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That night I replayed my squabble with Abit over and over. First while staring at the ceiling, later in my dreams. By morning, I felt sad and embarrassed. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what had come over me. Of course, loneliness was never far off; I think I was born lonely. But my current state had a sharper edge. Alex was gone again. The summer had been wet and gloomy. I felt old and forgotten in my apartment above a store in the middle of nowhere.
My dark mood hovered close the rest of the day. I wanted to lock the doors and stay away from everyone until it passed, but I had a store to run and a story to run down.
I tried. But after struggling through work that day, I wanted a break from everything. I got Mary Lou to handle the store for the next few days.
On the first one, I pulled the blinds, turned off my phones, drank hot tea, ate scones, and loved on Rascal. I only took him out early and late, when I knew no one would be around. The second day, I spent more time on the real estate scheme. I was counting on Agent Stoltz to come through with a contact so I could unload this pile of research into the right hands.
By the third day, I woke in a lighter mood. The sun streamed in my window at six o’clock and woke me too early; after so many dark, rainy days, I’d forgotten to pull the blinds. But I welcomed its bright rays. The birds seemed to feel the same way.
I fired up my Rancilio and enjoyed a dark, rich latte with chocolatey overtones. A day-old brioche loaf made perfect toast. And fresh applesauce on yogurt tasted as good as an ice-cream sundae.
As I got ready to go out in the world again, I looked in the mirror and said out loud, “You’re not dead, you know. Not even close.”
I knew a lot of people who as soon as they approached their sixties started saying things like, “I’m giving all my books away and don’t plan on getting more.” Or, “I don’t need anything for my birthday; I need to get rid of stuff, not acquire it.” That used to depress me; now it just made me mad. I’m no spendthrift, but the idea of never buying anything new—something meaningful or pretty or creative—felt like packing your bags for the funeral home.
The same for love and sex. My father’s mother had proudly proclaimed that the Kincaid women didn’t remarry. No, according to her our lot was to lead abstemious, prudish lives. Well, count me out of that family tradition. I wasn’t dead and so what if I’d had fleeting feelings for someone besides Alex? Big deal. We didn’t run away together; our feelings didn’t even run away. But I’d enjoyed feeling alive, noticed, appreciated.
I made myself another coffee. As I sipped it on the couch, Rascal curled up next to me. I started to feel better—until my old friends the angel and devil began making noises again. I’d always liked the devil better; he seemed more fun. But this time the angel caught my attention when she asked: Does your behavior over the past week remind you of anything?
No, I said, again out loud.
How about the way Alex acted so many years before?
I nearly spilled my coffee. My first reaction was Not in the least. Really? That was absurd. But as I sat there, stroking my little dog’s rather glorious new coat, I drifted back to those troubled times. I thought about how I’d always assumed Alex had gotten too full of himself when he’d won the Pulitzer. Was it possible he’d felt lonely and lost the same way I was feeling now? Back then I was often out of town on investigative stories, just as he is now. He always contended he’d made a terrible mistake, but I’d dismissed that as simply the confession of a scoundrel. Maybe he was, but maybe things weren’t the way I’d imagined. He’d been a fine companion for years.
Then I felt silly. All this fuss over a little banter and coy behavior. Nothing had happened to be ashamed of.
Rascal let me know he needed to go out. As we walked down the stairs from my apartment, I heard the devil ask: Then why won’t you let the past go? Now they were both ganging up on me.
That night, alone in my bed, I went over all that again. And again. Those two had opened the door to an awful period in my life, unleashing long-buried rancor I didn’t know I harbored. But when I asked them for help, they went utterly silent.