Those Weekends In New England

Chapter Four

Daily existence is like a musical scale: it has highs and lows, and resting in the middle is always the easiest.

"I shouldn't have said what I said." Vern offered a half hearted apology as Denny returned to the table. "I was out of line."

"Forget it. I'm jumpy tonight." Denny forced a smile, accentuating the still-tender scar tissue around his eye, and causing him to touch it self-consciously. "I'm sorry. Elaine's your sister. You got every right to care about her. I am an all-work bastard. We know that."

"And Sis," Vern added, "can be a difficult woman. She wants her way ... always. She's just so delicate right now."

Elaine, delicate? Not in his experience. Denny sighed, and the sound was physical. Vern's words were still slurred. Denny knew how much swallowed pride was required for him to apologize, especially when he was drunk. "We've gone over this crap so many times, Vern. I ask you, do me one favor. Keep your frustrations to yourself. I can't handle yours and mine. I can't do it." Denny's eyes filled up with unshed tears, a rare show of such weakness in front of his friends. "Elaine and I have no future together. She's ignorant of her first thirty-five years of life, because of me." He poked himself in the chest with one finger. "I can't change that fact."

"Things could get better, Denny. Her memory might come back."

Denny went on as if he hadn't heard Vern. "Every time I see her, I see us. I see who we were together in the past. She looks at me and sees only a stranger. She was married to me for six damn years, and now I'm a nobody to her." He "pinged" his fingers on the edge of his glass.

Al grabbed for something to shift the direction of this conversation into safer territory. "We play Connecticut next, right? Remember the last time.... Hey Denny, turn to your right." His original train of thought was bluntly aborted. "Isn't that the woman we met today at the Arboretum?"

Denny leaned over the back of his chair and peered into the middle of the room. "Yeah." His voice lacked enthusiasm. "That's her."

Al scrutinized the rest of Thel's group as if he were picking a mare for his prize stud, which, in fact, he hoped to do. "Not a bad-looking trio, huh? Especially the one sitting right next to our new friend."

Denny's mouth set in a stubborn, grim line. "Don't try to get me laid, Al. You mean well, I know, but I don't want it. I'd embarrass myself tonight. 'My little friend' wants it, but he's hostile and wouldn't perform, just to spite me."

Thel and her bunch couldn't see Denny's quartet intentionally tucked almost into a corner, and the ladies hadn't been there earlier when the men entered the club. Despite his denial of interest, Denny squinted at the woman Al had singled out, unable to see the color of her eyes or distinguish her features. The light wasn't good enough. But he could see her slight, shapely form. And her hair mesmerized him. He could see disrespectful curls everywhere.

Al suggested, "Let's go on over." No answer. "Well?" He stood up. "You coming with me, Denny, or not? I will go alone and if I do, I'll embarrass you. On purpose."

Denny rearranged his legs and received a sharp ankle pain for the effort. He gasped and then cursed. "Oh, all right."

Bradley and Vern stayed at the table as the two men made their way to the middle of the room. Denny felt as if two-by-fours were banging together inside him. What the hell is this? He squared his shoulders while taking a deep breath. I'm no teenager at my first dance.

"Hello, Thel. Remember us?" Al's smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he approached the women, with Denny in tow.

"What? Do I remember you?" Her laugh was a nervous twitter. "Of course. You kidding? What're you doing here?"