I staggered across the depot towards the bored clerk but stopped about halfway. He was studying me, a little excited, a little too eager to help. I needed to report the car as stolen, but before I did, I wanted to call Mrs. Grainger to see if Sheila was back and to make sure the old lady would agree to tell the police I borrowed the car. I felt like a fool. I knew it was a mistake, but I was afraid and didn't want Mrs. Grainger to overreact and press charges.
The drunk that harassed me earlier lay passed out. I walked by him to the phone careful not to wake the dragon. The line rang eight times before Mrs. Grainger picked up.
"You little bitch. You are out of this house. You and your hussy friend. You got that. I've called the police. They are looking for you. You little whore."
"Is Sheila back?"
"No, she's still out fornicating, letting every man in town have a turn."
I hung up the line. I'd miscalculated. I had no idea she could get this upset. The ground under my feet sheered away. I was free falling without any hope of a soft landing. I did my best to pretend I wasn't out of control. I plopped down on a vacant bench.
I started to ruminate about where my life went wrong. It wasn't a mystery. It all went sideways after the war. Before the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Joe was my north star. I met him at a big dance hall on a Friday during my junior year of college. I was back home visiting my mother and the two of us in the little house created a powerful friction, so I went out for a drink.
I had a soda, the clerk put in too much cream and my stomach didn't feel right. I walked back home and heard the applause from the street. Upstairs through the open windows I could hear the band start back up a fast number with the bass punching a backbeat that the clarinet zigged in and out of. I had to see it for myself. Joe spotted me right off. He pushed off the wall and asked me to have a little punch. He topped it off with some cheap whiskey from his flask and I didn't mind. He was just so certain, so in control. He was new in town, but everyone already seemed to know his name. We danced for two hours straight, and I forgot all about my mother, my stomach, my courses. After that night, I was his girl, and I didn't want to be anything else.
The war came and put us on two different ends of the world, but my love for him reached another level. We had a mystic, magic, supernatural connection. I felt like I could close my eyes and send my love across the ocean. I didn't understand how foolish all that was until he came back home a husk of the person he used to be. There was a worm inside him eating away, carving out all the good.
I thought love would be able to heal him, but the connection I thought we had turned into a chain binding me to a husband that was no longer a man; he was a monster. When I left him, I thought life would be easy. I had cut the weight that was drawing me down into the depths to drown, but I never seemed to be able to get my equilibrium. Sheila, my writing, her painting, they were my only solace.
I dug through my purse and found a ripped piece of a cocktail napkin with a phone number in neat blocky script. I made another attempt to reach out for a lifeline.
"Hello."
"Terrence, this is Judy. We met the other day at the lecture. We went out dancing."
"Yes of course. Judy how are you?"
"I'm not sure I should be bothering you. I just, I'm at my wits end; I don't know who else to call. I'm in a lot of trouble and you seemed so nice. I just don't know what else to do."
"Judy honey are you crying? Don't cry. Just tell old Terrence what the problem is. We'll sort it all out together."
"It's Sheila. She didn't come home after work. You see my ex-husband has been harassing me, so I got really concerned and went out looking for her and now someone has stolen my car. Only it's not really my car. I borrowed it but the old lady is pressing charges, saying I stole it from her. I'm just in a lot of trouble."
"I see. I see. Where are you at now?"
"I'm at the Depot in Sparks. I just don't know what else to do. I am afraid for Sheila and I'm afraid the police won't take me seriously."
"Ok, I'll tell you what we'll do." His voice was muffled for a moment like he was talking to someone else. "Ok I'm going to come into Sparks, and I will take you around and we'll look for Sheila. I'm sure we'll find her. Then I will contact the police and sort out all this nonsense with the car. This is just a misunderstanding and I have a lot of experience with smoothing out problems. You just sit tight. I'll be there soon."
"Thank you, Terrence. You don't know what that means to me." The line was dead. He'd already hung up.
I put the phone back on its cradle and sat on my bench. I felt a little better. These were international gentlemen. Terrence had a firm bearing. He was the constant companion of one of the world's most preeminent thinkers. I didn't care much for philosophy or for aristocracy but when you were at the bottom of a well it felt good to have a firm line to pull you free.
The old drunk blew me a kiss and I flicked my thumb at him. He chuckled and went back to sleep. I had a feeling my luck was finally turning maybe the great roulette ball in the sky would start to land on my colors.
