The Foreigner

Chapter 2

I watch the evening news on TV. The notebook is on my lap, but I typed only two paragraphs, if that much.

The phone rings, causing me a fright:

-Hello! Dad?

-Hi daughter! Are you all right? How are things there in our old Chicago?

-Everything as usual. It's been a while since you've been calling. It does not even respond to my messages. Is everything okay over there?

-Oh, daughter. You know that well, well I'm not really. But I'm feeling better here in Cape May.

-You still missing Mama, do not you, Dad?

-I do. But I try not to think about her. And I write to overcome. You know Cat, I'm trying a new life here. Far away from it all.

-I miss you, Daddy. I miss you so much.

-I miss you too. And how is little Penelope?

-Penny's on my lap. He's trying to pick up the phone. I think she wants to talk to you. She's so big ... I wish so badly that you could see her.

-I'll see you soon. It's just a matter of keeping things organized.

-Can I go visit you instead?

-Of course! You can come here whenever you want.

-We will. I'm going to have to hang up now. Take care, dad.

-You too.

After hanging up, I fixed my eyes on the picture frame. My beautiful Catherine. Maybe you deserved to have had a better father. More present.

In the photo, she is accompanied by her lovely Penny, my granddaughter. And by her husband, Bob. I do not really like him in the background, but I've gotten used to calling him a son-in-law. What can I do?

Then I take the picture of Lorraine, my late wife. She left only two months ago. It is not easy to get accustomed to the absence of someone who has accompanied you for most of your life. I miss her so much.

I quit writing tonight. I close the notebook and set it aside. I take off my glasses. I pass the channels looking for something interesting to watch on TV. I meet a comedy show. The jokes are even good, but I do not think much grace. Telling the truth lately nothing has made me laugh.

I turn off the TV. I climb the stairs to my room. First, I look at the binoculars, left on the bedside table, and then at the window. The urge to repeat the act of the previous night is irresistible.

"It's just a little. If I take care she will not see me" I try to rationalize myself as I take the binoculars and leave to the window.

I put myself behind the curtain and look for the windows of the house next door. I get disappointed. All lights off. It looks like there's no one there. Or, if she is at home, sleeps a deep sleep. But I discard this last possibility, because it is not so late. She must have left.

I have no choice but to lie down and sleep. At least tonight there will be no noise to disturb my sleep. So I hope.

As soon as I wake up in the morning I take another look at the next house. No movement. No sign of life. Well, she must wake up late.

After the shower and the coffee, following my "exciting" morning routine, I go to the porch to read the newspaper. Today this act also serves as a pretext to see if she will appear.

Minutes pass. Nothing. Suddenly I hear Mr. Thompson's heavily serious voice:

-Good morning, Mr. Whitman! How are you? - He stands at the entrance to my house leaning on his rake.

-Mr. Thompson, I'm fine. And you?

-Wonderfully well. It's a beautiful morning. Do not you agree?

-It is true. I had not noticed. - I look at the sky around showing false interest.

-Mr. Whitman, my wife and I would like you to come to the barbeque that we will do next Sunday. We are calling some neighbors and their presence would please us very much.

As he speaks, my attention is diverted by a black convertible Mustang that passes in front of us, braking suddenly in front of the house next to mine. Yes. That house. I follow it with my eyes. Four young people scream inside the vehicle and raise their arms to the sound of heavy rock. They jump: her, the boyfriend, and another couple.

-Mr. Whitman? - Thompson asks me.

-Oh! Yes! - I turn my face to him. - Glad to. Thanks for the invitation.

-Then we'll expect you at 11 in the morning. - He says goodbye waving his hand - Do not forget!

Now my attention returns to the house next door. There she is, clinging to her boyfriend, leaning on the car. She throws the keys to the other couple. Their friend catches them in the air and with them opens the door of the house, entering with his partner. She says something to the couple, but is interrupted by the inmate who pulls her to him, kissing her gently and squeezing her butt.

I watch them do it without caring that they're being seen. After some time, they enter.

The night seems like it will be agitated again.