Diary of a Heretic

Pull It Up or Pull It Down?

Ten days later and I am still indifferent to Carlos.  In fact I am indifferent to everyone and -thing except:  one hopelessly unrealistic hope.  For ever since my sweet, quickening encounter with the beautiful boy Tyler, when he so innocently and sincerely asked, did I mind?  (Did I mind if he and his friends smoked dope on my time?)  I can think of nothing else!  Every three seconds he’s back, the soul of concern, of sweetness, light, peace, joy and hope, swaying politely in front of me, Blunt in hand.

[This post is an excerpt from Diary of a Heretic, the novel. Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

I can not concentrate.   I can not eat or sleep, I’m so fixated on that tool belt that seems to be wearing him more than he’s wearing it.  In my mind it’s slowly sliding off of him, and I can’t decide which I want more:  to pull it up or down.

Tyler, Tyler, Tyler! If anything else matters, I don’t care.  Or remember.

(To be continued)

Lover Boy

Walter and Amanda kept fighting about the joint bank account he’d set aside for her. The argument dominated the rest of the vacation without quite ruining it.

They still enjoyed hikes with Evie and DeeDee. The girls learned to fish and Evie relished gutting their catch. They canoed, explored little islands, and discovered various birds and plants. They listened to music—Amanda was amazed that Walter liked jazz and blues probably better than David.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

“Why didn’t you play your CDs for me when I was young?”

“I wasn’t trying to educate you, Amanda. So, we listened to middle-school music.”

Yet, more anger surfaced than Amanda had experienced with either of her ex-husbands. And, Walter told her that he had never faced this much antagonism: not when his ex-wife Sterling ran off with another man; not when she took Olivia from him; not even in prison, where he had quietly withstood a vicious climate.

“You’re saying I’m worse than prison? Is that why you insist on living inside a cage?”

When Amanda came up with that barb, Walter stalked off. Later he said, “If you understood what you’re asking of me, you’d never ask it, Amanda.”

“Oh yeah? You’re asking me to take your money upfront so that if I ever seduce you, I’m a whore.”

For this and similar accusations, she apologized several times a day.

When the week ended, he drove Amanda and the girls, who happily called him “Grandpa,” to the airport. He kissed Evie and DeeDee good-bye. And banking on it acting as a customary gesture, he kissed Amanda, too. Without warning, though, the little gesture generated a heat that staggered and excited them both. Leaving Walter worried and guilty.

Before passing through security, Amanda invited him for Thanksgiving, “Bring Olivia,” she called.

But five months later, in November, Olivia was still in Australia, with no intention of returning soon. On the phone, Walter asked, “Can I bring a friend, instead? Michelle?”

“Michelle?” Amanda’s heart raced and the room spun. “Of course, Walter. I’ll make hotel reservations.”

No, he’d do that. Amanda spent three weeks conjuring up exactly what Michelle looked like, how she talked and walked, and how she doted on Walter, who was his same age.

She was a tax lawyer, that’s how she and Walter had met. At fifty-eight, Michelle’s face was unlined and taut. Like Amanda’s mother, Cheryl, Michelle swanned around on fabulously high heels. She fixed her blonde hair in a classic French twist and wore gorgeous, white suits embroidered with metallic thread. But her clothes—Amanda doubted it was just fashion—looked a size too small. 

She adored Hemingway and was thrilled by the hotel touting his name. She didn’t think they’d have time for house tours, though. “So I guess we’ll have to come back.” Her giggle sounded to Amanda like fingernails on a blackboard.

When she met Evie and DeeDee, Michelle smacked her forehead, giggling at the old joke, “Guess I forgot to have children.”

Amanda, who’d never heard the line, said, “No woman should feel compelled, Michelle. It’s a serious choice either way.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” Michelle grabbed Walter’s waist. “Don’t you agree, lover-boy?”

Amanda turned away fast but not before her eyes rolled.   

When Evie whooped, begging for a whopping-big piece of pie, Michelle, who sat at the opposite end of the table, shook her head. “What happened to your inside voice?”

Amanda almost spoke up, but Evie was already saying, “I’m ten years old, Michelle. ‘Inside voices’ are for toddlers.”

“You’re right, Evie,” Amanda said. “But if you’ll keep your voice down, you can have as much pie as you want.”

“Tell me you don’t encourage your girls to overeat.”

Walter excused himself and went outside without a jacket, despite the cold.

Amanda was seeking a proper comeback, when naturally, skinny Evie eyed Michelle rudely. “Well, at least I’m not busting out of my dress.”

“Go to your room, Evie. You can have dessert later.”

DeeDee, who was not skinny, tossed her napkin on her plate. “Count me outta here.” 

Amanda followed. “Excuse me, Michelle.” But instead of talking to her daughters as she had intended, Amanda joined Walter outside, where he was now sitting on the curb, smoking a cigarette.

“Walter, I’m shocked!” Amanda pulled him up and they searched each other’s eyes a second before he finally grimaced, half-grin, half in pain.

“Yeah. Well, I’ll quit after the weekend.”

“Did you tell Michelle about us?”

“No. I can only stand so much fun, Amanda. As you well know.”

(To Be Continued.)

Bad Girl

Amanda cried in the dirt, dozed a while, and woke, her eyes stinging and her face sore. This time she’d scraped and rubbed herself so she hurt all over. Afternoon light softened the air as she brushed away dirt and dead leaves. The rented bicycle included a water bottle and she splashed some of it on her face and legs.

What was she going to do? It had to be bad. Really bad.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

But not permanent. Amanda would never ride the bike straight into an oncoming car, for example. She wasn’t a fool. Having suffered periodic abandonment as a child, she’d never leave her girls motherless. She had devoted everything to them but for a few hours here or there, and she wasn’t going to toss that away, because of a temporary need, no matter how urgent, to be a terrible girl. A stupid punk girl Walter must punish.

Last September, in her backyard, her friend Farrah was smoking a cigarette and cursing every sleaze ball she’d ever loved. Which was everyone she’d ever loved. Amanda had no idea Farrah smoked. The rest, of course. But smoking?

“I’ll quit in a few months,” Farrah had said. “But right now? I need this. Actually, I need a lot more, but this is what’s readily available.”

Amanda rode the bicycle into the village and rolled the bike right into the Stewart’s convenience store, having forgotten the lock. At the counter, she bought a pack of Seneca 100s, because at $6.99, they were the least expensive. She sat on a picnic table next to the parking lot and coughed and gasped and coughed, pounding the table, through two cigarettes. She had smoked tobacco before, mixed in with pot. But straight up? The stuff was vile. Half-way through the third one, she gave up and raced back to the house, scraped, dirty, and nauseated.

Walter was reading on the back porch and Evie and DeeDee were watching a Hannah Montana DVD that Amanda remembered Walter once buying for her.

Hearing her voice, Walter bounded inside. The screen slammed behind him. She could see he had worried. But he said nothing. Just: “Did you ride through the village?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was fun.” What was more fun, however, was backing away from him as he closed in on her, concerned and upset.

“Amanda, come with me. Let’s check out the bicycle you rode. Evie, DeeDee, we’ll be in front. After the show’s over, we’ll hike to the inlet.”   

He pulled Amanda out onto the front porch and hissed in her ear. “Did you suck down a whole pack? Because you reek.”

She stepped backward and grinned. “Aha, that’s more like it. Father and daughter wise.”

“Don’t be stupid, Amanda. I told you it’s not easy for me, either.”

“Well then what about a good, hard spanking?”

He shook his head and groaned. “That’s really not funny.”

On the ample front porch, Amanda pushed back and forth on a glider. Painted white, it was springy and stable. She hadn’t noticed it before; and now, here it was, so she could glide and giggle and stare up at Walter’s wishful, ridiculous resolve.

He was pacing in front of her. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do for years, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Until Olivia’s wedding, I was afraid to approach you. But this was her idea—that I legally adopt you.”

“No shit.”

“It might help,” he said. “If we simply respected the boundaries set up by law.”

“Do they let kidnappers adopt their victims, even decades afterwards?”

He scooted next to her on the gliding swing and let her push while he studied his hands, whispering, again. “Let me look into it. The case against me was serious but de facto. No one charged me with an intention to harm you sexually or otherwise. They have statutes for this.”

“Still, why get into it? Just for some papers. You’re my father; I’m your daughter. I got that, Walter. Don’t worry.”

“Years ago, I set up a bank account for you. Just like Olivia’s, which she cleans out the day the check clears. Yours, since you’ve never even know about it, has accrued over the years. All you need to do is sign a few papers.”

(Click here to read the next episode)

 

Desperation Comes & Goes

Walter grilled trout he’d caught that morning, and removed the heads, bones, and skin.

Watching him at the grill, Evie asked if next time he could leave the head on her fish. “So while I’m chewing him, I can look him right in the eye.”

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

Walter laughed. “You’re like my daughter Olivia.”

“People say I look like my mom.”

“No one looks like your mother,” Walter said. “She’s like no one else.”

“Well, me either,” Evie said. “I’m like no one else.”

“That’s right. You and DeeDee, your mother, me—everyone’s different from everyone else.”

After Amanda read the girls a bedtime story, she joined Walter downstairs where he had built a fire in the stone fireplace.

Open on his lap was a history of some Chinese dynasty, but the fire was mesmerizing.

“Was it hard when your wife took Olivia away?” Why had she asked him such a stupid question?

Amanda sweltered in the blazing firelight. Perhaps the room had warmed past what was pleasant. Walter pulled off a sweatshirt and smoothed a gray t-shirt over his body, white hair glistening against his lightly tanned arms. Amanda slipped free of her a cotton cardigan, only to shiver inside her purple top, although her skin was stinging hot. 

Walter raised his body up, preparing drape a strong arm around her. But something warned him away. He inched away from her. She pulled the hair off her damp neck, letting heavy strands fall along the back edge of the couch.

“Don’t think I’m oblivious to how you feel.” Walter whispered this. “It’s just that I’ve spent my life defining how to love you.”

“Why stick to the same definition?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as petulant to him as it did to her. “I’m not a child anymore.”

He took her hand and at first that distracted her so much she didn’t hear him. Then she did:  “I’ve loved you since you were three years old, Amanda. And if it stays paternal, I’ll never lose it. Or you. But the rest?” He winced. “Desperation comes and goes.”

“Do I seem that desperate?”

“Maybe desperation’s the wrong word,” Walter said. “But if you want something, or someone, long enough, more than your own life—and it’s impossible—eventually, the desire lets up. For a while. It can rebound at any time. It can be terrible. And then it abates again. Things get better.”

Again, he moved as if to embrace her but stopped. “Maybe I shouldn’t touch you at all.”

She couldn’t catch her breath and didn’t trust her voice. Finally, she said, “No. I want you to touch me.”

He almost looked at her. “Olivia kisses me on the mouth. She likes to think she’s wild but with her it’s not dangerous.”

“And I am dangerous.” Suddenly angry, Amanda shoved him hard and kissed him hard, and hurried upstairs. 

Lying in bed at the other end of the hall from him, she couldn’t sleep. 

In the morning she was weary and chagrined. He had made pancakes. Fixing Amanda a plate, he said that if the girls woke early enough tomorrow, he’d take them fishing.

After cleaning up, he taught the girls to play checkers. Amanda watched for a while, but soon she was sitting on the porch wearing an apple green bikini, a sunhat, and sunglasses.

Then the girls walked out, wearing their bathing suits and Walter took the chair beside Amanda, his finger in the Chinese history book.

“I warned them the water was cold.”

Amanda nodded and smiled at him, her fifth silent apology.

The girls tiptoed along the swimming dock. A bobbing raft floated twenty-five feet out.

“No way you’ll do it,” Walter called.

Evie turned around, stuck out her tongue, and then dove straight in. They saw her crawling easily toward the raft. DeeDee, who couldn’t dive yet, jumped and swam fast enough to catch up.

“Walter, what was I like as a child?”

“You were serious and sensitive. Kind of, don’t get me wrong, kind of ethereal. That searching, spiritual quality? You always had it.”

“Walter, if I do some errands—I’ll take a bike—will you watch the girls this afternoon?”

Now Walter jumped up. His book thudded beside his chair. “You trust me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought you knew.”

“What?”

“How I felt. That year before we went to Disneyland.”

“Oh.” Amanda sank back in the chair and he crouched in front of her.

“I loved you, Amanda and still do. But my problem was because of the circumstances. My wife was gone. I had no job. I had no one but you. And except for me, you were alone.”

“I tormented you, though. I know that.”

“You know it now, but you didn’t then.”

Walter pulled her out of the chair. He didn’t kiss her, but lifted her up and laughed. “Go. Do your errands.”

Amanda ran inside, changed into shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers. Before she left she heard Walter telling the girls, no more swimming. Without saying good-bye, she dashed out the front door and rode a bicycle until exhausted. To her left were the woods. Off the path, under a tree, she hid, curled up, and broke into violent tears.

(Click here to read the next episode)

And the Top Shall Be Bottom

I hate it here.  The hotel environment is so artificial, so studiously deluxe but not offensively grand.  It’s a glass-walled prison, high in the sky.  Everyone’s buzzing about, concerned and busy, and quick to defers to the tiniest alteration of my mood.

“It’s a fucking fish tank,” I complain to Carlos, who then informs me the construction on the Linden Street shop is stalled.

[This post is an excerpt from Diary of a Heretic, the novel. Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

“Some kind of fuck-up with Mad Mike’s shipper,” Carlos says.  “And a few problems with variances.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we stay here another two weeks,” Carlos says, “minimum.”

“Five weeks in the Swiss Crown?”

“You know, the shop in Lincoln Park opens in a few days.  Stephanie wants to manage it, and the prospects look very promising.”

“I don’t know,” I tell him, dejected by his ‘promising prospects.’  “Past a certain point—taking this long, costing this much—it’s not worth it.”

“The money?  You’re worried about the money, Malcolm?  Christ!  Just do the éclair thing in the mornings, at every new shop. That’ll cover the hotel bill.”

“That’s twice a day at the shop in Bucktown, twice in Wicker Park, and twice in Lincoln Park, right?  Old Orchard. Northbrook. On top of the regular meetings, the shows.”

“That’s right,” Carlos says.  “Think of them as shows.  Easy gigs, as natural as breathing.  That’s how good you are.  Just go out, sing and dance like a trouper, and leave ulterior motives and concerns about your quivering little ego for later. I’m negotiating with some people now about a book, a Doctrine, if you will.  That’s where your real life, real beliefs will come in.”

“I don’t think so, Carlos.  I want to get out.”

“Will you stop?  Everything’s going great.  Two, three more weeks you’ll be home, and all this disorientation, all the work, and showmanship, will be more than worth it. Way more! Why, half the money coming in is going right back out to work for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m investing it. You’ve got to pay yourself before you pay creditors;  we want that money working for us.”

“Carlos, if you’re talking about stocks, tell me you have some good advisors.”

“Strictly blue chip,” he says.  “Nothing fancy.  A few mutual funds.  But even in this market, if we set up one branch in Europe, one in the Caribbean maybe, South American, we can retire.”

(Is Carlos stupid? I never thought he was stupid. He acts so smart. He’s gotta be kidding.) “Will you show me the books?”

“Sure,” he says.  “I’ll show you anything you want, anytime you want.  Just so you understand upfront that very temporarily, what with all the new stores and keeping the suites for a couple of weeks, we’re going to have some heavy outlays.”

“So you need me to do the bread and éclair thing at five, or is it seven?, new stores.  Twice a day, each day, on top of the meetings.”

“It’s not that much, Malcolm.  I mean if you think about it, it’s a hell of a lot easier than most jobs!”  (I wish you could see his face, how instantly Carlos goes from reproving appraiser to ardent lover.)  “God, I love you!” he rasps, eyes on high beam as he slithers over to hug me.  “Oh,” he says, his voice choked, his gaze hot and skin flushed, “You are such a pure and perfect soul!”  Carlos can really turn it on and off. Tell me I never bought his shit, though. He’s not just transparent. Ridiculous. So, you know, I laugh.

“Oh, I know,” he says, shaking his head.  “For you it’s this big joke.  When I’ve been dying for you—really dying.  You’ve no fucking idea how hard it was to get through all these years, keeping my need for my boss under wraps.  I mean,” Carlos says, “here you are, sexiest thing in the world, out of my league, but not out of reach.  And I maintain.  I play my part.”

It’s preposterous. He’s not playing it right—so overt and abrupt. But, dumb, needy me.  I step closer to him.  Carlos takes my head in his hands, and the sheer nerve!  Once he’s sure I’ve noticed how dark and liquid, how reflective and shining his  eyes are, he dips his face to my chest, and pleads into my shirt.  “Malcolm, you’ve no idea how bad I want you.  And it never lets up.  It kills me.”

“If it really killed you, it’d be over.”  And he looks so shocked, so stung, I can’t help it:  I let him win;  I let him lead me into suite 3601’s blue bedroom.  Locking the door, he mews into my neck and peels off my clothes.  Except first, I lay down a stipulation: we switch positions. Today, since I’m the top in real life (well, I am, aren’t I?) I’ll take the bottom in sex, and as he in real life is beneath me (this is the way it is) he’ll take the top.

And right away the reversal feels new and fantastic.  The whole sexual act is scream-out-loud thrilling.  I thrash and cry—it’s scary how good it feels!  And yet, and yet—this is the amazing thing:  A minute afterwards I’m miraculously indifferent.  I can take Carlos, I can leave him;  I really don’t care.

(Click here to read the next episode)

Nondenominational Has Its Privileges

Colin and I used to come here on weekends. Sammy’s was the only place that accepted our fake IDs.  Now everything except the name has changed.  Something about the lighting back then, plus, I think, a mechanism in the floor, created an illusion of speed.  A lush female impersonator played the piano and sang bawdy old blues songs while the whole place seemingly hurtled through space.  Now the light is steady and bright enough for reading.  The music is piped in, and really, pretty much white noise.  Predictable, insipid changes or not, the strangest thing about wandering into Sammy’s was how unstrange it was. How unexpectedly normal it made me feel.

[This post is an excerpt from Diary of a Heretic, the novel. Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

I’m finishing a spanakopitta platter—Sammy’s Greek food stayed on the menu—when Carlos calls me from the Swissôtel.  He’s booked us for two weeks in a suite costing seven hundred and fifty per.

“Per what?”  I asked.

“Per night, of course.”  (Of course.)  “We need it, so we can work; so we can think.”  (Oh well, in that case...)

All the other places he looked at seemed cramped.  (I’m sure.)  Our suite has a plasma TV.

“Nondenominational has its privileges.”  (Right.)

“A joke. Wait ’til you see this place, Malcolm. The view is incredible!”

(I bet.)  But I’ve still got one more night before Mad Mike and company rip out and haul away the last wall and floor board of my only home.

“Maggie will pick you up. Where are you?”

*

Carlos the maestro-provocateur rolls up the cuffs of his gorgeous new celadon shirt and, pressing me from behind, clasps his hands over my belt.  “Look at the view,” he whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder.  But for once I shake him off.  The view is everywhere you look.  All brilliant, thrashing Lake Michigan in one direction; all shining city in the other:  the suite’s walls are solid glass.

(Click here to read the next episode.)

Heaven Backwards

No fingers, mouths, tongues, lungs, secret crevices or racing, pounding, breaking hearts. After their momentary passion at the airport, Walter kept a careful distance for an hour.

But once she had unpacked, once Evie and DeeDee decided the water was too cold for swimming, Walter suggested an afternoon hike. Amanda sank back into the wooden porch chair and covered her face. Walter stepped in front of her, ready to explain why they couldn’t be lovers, if she wanted an explanation.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

That’s how certain he was. Shy, lonely Walter could talk about anything with her. That’s how much he loved her.

And sex, she could hear him telling her, with its thrill and thrall, came and went. If Walter and Amanda forgot who they were, if they pretended no father-daughter attachment, they would betray themselves and each other. She knew that. She knew how destructive her desire was.   

He gently shook her wrist, rousing her from the chair and she knew no matter how much they might want each other, past or present, indulging in sex would mean squandering their real love.

Casually—that’s how much control he had summoned—Walter draped an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to see the turtles, Amanda? It’s late enough so that we might see the herons.”

Evie and DeeDee ran ahead, following the trail-markers Walter had shown them. Every few minutes, though, they stopped and turned around. Giggling. That’s what little girls did. She overheard Evie telling Walter, his hand on her head as she stared up at him, how her almost-step-dad had looked just like him.

He smiled. “Anyone ever tell you looks are deceiving?”

“So deceiving.” Evie grinned, the two in collusion.

Walter was eight years older than David, but you’d never know it. Walter was stronger. He stood straighter and his eyes and hair shined brighter. Amanda asked him to lead the way. She liked watching him march through the low slanting sunbeams weaving in and out among the trees. He called to Evie and DeeDee whenever he didn’t catch sight of them a few switchbacks ahead.

Did they see the mushrooms, the tiny frogs? He caught one for DeeDee but she didn’t dare touch it. “You’re right,” he said. “We don’t know how many people this baby’s had contact with. It’s early in the season. The smell of us touching him might make him an outcast.”

DeeDee bit her lip. “Huh?”

“Cooties,” Evie said, and Walter laughed, surprised cooties were still around. “They’re around,” Evie told him. “I know one girl who’ll have ’em forever.”

“What’s her name?”

“Neveah. Heaven backwards.”

“Do her cooties have anything to do with her name?” Walter asked.

“Nope. Another girl has the same name and she’ll never have cooties. Ne-vay-ah Grant— nevah. Ne-vay-ah Scott—forevah.”

Amanda wanted to sink through the forest ground—the sunlight between the treetops, the whirling sky, and the ones she loved, the only ones, sheltering her. If only she never had to move; if only nothing had to change.

A few minutes later, they strolled along the edge of a silent pond. Walter found a huge turtle but warned the girls not to get too close.

At the far edge of the water two herons stood, on one leg each. The girls wandered away from the water, hunting through the undergrowth for more frogs while Walter pulled Amanda close. They hovered there, father and daughter, watching and waiting for the birds to fly off.

Except now a supernatural light played on the dark water. Amanda pressed her face against Walter’s chest and shivered with more sensations than her body could hold. 

“Amanda,” he whispered, stroking her hair. No one but Walter knew how to say her name. No one but Walter should say her name. She grew faint and unreal with longing. He let go, moving away, and a tiny cry escaped from her throat, “No.” She’d do anything.

“Look at them.” The hand that a moment ago was stroking her head followed a pair of regal birds along an upward arc. The hand, whose weight and warmth sent waves of pleasure through her skin, dropped to her shoulder after the birds disappeared into the far distance.

Amanda stumbled backward for fear of adhering to him. Why was it again? She rubbed her eyes, refusing to see. Why couldn’t they be lovers? Because, Christ, she’d do whatever it took. Really. Anything.

(Click here to read the next episode.)

Who Sleeps Where

Walter rushed through the terminal’s automatic glass doors as if running late. But his entrance was so on time that Amanda immediately turned from the luggage carousel. Her happiness at seeing him lifted her high, defying gravity. He was wearing hiking shorts, sturdy boots, and a zip-up windbreaker.

Amanda vaguely heard Evie and DeeDee giggling as if they had stepped inside a transparent chamber: “He looks like David except not so mean.”

She pushed her palms toward them, meaning, hush-up. But the girls were tugging at each other, watching their mother glide toward the man.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

Perhaps in his rush, perhaps fooled by the crowd, Walter scooped Amanda up, lifting her from the waist. If he hadn’t momentarily lost his bearings, he wouldn’t have twirled her in circles. She held his shoulders and he, disoriented, lifted her higher with one hand, the other cupping the back of her head.

Momentarily lost, for less than a moment, really, they stopped. Never had they kissed on the mouth before. Let alone, as in this one unnatural moment—which didn’t count!—had they kissed so that his tongue touched her palate.

“Good Lord, Amanda!” Embarrassed and bemused, he released her gently. “Never let me do that again,” he pleaded. Now their fingertips touched, another moment, this one at arms’ length. “Never, ever.”

Ecstatic, she nonetheless realized:  He won’t let that happen again. He just won’t. So don’t hope!

That insignificant moment, which wasn’t even a moment, had mysteriously lasted long enough for the crowd to thin, and for Evie and DeeDee to haul their bags off the conveyer.

Amanda turned toward them, without quite seeing them, and said, “Evie, DeeDee.” They took shape, standing in front of her. “This is Walter.”

“Your grandfather,” he said, bending down toward them, sober and respectful as he shook their hands.

“Hello, grandfather,” Evie said with such super-cute, mock-coyness that Amanda blushed.  Could Evie have possibly watched old Shirley Temple movies? Weren’t they extinct? And if not, why hadn’t anyone slapped them with a warning—provocative behavior throughout?

Walter grabbed their bags, two in one hand, the bigger one, Amanda’s, in the other.

The Adirondack house charmed Amanda immediately. Such beautiful trees in front; the lake surrounded by mountain peaks in back. A wrap-around, screened-in porch, a stone fireplace Walter had used last night: “It gets cold after sunset.”

They climbed the stairs and in the hallway Amanda glanced at Walter, the descending sun casting urgent shadows.

He had set up his stuff in a small room, its big windows facing east. Next to it was a bigger room with a double bed. The other two, arranged and decorated similarly lay at the end of a hallway.

Amanda dutifully chose the one of the rooms down the hall. When Walter put her oversize bag by the double bed and cracked one of the huge, clean windows, she asked why he’d chosen a single bed; after all, he was 6’3”.

“Because of the twin herons that pose beneath the farthest window.” He cleared his throat and gazed outside at the glinting lake. 

Amanda stared at the braided rug, resisting an urge to touch him before the girls joined them. 

Since ten-year old Evie was already teasing her new grandfather, Amanda suggested DeeDee sleep in the room next to him.

“Unless, little girl, you’d rather sleep closer to me.” But Amanda knew how DeeDee pushed to keep pace with independent Evie. The seven-year old, who had suddenly lost any vestige of her baby face, naturally preferred the room next to Walter’s.

“In Bermuda,” DeeDee said, “I slept in a whole other wing of the hotel.”

Traitorous Evie whispered to Walter, “That’s because she still sometimes wets the bed.”

“Evie,” Amanda scolded. “ If DeeDee wanted, she could tell us about your secrets.”

“Like what? What secrets, Mom?”

Amanda indicated not now.

“We’re settled,” she said. “And Walter,” she opened her arms but remained across the room, since he had stepped back and held still while studying his boots. “Thank you. It’s incredible.”

(Click here to read the next episode.)

   

Forget About Sex

Amanda took Monday off after her brief and unfortunate marriage to David Tighe. Let everyone working in the Oak Park Forest Hills school district learn about her divorce from the high-school history chair before she faced them.

Besides, she needed to buy household essentials. The moving company couldn’t promise to deliver their things from David’s garage for weeks. 

The girls had returned from their Bermuda vacation with their father and his parents sunburned and exhausted. But Amanda insisted they go to school anyway. She had too much to do.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

What she accomplished that day amazed her. With an efficiency and determination that sometimes blesses those in emergency, she hurried through stores, honing in fast: we need this and this and this.

All the while, however, front and center in her mind was Walter. He phoned her while she was waiting for a mall parking space.

“I’ve rented a four bedroom house right on the lake. The twelfth through the twentieth.” He’d email her the website.

“Walter, you’re incredible. Swinging this on such short notice.”

“The schools in New York don’t end until the last week in June. Remember? So it’s off-season.”

“It sounds—better than I deserve. I mean, are you sure about this?”

“Amanda, I’m sure about every action I’ve ever taken. You know that.”

She laughed as the dark sedan she’d waited for finally backed out, wheels squealing. “You’re saving my life—again.”

“Let me get the house set up for three young ladies, first. I’ll make your plane reservations for the thirteenth and pick you up in Albany.”

Amanda pulled into the parking space, turned off the ignition, and closed her eyes. “Walter—”

“Sweetheart, that’s what fathers are for.”

He had always called her “honey,” not “sweetheart. “Father and daughter,” Amanda said, hearing the faintest anxiety ripple through her voice.

“No illusions between us, Amanda. We’ve agreed—father and daughter are who we are.  Who we’ll always be.”

“Are you worried? About me wishing too much?”

“I wasn’t,” Walter said. “But now I need your word.”

“Am I such a tease?” she spoke without thinking and immediately regretted it to the root of her every fiber. “Walter, forgive me for saying that. Please. You have my word. You always have my word. Of course. I love you as my father.”

“Are you doing all right, honey? Did Evie and DeeDee get back last night?”

“Yes and yes. I took today off to get stuff in order.”

“Your office told me. I’ll talk to you soon, sweet girl.”

When she retrieved Evie and DeeDee from their after-school programs, homemade minestrone was simmering on the stove, all utilities restored. She’d bought new lamps and little desks and chairs, new pillows, thermal sleeping bags, and a few new sets of clothing for each, since their suitcases contained only beach and travel.

With Evie and DeeDee chattering in the backseat about their day, Amanda relaxed. They’d keep her from dreaming about Walter. With all of them in one house? Amanda would have no choice but to control herself. Besides, she had always acted old-school ladylike. If she had jumped on Walter when she was a child, well, she was a child then. Amanda should have more confidence. Truth was, she could now claim as much self-control as anyone, even Walter.

(Click here to read the next episode.)

Should I Stay or Should I Go

Carlos is out securing hotel rooms for us for the next few weeks.  The shop and its bought-out neighbors are totally gutted.  I can either pace through the wreckage as I have for hours, or I can tap on my laptop as I am now.  Either way, my presence is negligible.  Either way, whether I stay or go—out to a movie, or for a walk, a newspaper, a drink, whatever:  everything everywhere is crashing all around me!

[This post is an excerpt from Diary of a Heretic, the novel. Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

Everything’s packed but the CD player.  Gregorian chants of Benedictine monks fill my bare, crate-stacked rooms. How long since I’ve eaten solid food?  Naked in front of the mirror, I can feel my ribs.

So okay, I admitted it weeks ago! Tyler reminds me of Colin!  Now can I get dressed?  Now will I be able to eat?  Or if not eat—thinking of him (them) my skin feels so tight—I can at least drink:  I’ll start with what’s left of Carlos’s gin.  And then, when that’s not enough, for how could it be?  I’ll head downtown to see if the bar where Colin and I used to drink, illegally underage, still exists.

(Click here to read the next episode.)