R is for Ricochet

William tipped his hat. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

He opened the car door and angled himself in, his long legs sticking up awkwardly in the cramped front seat. He kept his cane between his knees.

"You can slide that seat back and get yourself more room. The lever's right down there," I said, pointing toward his feet.

"This is fine. It's not far."

I glanced over my left shoulder, waiting for a break in traffic before I eased into the flow. "I didn't expect to see you down here and you're all decked out. What's the occasion?"

"I attended a visitation at Wynington-Blake. Afterward, I had a cup of tea with the sole surviving family member. Lovely man."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize someone died. I wouldn't have sounded quite so chirpy if I'd known."

"That's all right. This was Francis Bunch. Eighty-three years old."

"Gee, that's young."

"My thought precisely. He was mowing his lawn Monday and blew an aneurysm in his brain. His second cousin Norbert is the only one left. At one count, there were twenty-six first cousins and now everybody's gone."

"That's a tough one."

"It is. Francis was quite the fellow – U.S. Army veteran, who fought in WW Two. He was a retired pipe-fitter and a Baptist. Preceded in death by his parents, his wife of sixty-two years – Mae was her name – seven children, and his brother, James. Norbert said Francis loved working in his yard so he went the way he would have wanted, except perhaps not quite so soon."

I turned the corner onto Cabana Boulevard and drove the three blocks to Castle, where I turned right again. "How long had you known him?"

William looked surprised. "Oh, I never met the man. I read about him in the paper. With so many of his family gone, I thought someone should be there to pay their respects. Norbert was most appreciative. We had a nice long chat."

"I thought you'd given up funerals."

"I have… in the main… but there's no harm in attending a service now and then."

I turned right onto my street, passing Rosie's. I spotted a space halfway between my apartment and the restaurant and then did a half-assed job of parallel parking. Close enough, I thought. I shut the engine down and turned to him. "Before you go, I've been wondering about something. Did you, by any chance, call Lewis in Michigan and talk him into coming?"

"Oh, he didn't require much persuasion. Once I mentioned Mattie's name, he was Johnny-on-the-Spot. I even had him thinking it was his idea. As I said to Rosie, 'This is just the ticket.'"

"William, I can't believe you did that!"

"Neither can I. In a moment of inspiration, the idea popped into my head just like that. I thought, Henry's complacent. He needs an incentive and this ought to do the trick."

"I didn't say I liked the plan. I think it stinks."

He frowned, somewhat taken aback. "Why do you say that? He and Lewis are jealous of one another. I'm surprised you weren't aware."

"Of course I'm aware. I'd have to be brain-dead to miss that. The problem is Henry's reaction is just the opposite. He's not going after her. He's backing away."

"He's a sly one, that Henry. Always has a little something hidden up his sleeve."

"That's not what I hear. He's saying he refuses to compete. He thinks it's tacky behavior so he's retiring from the field."

"Don't be fooled by that ploy. I've seen this a dozen times or more. He and Lewis set their caps for the same fair maiden and the jousting begins. It's actually working out even better than I'd hoped. You know Lewis talked Mattie into staying an extra day. You should have seen the look that came across Henry's face. That set him back on his heels, but he'll rally. It may take a bit of doing, but he'll prevail."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Not since yesterday. Why?"

"When I came home last night, her car was gone and his place was dark."

"He didn't come to Rosie's. I can assure you of that. You know Lewis invited Mattie to go with him to the art museum and then lunch afterward."

"William, I was sitting right there."

"Then you must have seen her response. She sparked to the idea, which Henry couldn't fail to notice. He probably came up with something special for the two of them last night."

"I don't think so. When I talked to Henry, he was adamant."

William waved the idea away. "He'll back down in the end. He'll never let Lewis get the better of him."

"I hope you're right," I said dubiously.

We opened our respective car doors and got out, taking leave of each other on the street. I wanted to say more, but it seemed wiser to let the subject drop. He seemed so sure of himself. Maybe Henry would come back fighting and William's meddling would be "just the ticket," as he'd referred to it. I watched him set off toward Rosie's, whistling and twirling his cane. As I went through the gate, I picked up Henry's afternoon paper, which was still lying on the walk.

I rounded the corner. Henry's back door was open. I went through a quick debate, then crossed the patio and tapped on the screen. "You there?"

"I'm here. Come in."

The overhead light was off and, though to all intents and purposes it was still broad daylight outside, the effect was gloomy. He sat in his rocker with his usual glass of whiskey in hand. The kitchen was spotless, appliances gleaming, the counters glossy. The oven was off and the stove top was bereft of any pots and pans. The air smelled blank. This was so unlike him. No sign of his daily baking project, no dinner preparations under way.

"I brought your paper in."

"Thank you."

I placed it on the kitchen table. "Mind if I join you?"

"Might as well. There's half a bottle of wine in the refrigerator if you're interested."

I took a wineglass from the cabinet and found the stoppered bottle of Chardonnay tucked in the refrigerator door. I poured myself half a glass and looked over at him. Henry hadn't moved. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Ah. That's good because the kitchen looks kind of grim. I thought I'd turn on some lights."

"Suit yourself."

I crossed to the wall and flipped the switch, which didn't seem to help. The light seemed as dull and as flat as Henry's demeanor. I sat down and placed my wineglass on the table. "What happened last night? I saw Mattie's car was gone and you were out. The two of you go somewhere?"

"She left for San Francisco. I took a walk."

"What time did she leave?"

"I didn't pay much attention. Four thirty-two," he said.

"Pretty late start for a six-hour drive. If she stopped for supper, she probably didn't get home until close to midnight."

Silence from Henry.

"I take it she stayed for lunch. Did you go with them to the art museum?"

"You know we don't have to discuss this. There's really nothing to say. I'd just as soon drop the subject."

"Sure. No problem," I said. "Are you going to Rosie's for supper? I was thinking of doing that myself."

"And risk running into Lewis? I think not."

"We could go somewhere else. Emile's-at-the-Beach is always lovely."

He looked at me with such injury in his eyes, I couldn't bear to see it. "She broke it off."

"She did?"

"She said I was impossible. She said she really couldn't bear my bad behavior."

"What brought that on?"

"Nothing. It came out of a clear blue sky."

"Maybe she had a hard day."

"Not as hard as mine."

I sat staring at the floor, feeling a wave of disappointment washing over me. I had such high hopes for them. I said, "You know what I find hard? I want to believe nice things can happen to us. Not every day, maybe, but just now and then."

"Me too," he said. He got up and left the room.

I waited a minute and when it was clear he wasn't coming back, I dumped my wine in the sink, rinsed the glass, and then let myself out. I was ready to wring William's neck and I wouldn't have minded having a go at Lewis while I was at it. I could have handled pain of my own easier than Henry's. Part of my bleak mood was probably connected to my lack of sleep, but it didn't feel that way. It felt deep and permanent, a darkness being stirred up, like silt, from the very depths. Henry was a great guy and Mattie'd seemed perfect for him. He probably had been impossible, but so had she in her way. What would it have taken to be a little more sensitive to the situation? Unless she didn't care much to begin with, I thought. In that case, she'd cut and run the minute things got tough. As a person with cut-and-run tendencies myself, I could see her point. Life was difficult enough without having to put up with someone else's petulance.