It wasn’t until the second week of work that our paths crossed again. I was in the firm’s kitchen, or at least that’s what we called it, where there was a sink and fridge and coffee maker. I was washing my hands because I’d just brought back some filings from the courthouse and the box was dirty.
“So you’re Ted’s boy.”
I saw her and tried to act nonchalant but, again, failed miserably. I turned away from the sink, my hands dripping, and straightened my posture.
“I’m Lauren,” she said. “You’ve probably learned a lot of names all at once.”
She was right, I’d had to learn a lot of names right away, which wasn’t my strong suit. But Lauren’s, I hadn’t forgotten.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, even though we’d already met. I’d even managed to steal a few nuggets of information from the office manager—Lauren was from the north side of Chicago, age twenty, still lived at home, saving up money for college, huge Cubs fan. I didn’t want to ask the office manager too many questions and be too obvious, as if he didn’t already know why I was asking. It didn’t need to be spoken. Lauren was that kind of untouchable gorgeous.
“So I hear you’re starting at U of C this fall,” she said. “I also heard you were valedictorian of your high school class.Andan all-state cross-country runner.” Her smile lit up my soul. “Your dad likes to brag about you.”
“It was all luck, I swear.”
She laughed, and I felt like I’d won the lottery or something. I’d heard my mother use that line years ago, after she won her land-use case before the United States Supreme Court. It sounded like a deft way to handle a compliment, and I stored it away for future use. And thank God. I’d just made this beautiful creature laugh!
She narrowed her eyes in playful skepticism. “Mmm, smart, handsome, and modest on top of all that,” she said. “Simon Dobias, you are going to break some hearts.”
32
Wednesday, September 14, 2022
I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to see you. I went to your house, instead of texting you, at ten this morning. You were surprised, alarmed even, to see me at your front door. But you had to know, Lauren, you HAD to know that the text you sent me, that we had to talk, but only in person, would keep me in suspense, would be worse than torture banned by the Geneva Convention.
I didn’t sleep one wink last night. I must have looked awful this morning. I didn’t care. Whatever it was, and I’d braced myself for anything, I had to hear it, and I had to hear it now.
“I thought a lot about what you said,” you told me. “How your father cheated on your mother, and you didn’t want to become your father. I don’t want that, either. I don’t want you to be a cheater. I don’t want to be a cheater, either.”
I braced myself, having prepared for this. I knew it might end this morning, and I told myself, Simon, you’re an adult, just handle it, handle it right, no matter how painful. Be proud of how you react.
But I wasn’t prepared, it turns out. I wasn’t prepared for this at all.
“I want us to get married,” you said.
THE DAY AFTERHALLOWEEN
33
Jane
“Ohhh, yes, I’ve met Lauren.”
Cassandra Barclay crosses her legs and sits back in her chair in the interview room down the hall from the squad room.
Cassandra was married to Conrad Betancourt for twenty-six years. They had two children, boys, now ages twenty-four and twenty-two. Their divorce was completed only months before Conrad married Lauren, three years ago.
“Quite the little Kewpie doll, isn’t she? She’s a golfer, you know. That’s how they met. Connie can’t play to save his life, but he likes getting out there with his buddies and having a cigar and talking money. He likes theideaof playing golf more than he likes golf itself.”
“And you met her,” says Jane.
“Lauren? Many times now. I still go to the club sometimes.”
“The Grace Country Club.”
“That’s the one. I don’t go as much anymore; the kids have lost interest, so I have for the most part, too. But if I want to go, I go. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of driving me away from my club.”
Jane nods. Better to let her elaborate.