Page 17 - The Myth and the Moment

Morning

“You’ve quite a memory, Phil. Do you still carry around that pipe
with the chewed-up stem?”
Tit for tat; how do you like that?
“Ha! I used to gnaw on that damned thing like a dog on a bone,
didn’t I? Well, that’s another bad habit I gave up when I got married.
Lin is quite a reformer, in her own way.”
They’re both looking around to see if she’s in earshot: time for me
to make my getaway.
“Well, thanks for the drink and memories of Auld Lang Syne, you
two. I’ve got to keep my appointed rounds.”
Put the glass on the table, pick up my gear.
“Oh, Nate. Do you have to work more today? On Sunday, in this
heat?”
It is work enough to escape.
“I’m on call, you know; this isn’t the only pool in the woods.”
Is that lying? Do I care?
“All right, Nate, I understand. I’ll tell your boss you did a great job,
when I talk to him. But where do you live? I’d like to send you a
Christmas card now and then, at least. Lin! Would you get our
address book from the kitchen?”
“Okay, Phil sweetie.”
And off she goes, into her cave, rayon shimmering like scales.
Maybe I can slip away while they’re distracted.
“Got to put this stuff in my truck. So long.”
Out the gate, push it closed with the pole. Scrape any paint?
Tough. Heat reflecting off the garage wall like an infra-red oven,
baking the invidious anchor into my skin like an enameled logo.
Okay. Got it made. Just get out the keys and—
“Last name first letter.”
She must have come out the front door! How did she know I’d be
out here?
“Ah.”
“Eh?”
“No, no. ‘E.’ Yes, there, that page. Here, I’ll write it. Much faster.”
She’s right on top of me. Different requirement for personal space.
Is that perfume, or her breath, or what?
“There.”

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