I opened my eyes again as Phyllis put a cup of steaming coffee in front of me.“Food’ll be up in a few minutes, hon,” she said.
“Thanks.”I sipped the hot brew.It was a lot better than what I had in my apartment.“Is there a newspaper box around here?”
She held up her finger and walked away toward the breakfast bar.When she returned, she plopped a newspaper on my table.It had been folded and re-folded and the sections were out of order.
“Customers leave ‘em behind all the time,” she said.“You’re welcome to it.”
I thanked her.
“Not a problem, hon,” she said and hurried back to the kitchen.
I sat and drank my coffee while reading the paper.I started with the sports section and read the local writer’s take on the River City Flyers’ chance of making the playoffs.After the game I went to, they’d traveled up to Creston the next night for the second half of a home and home and dropped another game.That one was a more respectable 3–1, but it still counted the same in the standings.The local sports writer blamed the coaching and called for the head coach’s dismissal if the Flyers didn’t make it into the post-season.
The reporter played Mondaymorning quarterback with the coach.Here he was, in the midst of the good fight, and someone on the sidelines was filleting him in the press.I knew how it felt.After the shooting at the Circle K, there were a couple of articles that suggested racism on my part.As if I had somehow chosen to have a gangbanger attack me.But logic didn’t seem to matter much to the press when it got in the way of their agenda.
And it wasn’t just the press.A number of letters to the editor accused me of the same thing.Later, when I really had messed up in the Amy Dugger case, these same people were able to say “I told you so.”
I moved from the Sports section to the Entertainment section and found I was unfamiliar with more than half the celebrities that were being written about.
Phyllis returned after a few minutes and slid a hot plate of food in front of me.I surprised myself by being hungry and I ate while I read.The eggs were too soft, but the bacon was crispy and the sourdough wasn’t soggy with butter.
I made my way eventually to the front page and scanned through national and international news that barely held my interest.I read them anyway.
When I finished my meal, Phyllis took my plate and re-filled my coffee and called me “hon.”
The Region section of the newspaper was the part I always hated when I was a police officer.All the local stories not worthy of front page status were printed in that section, along with editorials and letters to the editor.After the initial shootout at the Circle K, which had been front page material, most of the potshots the newspaper took had been in the Region section.
Today’s section was fairly mild, however.A few letters in favor of the President and a few opposed took up most of the letters to the editor section.The Police Beat detailed a few arrests and a search warrant executed by the Sheriff’s Department.
I flipped to the classifieds and reviewed what people were selling without much interest. My mind kept catching on the past. Snapshots of moments and small pulses of emotion distracted me from the tiny words on the newspaper page.
The Circle K shooting. Me getting loaded into the back of an ambulance. Katie there, refusing to let go of my hand even as the medics worked on me.
That year together. That wonderful year where the world seemed right. Even with the pain of rehabbing the shoulder and the knee, things were the best I could remember. Mostly because of Katie.
Then, when it was my turn to be there for her, I wasn’t able to do it. She had faced an impossible situation and lost, but I was too caught up in my own self-pity over the Amy Dugger affair that I pushed her away. I chose painkillers and booze over her. When the painkillers ran out, I chose the booze because she wasn’t willing to listen to my bullshit anymore. Looking back, I couldn’t blame her.
Never let it be said that the universe doesn’t offer second chances. I had my shot at redemption with her. When she ran up against an event every bit as bit as tragic as Amy Dugger, she surprised me by calling. I was probably the only one who could understand what she was going through. That’s what she said, anyway. And I grasped at that chance. For a while, it worked. But I was still a drunk, and drunks are clumsy.
I blew it.
The last time I saw her, she had an expression on her face that I don’t think has a word to describe it. Part anger, part disappointment, part hurt. But where her expression was mixed, her words were clear.
“Leave.”
I did. I left and I went on a bender for the ages. I still don’t remember parts of those days and weeks that followed.And when the dust settled and I tried to call her a few weeks later, her number was changed.
Like I said, who can blame her?
I stopped trying to read half-way through the classified and turned instead to the comics.At least Snoopy made sense.And he was a hockey player.Maybe the Flyers should offer both him and Woodstock a contract.Charlie Brown could coach.
“This is how you spend your retirement now?”
I jolted upright. Katie stood next to my table, a cautious smile on her face. A frantic flutter raced through my stomach.I cleared my throat. “How’s that?”
She motioned toward the newspaper with her hand. She held a manila folder. “Drinking coffee and reading the funny papers?”
I swallowed. I’d forgotten how beautiful she was. “Just waiting for you,” I said, and instantly cringed at how stupid I sounded.
She motioned to the empty booth across from me. “May I?”
“Yeah, please,” I said. I scrambled tofold the paper and set it aside. Why did she still have this effect on me?
Katie slid into the booth.She set the thin manila folder next to her on the table, but I barely noticed it.
I was watching her eyes.
19
They were guarded, her eyes, and her smile didn’t completely touch them.I sat still, words caught in my throat.Katie watched me and waited.
Phyllis appeared at the table and Katie asked if they made lattes.I let out a small laugh, more at the look Phyllis gave her than the request itself.
“No, hon,” Phyllis told her.“Nothing fancy here.Just coffee.”
“Tea?”
“Lipton.”
Katie nodded.“I’ll have that.”
Phyllis wrote a T on her notepad.“Eating today?”
Katie shook her head.“Have to be in court at one.”
Phyllis glanced at her watch and back at Katie, shrugged and walked away.
Katie followed her departure with her eyes, then shifted them toward me.“Gee, you’d have thought I asked for something exotic instead of a simple latte.”
I shrugged.“I think, for here, that is an exotic request.”
“Welcome to the 21st century, people,” Katie muttered.
“It’s part of the charm of the place,” I said.
Katie didn’t respond, but slid the manila folder across the table to me.I left it alone, not wanting to admit that things looked like they were going the route of “let’spretend.”
Let’s pretend I didn’t screw up on the job.
Let’s pretend I didn’t completely blow any chance of us making a go of things.
Let’s pretend that her giving me this information is no big deal, when we both knew she could get fired for it.
I didn’t want to pretend.I wanted to tell her I was sorry.That I still cared for her.That maybe we could try again.
Phyllis set down a cup of hot water in front of Katie and plopped a packaged teabag next to it.Katie nodded her thanks.
Brown-Eyed Girl played over the radio.Katie had hazel eyes, but the song sparked a bittersweet slice of emotion through my belly anyway. I knew that I was kidding myself.What did I have to offer her?Dishonor?Poverty?And I’d already shown how capable I was of hurting her.