Attach ments(82)

“Look, you’re right. I’m not fine, but I will be. I’m leaving now. I promise.”

He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be driving at all. The streets were a mess, she was a mess …

But he couldn’t tell her what to do. He couldn’t say anything to comfort her. He handed her his McDonald’s bag. “Okay. Just. Please go home.”

She drove away then. Lincoln watched her leave the parking lot and get on the freeway. When she was out of sight, he ran into The Courier building. He was so wet and cold, he took off his muddy shoes at his desk, and tried to figure out which of the ceiling vents was putting out the most heat so he could huddle below it. He ended up eating dinner out of the vending machines. (He’d have to tell Doris that the sandwiches seemed to be going bad a few days before their expiration dates.) He wondered if Jennifer had gotten home okay and whether he was right about what happened. It might not be anything so terrible. It might not even be the same Jennifer.

LINCOLN SPENT THE night at his apartment again. It was still icy out, and it was closer to drive there than it was to drive home. He thought about calling his mom to tell her he was okay, that he hadn’t been in an accident. She hadn’t mentioned it yet, the fact that he wasn’t coming home every night.

Maybe she was trying to give him space. What if he didn’t have to move out? What if he could just ease out…?





From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder

To: Beth Fremont

Sent: Wed, 02/09/2000 10:08 AM

Subject: I think I met Your Cute Guy.

Unless there are two dark-haired, practically Herculean, cute guys wandering around this place.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Met? You met him?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Yes. Last night. When I was leaving work.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Are you stringing this story out for your own amusement?

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I’m not sure I want to tell you at all. It’s the kind of story that might make you worry about me, and I really don’t want that.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Too late. I’m already worried about you. Tell me—in detail.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Well …

I worked a swing shift last night, which meant I had to park in the gravel lot under the freeway, and I didn’t get out of here until 9, and it was cold out, and sleety and nasty, and when I finally got to my car, I had a flat tire. (Already, this sounds like the opening scene of a Law & Order episode, right?)

So …I immediately took out my phone to call Mitch, but it was dead. Right then, I should have just walked back to the building and called a tow truck or something. But instead I decided to change the tire myself. I mean, I’ve changed a tire before, I’m not completely helpless. As I was getting out the jack, I had this flash of “Maybe I shouldn’t do this in my condition.”

And then I remembered that I’m not in any kind of condition anymore.

It took me 20 minutes to get the first two lug nuts off. The third wouldn’t budge. I even tried standing on the wrench. It went spinning off and slammed into my shin. I was muddy by this time and soaked through and crying. Somewhat hysterically.

Then I see this huge shadow of a person walking toward me, and all I can think is, “I hope he doesn’t rape me because I’m supposed to wait six weeks before having intercourse.”

The huge shadow says, “Are you okay?”

I say, “Yes,” hoping he’ll just keep moving. Then he gets close enough for me to see that he’s cute —cute in kind of a specific, unexpected way; rough-hewn, one might say—and also wearing an unfashionable denim jacket. I immediately think, “This is Beth’s Cute Guy,” and I stop being scared of him, which is pretty funny when you think about it because, for all of your crushing, neither of us knows anything about this guy. And it might not have even been him.

Anyway, he changed my tire for me.

It took him eight minutes, tops. I just stood there, holding his dinner (McDonald’s) and watched.

And cried. I must have looked wildly pathetic because he said, “I have some French fries in there if you want them.” I thought that was such a weird thing to offer, but frankly, I’m exactly the sort of person to be comforted byFrench fries, so I ate them.

And then—seriously, minutes later—he was done (and also covered in mud, the whole lot was one gray puddle). He told me that I should still get my tire fixed and walked away.

So I got into my car, turned on the heat …and started crying even harder than I was crying before.

Harder than I’d cried since it happened. I don’t know if I’ve ever cried like that before. (Maybe when my dad left.) I was shaking and making these horrible, hollow elephant noises. I kept thinking about the word “despair” and how I’d only ever understood it before from reading it in context.