John let himself into the house, cool and dim with the shades drawn against the afternoon sun. There was a scattering of half-filled moving boxes and packing paper, a pile of math books on the coffee table, and a note on the table next to the phone.
I have deleted all the phone messages that were not of importance,
Kai had written.
Here are the rest: 1. Your car will not be ready until next Monday. 2. President Bray’s assistant called to ask if you will have dinner with him and some of the alums on Thursday after your talk. 3. Lucy will arrive here on Friday morning by car.
His mother, on top of everything else. John collapsed on the couch and concentrated on thinking of nothing at all. Not Caroline or Angie or work, and certainly not of his mother or Saturday, when he was supposed to be getting married.
All the things he wanted to stop thinking about followed him, as he half knew they would, and ran amok in his dreams. John dreamed of his mother driving toward Ogilvie in a huge old Pontiac convertible, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses and her hair and long neck wrapped in a silk scarf. In the dream he was in the backseat, and they were talking to each other on cell phones that beeped and buzzed and faded in and out.
He woke to the sound of fireworks, a long hiss followed by a muffled boom. Outside the sky would be filled with cascades of hot color, but the house—this house he loved so much and would live in for the rest of his life—was a safe place, cool and dark. John sat up, pressed the heel of a palm into an eye, and took stock: he was thirsty, and he smelled of barbecue smoke and sweat and Angie.
He thought of calling her. She could come over here, if they were careful. She could spend the night with him in his own bed, and he would wake up to find her hair a tangle across the pillow. John glanced at his watch and calculated when it would be safe to try her cell phone. Time to take a shower and change.
On his way through the front hall he saw the FedEx envelope. Either he had stepped over it as he came in the door, or it had been delivered while he was asleep on the couch. For a long moment John stood looking down at the colorful cardboard rectangle, then he turned on the hall light and picked it up.
His name and address had been written by Caroline. Her handwriting was unmistakable, sharp and black and slanting backward. The only return address was a FedEx office outside Savannah, nowhere near the last place he had seen her. John took a deep breath and opened it.
Dear John,
I left the retreat house yesterday afternoon shortly after you dropped me off, because I have some crucial things to think about and
I can only do that in a more neutral setting. Please don’t worry. I’ll be back on Friday and we’ll sort things out then, I promise.
Love,
Caroline
John read the letter twice without moving from that spot, and then he sat down on the hall stairs, where he stared at his own hands for a good while. Finally he let out a hoarse croaking laugh.
Yesterday in the late afternoon Caroline had sat at a motel desk somewhere and written this letter. She had never got the letter he had brought to the retreat house. He looked at the words on the page.
We’ll sort things out then.
At least, he told himself, he could be not be accused of being dense; any reasonable person must admit that there was no useful information here at all beyond the simple fact that Caroline had gone off. It was the kind of letter a sister might write, or a close friend. A woman about to get married—a woman who was happy about the fact that she was about to get married—would hardly write such a letter.
John realized now that Caroline had been increasingly distant over the last month, vaguely ill at ease, almost, at times, untouchable. At first he had seen all that as pre-wedding jitters, symptoms of the stress that came from dealing with her sisters; then he had been too distracted by Angie, and he hadn’t paid close enough attention.
“Christ, I’m an idiot.” He said these words out loud in the empty house. Worse still, he was a clueless idiot, one with no answers, and no way to get them. Caroline would come back on Friday, but what then? The worst-case scenario was that she would show up relaxed, refreshed, looking forward to the wedding.
What if Caroline doesn’t want to let you go?
Angie had asked that question the night in the emergency room, and what had he said?
Caroline is nothing if not practical.
He had never anticipated something like this, and had no idea what to do next. He had three days to manage the Rose girls and Miss Junie, three days to pretend that he was about to get married. In good conscience he could say nothing about calling off the wedding until he had spoken to Caroline. If he still had the courage to do it at that point.
John got up to go take a shower. Outside, a triple burst of fireworks echoed across the sky, and all across Ogilvie dogs put back their heads and howled.
FIFTEEN
To: Patricia C. Walker
From: Angeline Mangiamele
Re: follow up (2)
Just a note to inquire about the status of my memo dated one week ago. The
most important matters:
1.
The beta monitor in the editing suite is still waiting for repair or re-
placement. This is our most urgent need.
2.
My mail is still not reaching me. Have you had any success with central
mail services on sorting this out?
3.
We understand that Rob Grant has okayed an additional two hundred
photocopies a month be added to our allowance, but thus far our PIN code is
not working. Could you please clarify this situation for us?
Thanks for your help.
A.
To: Angeline Mangiamele
From: Patricia C. Walker
Re: follow up (2)
1. The necessary requisition forms have been sent. In the summer Technology Assistance—like this department—is understaffed, but I will call and see what the estimated wait might be.
2. As I put a number of things in your inbox just yesterday I thought this problem was resolved.
3. Your PIN numbers have been updated. During your short stay with us, requests regarding the photocopier, its use and access issues, should be directed to me, in accordance with official departmental policy.
Patricia C. Walker
Senior Secretary and Office Manager
English Department
To: Patricia C. Walker
From: Angeline Mangiamele
Re: follow up (3)
Just a note to inquire about the status of my memo dated ten days ago. The most important matters:
1. Still no progress on the monitor.
2. The mail in my box includes two credit card offers addressed to (a) An-drew Malone, and (b) Anil Mustafa; a flier for a sale at the campus bookstore; and three internal memos, all from you. I have not received any outside mail addressed to me since I arrived.
3. PIN number still not working.
Thanks for your help.
A.
To: Angeline Mangiamele
From: Patricia C. Walker
Re: follow up (3)
1. Technology Assistance tells me the monitor is scheduled for pickup today or tomorrow.
2. Maybe you gave out the wrong address?
3. I see that I forgot to give you the new PIN number. Please check your inbox for it later today.
Patricia C. Walker
Senior Secretary and Office Manager
English Department
To: Patricia C. Walker
Cc: John Grant, Department Chair , Robert Grant, Executive
Assistant
From: Angeline Mangiamele
Re: follow up (4)
Just a note to inquire about the status of my memo dated two weeks ago. The most important matters:
1. Our progress is seriously compromised by the lack of a working monitor. If Technology Assistance cannot repair or replace it today, I will submit an urgent request for a new monitor through Rob Grant immediately.
2. I have a phone call into the US post office to see if they can track down the problem from their end.
3. Please e-mail the PIN number ASAP.
Thanks for your help.
A.
To: Angeline Mangiamele
Cc: John Grant, Department Chair , Robert Grant, Executive
Assistant
From: Patricia C. Walker
Re: follow up (4)
1. The new monitor has been ordered and should arrive tomorrow. Rob tells me he has e-mailed you the UPS tracking number directly.
2. As you will have heard from Mason Campbell at the post office, it seems they had a request on file for your mail to be held there for pickup. Their hours are 8-4 weekdays.
3. According to official university and departmental policy, e-mail may not be used to transmit any sensitive information including (but not limited to) computer passwords and PIN numbers. I have put a photocopy of the relevant pages of the technology guidelines manual in your inbox, and deducted those six pages from your monthly allowance.
Patricia C. Walker
Senior Secretary and Office Manager
English Department
To: Patricia C. Walker
Cc: John Grant, Department Chair , Robert Grant, Senior
Administrative Assistant
From: Angeline Mangiamele
Re: follow up (5)
While the promised pages from the technology guidelines manual were in my box, the PIN number was not.
Until this matter can be resolved, Rob has given us his PIN number to use.
To: Angeline Mangiamele
Cc: John Grant, Department Chair , Robert Grant, Executive
Assistant
From: Patricia C. Walker
Re: follow up (4)
The English Department has an official policy on the use of the photocopier. This policy was reviewed by the faculty on March 18, 1989, and approved by Professor Calhoun, the presiding chair, the next day. Quoting from page four, paragraph four: “No person shall lend out his or her PIN number to any other person, or take other steps to share, barter, or distribute photocopy allowances.”
Rob Grant transferred into the English department from central administration just a month ago, so I’m assuming he hasn’t had time to review the relevant departmental guidelines. I have put photocopies of the relevant pages in his box and yours. Those ten pages have been deducted from your monthly allowance. The PIN number for Tied to the Tracks is in a sealed envelope in your box.
Tony laughed out loud over the e-mail printouts and memos Angie handed him when he showed up past noon on Wednesday. “By God,” he said with sincere appreciation. “The woman has balls, you got to give her that. Did she really give us six-six-six for a PIN?”
They were in the reception area of the editing suite, where Angie and Rivera had spent the morning trying to impose some order on the miles of video from the Jubilee.
Rivera was rummaging around in the bags of Mexican carryout that Tony had deposited on the coffee table. It was meant to make up for the fact that he had slept in while they had been busy, and it worked. Angie took the bag of tacos Rivera was waving in front of her.
“Six-six-six,” Tony snorted. “The minx. She knows not with whom she toys.”