Last Known Address. Elizabeth Wrenn
she took off at a brisk trot. ‘Whoa! Keep to a pace we can keep up with, girl!’
They walked in silence for a minute, M.J. weaving back and forth in front of them. Their footsteps made little sound on the dirt road, still just moist enough from yesterday’s rains to muffle the sounds, but thankfully not muddy. He put his hands back in his pockets again, hastily stuffing one pocket back in, realizing it had probably come out with the other and just been hanging out this whole time. Like a panting tongue. Embarrassment shot up his back again, prickling his neck and scalp. He was careful not to move his hands in his pockets this time.
‘Have you always lived here?’ she asked.
Bless her for starting a conversation! ‘No, grew up over in Platteville. Lived here nearly forty years now, though.’
‘My! That’s a long time.’
She’d sounded particularly southern just then. He liked it. ‘Yes.’
They walked on, till M.J. stopped determinedly, backtracked a few steps, pulling hard on the twine. She sniffed at a tuft of grass as if she’d picked up the trail of her long-lost kin. Purdy faced C.C. Ask her a question about her. He couldn’t think.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and the linings came out again. This time he immediately pushed them back in. But it flustered him. ‘And have you lived long?’ He closed his eyes. Stupid! Stupid! ‘I mean, have you lived where you live, wherever that is, for a long time?’ Let’s see. He could try to act like an idiot. But he doubted it would be any better than he was already doing. ‘Easy,’ Dr Fitzmarin would say, ‘don’t beat yourself up.’
She smiled, turned and looked at M.J. ‘Well, we’re all three, me, Shelly and Meg, from Wisataukee, Iowa.’ She looked up at him again, her eyes soft under her long lashes. ‘I’ve been there about twenty-five years,’ she added. She gave just the slightest sigh, then pulled gently on the dog’s leash, encouraging her to move on. M.J. took the lead again, C.C. followed. Purdy fell in step with her as she continued talking. ‘This trip we’re on, we’re going down south to fix up a house I own there. To sell. It’s too big to live in. Just me. Though I used to dream about one day maybe finding a small place in Fleurville–that’s the name of the town. I grew up there.’
She paused. He waited. They walked. Finally she said, very softly, ‘My husband died a year and a half ago, so…’
Purdy closed his eyes briefly, giving thanks not for another man’s death, merely for his absence. He looked at her. ‘My wife died last September.’
‘Just last September? I’m so sorry. Was it sudden?’
‘Yeah. Very. Standing there behind the bar cutting lemons, then the next thing I know, she’s on the floor in my arms, grabbing at her shoulder. Then, gone.’ He looked at the ground, that black feeling every time he said it, grabbing on to him.
C.C. stopped walking again and turned toward him, placing her fingers on his arm again, like she had yesterday. And just like then, her touch sent a current of warmth through him, gentle and comforting, chasing the black. He stared at her fingers, lovely, pale, plump, her small, carefully filed nails, short but clean, with some kind of very pale pink polish on them. Pretty.
‘Heart attack?’ she asked. He broke his gaze from her hand to her eyes and nodded, the ache and the warmth in him together now. There was complete recognition and empathy in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if he was looking at her eyes, into her eyes, or behind her eyes, or she his. ‘That’s how my Lenny died,’ she said. ‘No warning at all.’
‘None,’ he said.
‘Lenny was out jogging,’ she told him. ‘It was his first day of trying to get into shape. He had some crazy notion of running in a race to celebrate his sixtieth birthday.’ She looked at Purdy. ‘He was over ten years older than me. Anyway, he was thin as a rail, but he was trying to get in shape and…’
Neither of them spoke. M.J. had stopped and was circling around a spot. Finally she lowered herself.
‘Oh dear. I don’t have a bag,’ said C.C. quietly.
‘Oh. Well. Uh.’ He tried not to look at the dog, but wasn’t sure what to do. He looked down the road. ‘That’s okay. I’ll come back here later on and…take care of it.’
‘That’s nice of you. Thank you.’
Great. So far they’d talked about death and dog poop. He knew he should offer his condolences on the loss of her husband, but the dog doing its thing there had derailed the conversation.
‘Good girl, M.J.! Here’s a little cookie!’ C.C. bent and fed the dog what looked to be a little piece of waffle that she’d pulled from her pocket. ‘Well, now that she’s done her deed, I guess we should turn around,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a little packing to do myself before we go.’ He nodded. They turned around, C.C. tugging gently on the twine to persuade M.J. to head back.
They walked, and still he couldn’t think what to say. All he could think was how remarkable it was that their spouses had both died of heart attacks. And they’d pretty much said all there was to say about that. But he knew his mother would roll over in her grave if he let the moment go without commenting on her loss.
‘Ma’am? C.C.?’ She looked at him. ‘I’m terribly sorry about your loss.’ He suddenly felt his eyes welling up with tears. Of all the dadblummed things! He turned away, breathed the emotion out.
When he looked back, she was still looking at him. ‘Me too,’ she said simply, not explaining whether it was for her loss or his or both. She didn’t have to.
After a few seconds of more silent walking, he asked, ‘So are your girlfriends married?’ He almost smacked himself in the forehead. ‘Not that I’m interested,’ he blurted out. He stopped walking, winced, hoped she didn’t notice. What a bumbling fool he was! You never get a second chance to make a first impression, his dad used to say. ‘I mean…’
She smiled. ‘Meg’s married, but her husband just recently, uh…left. Walked out on her. After thirty years of marriage. Just–poof! No goodbye. Just left her a note on the kitchen table.’ She shook her head, heaved a sigh, looked at him soberly. ‘I’ve never been all that fond of him. And Shelly? Well, she’s terminally single. She was married. Twice. And divorced twice. She’s been single for about fifteen years now, though. She likes it that way.’ C.C. smiled, but looked tired.
‘And you? You doing okay?’ he asked. ‘Single, I mean? I, myself, find it kinda like living in an empty can. Kinda echoy, you know?’
She nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s a good way of putting it. I’m okay–now–but, yes, it’s kind of echoy. Exactly.’ She exhaled. ‘It gets better, though, with time. A little better.’
Time. Just what he didn’t have. They were in front of the restaurant now. Already. They both stopped. He looked at C.C. She was leaning down to pick up the dog.
What did he know about this woman, other than her husband had died? Nothing. So why did he have the feeling, now more than ever, that they were supposed to be together? But he knew if he said that, it’d be too soon, too sudden. She’d head for the horizon. Well, she was heading for the horizon within the hour anyway. Still, this wasn’t the time. He looked toward Mick’s shop. He was probably playing solitaire on his computer, the car long since finished.
‘Well, I’d better go finish packing.’ She smiled back at him again, and he suddenly felt taller and thinner, which nearly made him laugh out loud. ‘Bye, now,’ she said.
His voice seemed caught again, but in a very different way. He lifted his hand and gave her a small salute. She grinned, then turned and walked toward the motel. He watched her go, tried not to think about how, in the movies, it all came down to whether the girl turned around, looked back. He watched her walk away, watched her put her hand on the doorknob, waited breathlessly as she paused. She slowly turned the knob, stepped inside, and closed the door.
Purdy