Part 4 (2/2)
Between cla.s.sroom and car he nervously checked his watch twice. Veronica had warned him to be back at six for dinner-his beloved considered lateness both a character flaw and a personal affront, but he had an hour, so he decided to cruise the Straights.
On the bank of the St. John's River, rust buckets leaned on ancient whitewalls. In a row of lawn chairs, a family fished, their lines glistening loops in the sun. Past the piers, many of which were missing planks, a Budweiser truck idled outside Wolfy's, the bar that crouched on the spit of land between the piers and the harbor; at the latter, five pleasure crafts were floating back to dock, their owners shaded by the sails.
He expected to see Veronica's car in the driveway, but it wasn't there. He wondered if she and Jenn had changed their minds about going out.
Then he saw the note. It was propped up against the candle on the kitchen table. It read, WE WAITED FOR TWO HOURS!
He set his briefcase against the table's leg and checked his wrist.w.a.tch. It was nearly eight. He shook his head in disbelief. Hadn't he left campus around four? He had. He remembered checking his watch and the clock outside the English building. He had only driven around town for an hour.
That's when he heard the rumble of his wife's car.
Seconds later, the front door opened and Jenn galloped in, clamped onto his leg, yelled, ”Daddy!” Her pig tails whipped about her face like tether b.a.l.l.s. ”I had a Happy Meal!”
”You get a toy?” he asked, eyeing his approaching wife warily.
”They put a s...o...b..-Doo in it!”
Veronica stepped inside, a plastic bag hanging from each hand.
”Can I help?”
”I'm just fine,” she said, brus.h.i.+ng by him.
”Vern, I have no idea what happened. It's like I lost time.”
Veronica spread her palms on the counter. ”Jenn?”
”Yup?” Jenn let go of his leg and walked, head down, to the base of the stairs.
”Draw your bath.”
She shuffled upstairs.
Veronica punched her fists onto her hips. ”You expect me to buy that?”
”I'm telling the truth.”
”Whatever,” she said, starting to unpack the groceries.
Robert didn't feel much like kissing a.s.s. Her impertinence was irritating him. ”What's your problem?”
She turned. Her cheeks were crimson as beets. ”You're my f.u.c.king problem, you little boy. I give you one thing-”
”Go to h.e.l.l. What do I need, a signed permission slip?”
”Oh please, I let you get away with more c.r.a.p-”
” 'Get away with?' I'm a man and you're not my mother.”
”Too bad. If I was, you'd wors.h.i.+p me.”
He whitened, backed up a step, the fight abruptly out of him.
”Oh please, you never even knew her but you read her diaries as if they were the word of G.o.d,” she said, raising her voice in a televangelist-like vibrato. She continued to unpack her groceries and remonstrate with her back to him.
Robert stared at her, feeling as though he'd never met her, and left before the lecture ended.
In downtown Simola Straight, the only light was inside The House of Socrates. The mayor dimmed the streetlights at quarter till nine. He parked behind Dan's red Chevy. Dan was on the bench, a Camel in his hands. ”You're here late.”
”Domestic squabble,” said Robert, pulling out a chair.
Dan took a drag.
Robert shrugged. ”I crossed the missus, then rode out to let her cool off. It was weird though. I think I lost time today.”
”Lost time?”
”Yeah. Like three hours.”
”You been feeling alright?”
Robert hesitated, then caught Dan's eye. ”Yeah,” he said, stood up, shook his head, looking down the street, which was deeply shadowed and flooded with moonlight. ”Dan, what kind of man am I?”
Dan tamped his Camel, then looked into the sky. ”What kind of man,” he repeated thoughtfully. ”An agnostic, a secular humanist.” Dan nodded, as if these labels meant something real. ”A good man, Robert. A good man.”
Robert stepped away from the table, feeling his friend's eyes on his back, and stared at the sky. What did agnostic mean, exactly? A shrug of the shoulders? A raised eyebrow? Robert charted the constellations with his eyes. Only matter, he thought. The heavenly bodies followed their designated courses, eternal and irreversible, and the tides and the cosmos did not tremble with mystic undercurrents. The mystery was man, finite man and his place in the infinite machine. These were the answers he'd always subscribed to, but hadn't he always, deep inside, suspected that something more was at play? ”Agnosticism is weak,” he muttered, still gazing skyward. Dan said nothing, so Robert turned around.
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