But I can’t drive according to maps, she said.
He looked at her. Why not?
I don’t know. I just can’t. It’s the way I look at things and the way my mind works.
Well, can you just remember, if I tell you?
No. Not like I used to.
I don’t know what I’m going to do then. What do you want me to do?
I want you to tell me slowly and I’ll write it down. I’ll take the turns you say, left or right, from off the paper.
But I got this map here for you. It’d be the same thing.
No, a map wouldn’t do any good.
Well, he said. If that’s what you want.
Then he told her very patiently and she wrote on the blank side of a flyer for a car auction all the directions he gave her, and folded the paper and put it in her purse.
How’s the gas in your car? he said. You don’t want to take any chances.
Thank you for asking. I’m all right that way. But I wonder if I could use your restroom.
Go ahead. It’s right there.
The restroom wasn’t very clean. She put paper down on the toilet and afterward washed her hands thoroughly, and looking in the mirror she applied some new lipstick, and she thought her red mouth and her white hair looked striking together, then she came back out to the office where the man was. Thank you, she said. I feel like I ought to buy something, for all your trouble.
Is there something you need in here?
No. I don’t think so.
Then you don’t need to buy anything. It’s no trouble. Just don’t tell nobody else you’re lost.
I’m not lost now, she said. Aren’t these directions good?
Yeah, they’ll get you there.
Thank you, she said. You’re a good man.
No, he said. He looked out toward the gas pumps. I don’t know if my wife would agree with you.
Why not?
All the water under the bridge.
You mean something happened.
Yeah.
But you’re still together.
As of this morning we are.
Do you still want to stay with her?
She’s the one I want. Always has been. There’s no mix-up in that direction.
Then you’ve got to make her see it that way.
Doing what?
I don’t know. That’s for you to know.
I’m pretty sure she’s give up on me.
No, she hasn’t. I doubt if she has. You wouldn’t still be in the house.
No. I think she has. She’s give up. It’s over for her. She don’t feel the same way no more.
But you’re a good man, I can see that. I could write her a note as a testimony.
Oh lord, wouldn’t that be something.
Do you want me to?
Yeah. Sure. Why not? Hell, what harm’s it going to do?
You have any more paper to write on?
Sure. Write on this.
He gave her another flyer with a blank back.
What’s your name? she said.
Ed.
She started to write, then stopped. Your wife’s name?
Mary.
That’s my name, she said.
Glad to meet you, he said. He stuck his hand out above the counter and they shook hands. She wrote, Dear Mary, you don’t know me but I met your husband Ed this morning at the gas station and he was very kind to me. I have the feeling he’s a good man. I have a good one at home myself so I know, even if some people might not think so but I’ve known him for fifty years. I wish all happy days for you. Signed, Mary Lewis, your friend (unknown). She folded the paper. Don’t read that till I get away from here, she said.
Why’s that now?
It wouldn’t be any good then. It would jinx it.
I won’t, he said. You take care of yourself now.
I’m on my way to see my son, she said, and went out and got in the car and drove away.
In downtown Denver there wasn’t much traffic yet since it was still only midmorning on a Sunday, and by sheer luck and instinct she drove to the street where Frank’s apartment was located and parked and locked the car doors and walked up the sidewalk to the porch of the old run-down frame house. It had not been painted in the years since she and Dad had been there. She knocked and waited. She looked at the next house and it looked just like this one. She tried the door. It was unlocked. She stepped into the dark hallway which ran back to two closed doors the way she remembered, and she went quietly up the stairs to the apartment where Frank had lived. A short Mexican woman came to the door. A program in Spanish was playing on the TV behind her. Is Frank here? she said.
What?
Does Frank still live here?
Is no Frank here.
Mary looked at the other doors. Have you been here a long time?
Me?
Yes. How long has it been since you moved here?
I don’t know.
You don’t know?
Not very long.
Is anybody else here?
My husband is sleeping.
She looked past the woman into the apartment. I’m looking for my son. I’m looking for Frank Lewis.
I don’t know this man.
We haven’t seen him for a long time. I don’t know where he is. He wouldn’t talk to us.
No? Why?
Because of him and my husband. What happened between them. And all of us.
Did he hit him?
No. It wasn’t like that.
Oh, I’m sorry for you.
Mary looked at her, and her eyes smarted with tears now. Thank you, she said.
I’m sorry you can’t see your son.
Thank you for your kindness.
Then the woman suddenly reached and hugged her and Mary held the woman tightly in return and stepped back and thanked her again and managed to smile a little and went down to her car. She sat a while. Then she drove until she found Broadway and the corner café that Frank had worked in and parked where Dad had parked when they had come looking for Frank on that winter evening when the floodlights were all lighted up at Civic Center.
The inside of the café wasn’t black and white anymore, but all yellow and brown. There were a lot of people out on Sunday morning eating brunch. She stood at the door waiting until someone would come to lead her to a booth or table. She couldn’t see Frank among the waiters hurrying in the room.
Then she was seated at a small table near the back and she ordered a breakfast of eggs and toast and coffee and sat watching the people with their families and their friends, they all had someone to dine with and talk to. The waitress who came was a young girl. Later when she brought the bill Mary said, You don’t know anybody by the name of Frank do you?
You mean here?
Yes. Somebody who works here.
There’s nobody by that name here.
He might have been called Franklin.
You could ask Janine. She’s worked here the longest.
Where is she?
That’s her over there.
Would you ask her if I could talk to her?
We’re pretty busy.
Just for a minute. Would you ask her, please?
The girl went over to the woman wearing red-framed eyeglasses, she looked too old to still be working. The girl said something to her and after a while the woman came over. You’re looking for somebody?
I’m looking for a young man named Frank. Or he might have called himself Franklin.
Franklin Lewis? He used to be here. When I first started he was working here. That was a long time ago.
I know. It would have to be. He’s not here now?
He’s been gone for years. And he wouldn’t be very young now. I’m lucky I even remember him.
Where did he go?
No idea. Him and his boyfriend took off someplace together.
His boyfriend.
That younger kid he was with.
Why did they leave?
The waitress looked at her closely. Ma’am, how much of this do you want to know?
Whatever you can tell me.
All right then. The owner found Franklin with some of the café’s money. I heard he’d been taking it for months.