Part 24 (1/2)

”Wow, I haven't heard that line since high school. Dan and Wil are my friends. I don't want you as a friend. I invested a lot of trust and hope for a future with you. I love you.”

Rick leaned toward Candi with his arms outstretched, his heart breaking before her eyes. She backed away.

”I'm sorry if I hurt you. You helped me work out some of my hang-ups, and I thank you for that. Hurting you is the last thing I wanted to do. I honestly thought you understood I wasn't here for the long haul. It's better this way, trust me.

”I've got everything packed up and will be cleared out of the apartment when you get home this evening. I'll send you a postcard of me sitting on a water buffalo, and you can write me,” she said trying to lighten the scene. ”Take care of yourself. I hope you nail Tank. Then maybe your soul will be free to have a life. Goodbye, Rick.”

Candi slung a loaded duffel bag over her shoulder and brushed by Rick, avoiding his eyes.

He stood by, motionless, fighting back tears and the urge to wrap his arms around her. Rather than be humiliated when she rejected his spontaneous impulse, he let her go. She left the office without a word to the other staffers.

Rick followed her to the front door.

He was left with only his confused thoughts swimming around in his head being sucked down into a vortex of despair. The only two women he ever loved had walked away from him with no warning. Beating back doubts that he could ever give of himself so completely again, Rick tried to shake off the reality of what had just happened. He forced himself to stop by Dan's office rather than run after Candi like some late night TV movie.

”I'm sorry, Rick. I couldn't tell you,” Dan said before Rick could speak. ”She made me promise not to say anything to you. I really had high hopes for you two.

”So did I,” Rick admitted. ”Down the road I even thought we might get married. She'd come a long way in trusting me. I thought we'd shared all our secrets, broken down the walls we'd built around our feelings. She shared her bad experience in college, the death of her parents, and that b.a.s.t.a.r.d shrink. He really messed her up for good. This is her way of dealing with it. I don't think she truly realizes what danger she is putting herself into in Africa. After Belgium turned over colonial rule in the Congo, the government failed. They're in the middle of a horrible civil war and famine that the U. N. won't get involved in. I hate the thought of seeing her in a headline someday as a murdered American photojournalist instead of a Pulitzer Prize winner.”

The two friends sat across from each other at a loss for words. Dan finally said, ”Tank is going to give the dedication speech at the old Coastline Railway Shops facility in your hometown as a future Steam History Museum in a few weeks. Take some time off and then pick up his trail again.

”Also, there's talk about a cigarette tax increase this session. He's been adamant against any tobacco taxes during this term. He may get careless. Check it out. Who knows, we may get lucky.”

”Thanks, but I need to stay busy and not get depressed.”

”Take a few days and start that book you're always talking about writing. That should keep your mind occupied. I want you to be one-hundred percent when you come back.”

”I'll take the rest of today off to sort things out and be back tomorrow.” Rick stood and nodded to Dan. ”She really blindsided me, Dan. I never saw this coming,” he said then left the building.

Chapter 54.

”The General a.s.sembly has gone to bat for you and wants you to succeed and prosper in the new world of technology.”

The aftershock Rick left the office with a feeling of dej vu. He walked for blocks in shoes like lead weights. With no memory of how he got there, Rick found himself sitting on a bar stool in Wimpey's, a hangout he'd frequented as a student.

Tap beer was cheap with all the peanuts you could eat. Pool tables in back were barely visible through smoke that hung beneath green shades hanging over the tables. Unshaven faces of third-s.h.i.+ft plant workers unwound with a game of pool. They inhaled from their cigarettes and pumped smoke out their nostrils as they stretched across the table, working their cue sticks over their left hand perches. Each shot was carefully laid out, a display of the mind games each player used against their opponent, just like Paul Newman in The Hustler.

Rick indulged in self-abuse of the thing he most disliked about Candi: cigarette smoke. His eyes burned until he had enough to drink, until he didn't notice the pain anymore. Rick knocked down boilermakers as fast as the bartender poured them until he couldn't even sit up straight.

”Hey, buddy, I'm cutting you off,” the bartender said to a slumped-over-the-bar Rick. He shook Rick to make sure he was okay. ”Do you have anybody that can take you home?”

Rick raised his head off the bar. ”Whazzat you said?”

”Do you have somebody that can drive you home? You're too drunk to drive.”

”Don't have my car. What time is it?”

”It's four thirty. You've been here all day and haven't eaten anything. Give me a number and I'll call somebody for you.”

Rick searched his pockets. Finally pulled out a pen and notepad he always carried. He had difficulty holding the pen steady enough to scribble Wil's office number. Fifteen minutes later, Wil was shaking Rick awake.

”Hey, big brother, what's going on? Come on, I'll take you to the house and get you fixed up.”

”Shezzz, gone,” Rick mumbled.

”You can tell me all about it when I get you home. Help me out here. Put your arm around my neck.”

Rick's arm slid off Wil's shoulder when he tried to lift him off the bar stool.

”Come on, you've got to stand up. I can't carry you.”

Rick managed to get his feet under him and stagger-stepped out of the bar with Wil's help. Loaded into Wil's car, Rick wretched, putting his hand to his mouth before Wil could start the engine.

”Don't you dare puke in my car!”

Rick just sat there, unable to move his convulsing body. Wil reached across Rick and, opened the door, and shoved his head outside. He grabbed him by the back of his s.h.i.+rt just as Rick threw up a day's worth of bourbon, beer, and roasted peanuts onto the curb.

”d.a.m.n, Rick! You must have been trying to drink the bar dry.”

Wil pulled him back into the car, closed the door, and then drove off.

At Wil's house, which he and Ginger had just moved into, he propped Rick up in a straight-back chair in the kitchen-next to the sink, just in case. Wil poured half a pot of black coffee c.o.c.ktails mixed with Bufferin tablets down Rick until he was finally coherent enough to carry on a conversation.

”Are you ready to tell me what in h.e.l.l this is about?”

”Candi left for Africa today,” Rick said, his voice barely a murmur.

”What's she going to do in Africa?”

”She wants to photograph the genocide and starvation and win a Pulitzer,” he said, his voice stronger.

”That's a pretty drastic move. When did this all come about?”

”She mentioned it a couple of times when we first started dating. I just didn't think she was serious,” Rick confessed, holding his head with both hands. ”I need to lie down. My head is killing me.”

The front door opened and in walked Ginger. When she saw Rick, she smiled and came over.

”Hi, Rick, good to see you.” She leaned in to give Rick a hug but pulled back when she saw the front of his s.h.i.+rt covered in vomit.

”Ugh, what happened to you-bad day at the office?”