CHAPTER thirty-seven
"Shit, Jay," I yelled. "Are you trying to kill us or just put us in the hospital for the next three months?"
"Stop over-reacting. The streets are deserted. Nothin’ coming either way," he said as he checked his rear-view mirror. The streets may have been deserted, but he was still checking for cops.
I relaxed my shoulders and sat back in my seat. I stared out the window and breathed deeply. He was right. I always over-react and I’ve probably given myself high blood pressure because it.
"Rick Cox and Philip Winston?" Jay questioned me. "Sure you weren’t seeing things?"
"Ah ha. You weren’t trying to kill us. You were listening to me. Yeah. Rick and Philip Winston. Can you believe that?"
"I can’t believe Philip Winston would be caught dead in Bigliardi’s. Sure he didn’t have his grandmother with him?" He laughed.
"You didn’t see them get out of that cab?" I asked him.
"No. I was watching the Japanese and thinking I should move to Tokyo. I’d be big man on campus there."
I thought I heard him giggle.
"How many beers did you have tonight? Should I be driving?"
"Forget the beers I drank. You actually had a drink. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have a drink of hard liquor. Or wine or beer for that matter. Why is that?"
I paused thinking of a good answer.
"Oh God. I’m sorry," Jay said. "I shouldn’t pry."
Now I giggled.
"I’m not a recovering alcoholic if that’s what you think," I reassured him. "Although sometimes their twelve-step program sounds like a good path to sanity. You've known me all my life Jay. I think you'd know if I'd had a drinking problem."
Jay slowed the car and carefully came to a full stop at a red light.
"I don’t drink for various reasons. One of them is I normally can’t stand the taste of alcohol. Another is I don’t like the feeling I get when I drink. I can feel the effect immediately. But most of all I don’t want to lose control. I need to be in control of my wits at all times," I told him.
"Somebody who’s so dead set against drinking must’ve had some pretty bad experiences with it. Did you get really hammered on cheap wine or lemon Gin?" he asked. He looked over at me.
"Keep your eyes on the road," I told him. "No, nothing awful ever happened. In fact, I’ve never been drunk. Never had a hangover."
"Yeah right."
"Believe it or not. I don’t care if you do," I snapped.
"Just joking Kate. As you would say, can’t take a joke, you shouldn’t have joined up."
"I know."
"So, are you out of control now?" he teased. "Seeing things? Like Rick and Philip?"
"No. I’d just like to know what those two were doing together. In fact, next time I see Philip, I’ll ask him."
"You will not."
"Will too."
"We sound like two little kids. Philip’s probably sucking around after Rick’s job and he’s getting some pointers from him," Jay said.
"As if. Rick didn’t have two minutes for Philip. In fact, I heard that he was dead set against the acquisition in the first place, and had no time for Philip. Tom James told me."
"Tom James’d say anything."
I put my head back against the back of the seat and stared out the window. My head was starting to ache and I wanted to go to bed. To sleep. I was exhausted emotionally and physically.
I thought back to Evelyn’s funeral that morning and had trouble remembering details of it. And then I remembered that I’d forgotten to send flowers and suddenly felt sick. How could I have been so stupid? Oh Ev, you know I love you. Why didn’t someone remind me? Because you’re always so frigging efficient, no one needs to remind you, I yelled at myself.
I felt tears well-up in my eyes and took a few deep breaths. This was no time to feel sorry for myself and I didn’t want to cry again today. I had cried so much now since Evelyn had died, I wondered if I had any tears left. My throat was tight and I willed myself to stop. Quit it. Stop your whining. I closed my eyes.
I was disoriented when Jay stopped the car and I opened my eyes and looked around. I realized we were back at Hillson’s. Jay had parked next to my car in the dark parking lot. Shit, I thought. I can’t do this. I don’t have the energy to drive home. I had completely forgotten that my car was here.
"I’ll follow you home," Jay told me.
"No. I’ll be fine," I said.
I fumbled with my seatbelt and groped in the dark for my purse on the floor. Jay looked over at me.
"You don’t want me to come over?" He sounded a little hurt.
I shook my head because I couldn’t speak. I didn’t feel up to having a guest. In fact, I just wanted to put on my sweat socks and crawl under the covers. And never come out. But how could I tell Jay that? He’d certainly seen the emotional side of me in the last few days and he was probably good and sick of it. He took my hand in the dark and put it to his lips.
"I’ll still follow you home. Just to be sure you make it all right," he told me.
I hurried out of the car and almost tripped as I stumbled over to my car. I yanked open the door and jammed the key in the ignition. The engine coughed a couple of times and then turned over. I put the car in gear and left the parking lot.
I watched Jay’s headlights in the mirror all the way home. Waves of exhaustion continued to pour over me and I thought about all those poor bastards who fall asleep at the wheel. I understand now, I thought.
I saw Jay parked on the street in front of my house when I came around the side and up to the porch. I waved at him as he pulled out and drove off. The tears started again on my way up the stairs.
I dreamt I was back in the desert searching for Evelyn. I couldn’t find her and I remember running around for what seemed like days, searching and searching. I was frantic.
I consciously woke myself up and stared at the clock. Normally, I slept well but since Evelyn had died my sleep had been fitful at best. This has got to stop, I told myself. Grieve for Evelyn and move on. Remember her. Never forget her. The pain would heal over time, I told myself. I tried to recall things I’d heard about the grieving process. Anger. Feelings of loss. Despair. I had never suffered the loss of a friend or a close family member and all of this was new to me.
I was feeling the loss, that was certain. And despair was right up there. I looked at the clock and knew if I didn’t get back to sleep soon, I’d be functioning like a zombie in the morning. I’d have to deal with my anger then.
The alarm went off at five-thirty and I dragged my sorry ass out of bed. I put the coffee on before I showered because I knew I was going to need at least three cups before I hit the road. My head felt thick from lack of sleep and I took two Extra-Strength Tylenol’s to try and clear the fog.
I turned the showerhead to pulse and let the hot water pound at the back of my neck. By the time I had dressed I was feeling a little more human. The air that wafted through my open bedroom window had the smell of spring to it so I put on a light cotton summer dress and said to hell with pantyhose.
I slipped my feet into white, low heeled sandals and practiced my dagger look in the mirror in preparation for the snotty comments I’d get when someone realized I was wearing white shoes before the Victoria Day weekend. No one had ever accused me of being a fashion hound.
I poured myself a coffee and wandered into the living room where I could hear the birds singing. I opened the French doors and breathed in the warm air. I loved this time of the day. No traffic sounds. No sounds from neighbouring houses. No kids screaming outside.
Despite my lack of sleep I was feeling better today. Some of the dreadful weight I’d been feeling in my shoulders that I associated with depression was lifting.
I poured myself a coffee for the road in a plastic mug someone had given me from Tim Horton’s and glanced at the clock. It was almost
six and I wondered if it was too early to call Jay and apologize for last night.
I dialled his number and the answering machine picked up right away. It was doubtful that he was on the phone this early so I assumed he had turned on the machine deliberately.
"It’s me," I said into the machine. "Call me sometime today. I want to apologize for my behaviour last night. Miss you." I hung up.
I hated talking into machines. I was only good at leaving my name and number.
I thought about my message. Damn it. I didn’t want to apologize, I wanted to explain. I had said sorry so many times lately, I was turning into a wuss. Begging forgiveness was not something I usually did.
I quickly dialled Jay’s number and said into the machine, "Correction Harmon. I don’t want to apologize for last night. But I do want to explain. Please call me."