slipped her arms through it and latched the back. She picked up the Red Sox T-shirt I had recently removed, and slid it over her head. I didn’t protest.

She sat next to me and extended her feet. She had recently taken to wearing socks and close-toed shoes. Talevi was right. She could walk, but that’s not what disfigurement is about.

Lucy said, “It’s broken.”

“What’s broken?”

“Us,” she said. “Whatever it is that two people create when they come together. It’s broken.”

I said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. You saved me, remember? You were willing to die for me, next to me. You were my hero. I’ll never forget that.”

“But.”

“But, I’ll never forget being taken either. I’ll never forget the feeling of my toe when they put those bolt cutters on it. I’ll never forget how afraid I was. I’ll never forget it as long as we’re together.”

Guilt coursed through me. “I never should have lied about the notebooks.”

“It had nothing to do with the notebooks, and you know it.” Lucy squeezed my bicep. “Don’t beat yourself up. It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you.”

“Still, you can’t be with me.”

“I can’t be with you.” Lucy reached down and pulled on a pair of red Keds sneakers. Tied them and stood. I stood.

“You’re a good man, Tucker. I’m sorry about us.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Please don’t be alone.”

I blew out a sigh. “I’ll do my best.” We walked to the front door with its new doorjamb and heavier lock. She stepped into the hallway.

One more awkward peck on the cheek. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” I closed the door behind her and turned to Click and Clack.

“Easy come, easy go, right, boys?”

They clung to their log. I reached into the cabinet and took out my new bottle of Lagavulin. Cracked the seal, got some ice, and poured a glass. I toasted Click and Clack. “Here’s to plenty of fish in the sea.”

They stared at me.

“Right. You’re land crabs.”

The apartment creaked. Outside, a car started. I looked into my bedroom but knew what I’d find there: a perfectly made bed and plenty of nothing. I rattled the Scotch in my glass and looked at my new Droid. Considered a rousing game of Angry Birds. Perhaps watch the Sox on my new TV.

Click and Clack folded into their shells and slept. “What? Am I boring you?”

Nothing.

“I’m boring myself,” I told them. A dog barked outside. Now there was a pet that could fill a room.

My eyes rested on a pair of Red Sox tickets on the counter. Tomorrow was the last game of the season. Lucy and I were going to go together, but now it looked like I’d have an empty seat next to me. I considered not going to the game. I wasn’t certain that I could make it through a whole game alone.

Unless … A disused memory bubbled into my consciousness. I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Hey, happy birthday. Listen, are you free tomorrow?”