The love of my life disappears and her advice is, don’t worry?
On what planet would that be true?
To her, my absence solved a problem.
She would be “in touch.”
How long would I have to wait?
I tried calling. Her phone went instantly to voice mail.
She would be in touch with me. I would not be in touch with her. Doris held the cards.
She needed time to “think.”
About what? The quality of my character? I didn’t blame myself for the fact that Artie was dead. I didn’t blame myself for wanting a pile of loot that was my own.
Sure, the days of smacking a gazelle and dragging it back to the cave were over, but it was an idea ground into our male bones: to hunt, to provide, to win the gratitude of the little lady in her cute fur get-up. Money is the new meat.
What was wrong with trying to talk things through? Why couldn’t she offer me that courtesy?
Instead I got a few words scrawled on an envelope. And an AARP envelope at that! What was that supposed to mean? I knew I had fifteen years on her. Did she have to rub it in?
She needed time to think.
Well, who doesn’t? I had a lot to think about.
My phone rang.
Maybe it was Doris.
Maybe it wasn’t.
I didn’t bother to look.
I needed time to think.
Tomorrow: Damn me? Get in line!