“Midge! It’s for you.” Lou Ferguson mouthed the words “Nick, I think,” as she handed the phone to her daughter.
“Hello,” Midge stated perfunctorily.
“Hi, Midge. It’s me. How’re you doing?”
“Just fine.” She didn’t try to hide the defensiveness she still felt so strongly.
“I haven’t been able to see you much at school. How’re your classes going?”
“Pretty well.”
“Are you still likin’ Mr. Connell’s class?”
“Yes, a lot.”
“Good. Uh… Are you doing any writing?”
“Some.”
“How are your folks?”
“Fine.”
“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to go to a movie Friday.”
“Mmm… No, I don’t think so. I think I’m scheduled to work.”
“You’re still working? At Fogle’s?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, if you find out that you’re not scheduled, do you want to go?”
Midge sighed. “Not really.”
“Mmm. Slap.” It was an awkward moment, and Midge fully expected Nick to say, “See ya” and hang up. Instead, he asked, “Can we talk a little?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I was thinking about… well, wondering… wondering if you’d seen the baby lately.”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Really?” There was guarded excitement in Nick’s voice. “What’s he like?”
“Very cute. He looks like you, Nick.”
“He does?”
“Yes. A lot. I call him little Nick.” Midge winced, realizing she hadn’t meant to share this secret.
“No joke?”
“No joke.”
“Uh… Does he seem happy?”
“Yes, very. His parents are crazy about him, and they should be. He’s a little doll.”
“Wow.” A pause. “Wow,” he said again. “I… I wish I could see him.”
“You’d be impressed.”
“Is there… Do you think… Do you think I could see him sometime?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“I have one they sent me from two months ago, but it’s already outdated. He’s changing so fast.”
“Could you bring it to school?” No answer. “Midge?”
“Yes?”
“Could you bring the picture to school?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have doubles of any of his pictures.” She sighed. “And they’re all very precious to me. I really don’t want to give them up—any of them.”
“But…could I just see one of them?”
“Maybe. I’ll try to remember.”
“Thanks. It would mean a lot to me.”
“That’s hard to believe.” It was a harsh comment stated in a frigid voice of resentment.
“Midge, I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“You’re not sorry like I am. I’ve been on a guilt trip ever since we found out you were pregnant.”
“I’ve been on one myself. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“I think it would help me, if you would talk about it with me sometime.”
“Maybe sometime I will.”
“You’re still special to me, Midge. I’m not sure you realize that.”
“Mmm.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” The question was defensive in tone.
“Well…”
“Well, what?” Nick persisted.
“Well, a lot has happened since…since we were together. And my feelings have changed.”
There was a silence until Midge spoke again. “We can’t go back to where we were, Nick—even if we wanted to.” She paused and swallowed. “And I don’t.”
“Can’t we try?”
“No. We made a mistake, and I’ll never make it again. It’s way, way too hard. But at least it wasn’t fatal, and the baby’s safe in the hands of people who really care for him.”
“You don’t know how sorry I am that I wasn’t there for you—and the baby.”
“It all worked out,” she said in a matter of fact tone, then sighed. “I’ll try to remember the picture. Bye, Nick.” She hung up, not waiting for a reply.
……….
“Hey, Nancy!” Carla called out to the hallway from her desk. In a moment Nancy peeked in.
“Yezz, ma’am?”
“Do you have a minute?
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Marc’s not in yet,” Carla whispered. “I was just wondering if you’d heard from Patrice. She’s moved out, right?”
“Yep! She moved Saturday.”
“You sound OK with that.”
“I’m OK, believe me. But actually,” she hastened to add, “I’m going over to her new place tomorrow evening for supper.”
“You are?” Carla was incredulous.
“Mmhmm.” She laughed. “I know. I couldn’t believe it, either.”
“I thought you said she didn’t cook.”
“She doesn’t.” Nancy’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe we’ll have chicken pot pies. She likes those a lot.”
“So do I,” Carla admitted, smiling.
“Really, Carla, I think Patrice is probably doing fine. I am surprised she wants to see me, though; I thought it was Ends Ville for our friendship when she left.”
“Me too—for sure.” Carla paused. “How are things with Rita?”
When Nancy made no response, Carla’s voice fell to a whisper. “Not so good?”
“Understatement of the year. I think she’s doing everything she can to get me fired.”
“Like what?” Carla was indignant.
“Yesterday she told me in a louder voice than normal that she couldn’t find the April report for the Godwin group and asked if I had misfiled it. There were about six people in the room, and I must have turned ten shades of crimson as I looked for it.”
“Did you find it?”
“Only after I’d printed another one. But it’s where I finally found it that makes me suspicious. It was in the credenza in George’s office. I never put reports in there!” she exclaimed.
“Did George?”
“I asked him. He was as surprised as I was that it was there.”
“But Rita never goes into your office area, does she?”
“Once every month she does. She processes the finished reports for Godwin and uses my reports to verify the technical terms the engineers use. I don’t mind her telling me she can’t find a report. I’d do the same to her in reverse. But I wouldn’t tell her loudly with six other people in the room. Really I think they were more embarrassed for her than for me. It was so tacky.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I have a hard time with that woman.”
“I know. If it’s any consolation, so do I.”
Nancy suddenly turned her face away from the hall and put her finger to her lips. Carla listened to the footsteps coming down the hall. Rita Helgessen stopped at the doorway and looked at Carla and then at Nancy before she said coolly, “Do you girls have plans for this weekend?”
“Well,” Carla began, without knowing what to say. She glanced up at Nancy, who turned her back momentarily to Rita and her face to Carla, pressing her left index finger hard against her lips. Carla got the message and went on casually, “It’s still early in the week. What about you, Rita?”
“Oh,” Rita replied, pursing her lips smugly, “I’m just going to stay home and mind my own business.”
“That way you won’t be getting into any trouble, I guess,” Nancy said with a polite glance over her shoulder in Rita’s direction.
“You can’t hurt anybody minding your own business,” Carla added. “Of course you can’t help anybody, either. It is safe, isn’t it?” She looked up at Rita, who turned brusquely and walked down the hall.
“Whoa!” Nancy smiled sheepishly, flexing the tendons in her neck. “Touché.”
“I couldn’t let that go,” Carla said, half apologetically. “I have a feeling we’re headed for a showdown. I just hope it doesn’t happen sometime when it’s awkward for everybody within earshot—even herself.”
“I think she must have had an abortion to be so defensive,” Nancy whispered.
“Mmhmm.”
“But nothing will change if she hates us and we feel about the same toward her.” Nancy’s face showed puzzled uncertainty as she looked at her friend.
“Right.” Carla answered with a guilty grimace on her own face, as Nancy turned and walked back into the hall.
……….
Good morning, Carla,” Marc Garman said with a friendly smile, as he strode quickly past her desk. She looked up from her work and smiled, but he was already past and walking into his office.
“Good morning,” she said to his back. Suddenly he turned around.
“How’s Nancy doing?”
“Nancy? Oh, I think just fine. She and Michael were going to look for an apartment for her Saturday. I haven’t talked to her to find out whether they found one. She really likes the one she’s in, but it’s a little too much for her by herself.”
“I know. I’m sorry how that worked out.”
“Oh, don’t be. Michael’s helping with the rent, and I think he doesn’t mind. He’s in a little buffet apartment, and he doesn’t pay much rent, so he can afford to help her.” She smiled.
“Has Nancy heard from Patrice?”
“Yes, actually. Nancy’s trying really hard to build a friendship. It’s been pretty much a one-sided effort, but the door still seems to be open a crack. Nancy mentioned last week that they were going to have supper together.”
“Well, Nancy’s quite the gal.” Marc’s voice trailed behind as he walked over to his desk.
“Yes, she is,” Carla agreed, turning back to the report. It was one of those times when Carla had five days’ worth of work and two days in which to complete it. She checked off her list of jobs one by one, ate the lunch she’d brought from home as she worked through her lunch hour, and kept working through the afternoon.
Four-thirty came, and Carla shut off her computer and took her purse from her desk drawer, preparing to leave for the day. Mr. Garman had left at two, having a meeting to attend across town. Thus, she was surprised when he walked into the office just as she was ready to walk out the door.
“Short meeting,” he announced. Carla knew she must have looked surprised.
“I didn’t expect you back today.”
“I didn’t either, but I remembered one important thing I’d left undone.”
“Really?” It wasn’t like Mr. Garman to forget something important.
“The office was on my way back from the meeting anyway, so it’s no problem.”
“Oh, good,” said Carla, curious but not feeling as though she could ask what he forgot.
“Don’t you want to know what I forgot?” he asked, his right hand in the upper corner of the doorway, blocking her exit.
She grinned. “What did you forget?”
“I’m not going to be here tomorrow.”
“Right. You’ll be in Ellsworth.”
“And I forgot to ask if you would let me take you to dinner Saturday evening.”
“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Marc,” Carla protested.
“So will Saturday work for you?”
“Well, if you insist.”
“I insist.”
“OK,” Carla nodded her head, a bit shyly.
“How about Sicily’s?”
“Sicily’s?”
“Have you been there?”
“No.”
“It’s a little Italian restaurant on the north side of town. It’s pretty good.”
“That sounds great,” Carla said, smiling.
“Seven?”
“I’ll plan on it.”
“I guess I need to know where you live so I can pick you up.” Marc reached for his cell phone.
“710 Grove Street. It’s close to Del Mar Park.”
“Over by Stanton’s?”
“Right. I’m three blocks away.”
“OK. 710 Grove Street, seven o’clock, Madam Secretary?”
Carla could feel herself blushing more from the twinkle in his eye and the teasing tone of his voice than from his words. “Oh, to be rid of this stupid blush!” she thought to herself ruefully.
“All right,” she said, as he moved aside, letting her pass. She saw him in her peripheral vision, grinning, and knew he was enjoying her embarrassment.
……….
As Carla drove home that Thursday late afternoon, a myriad of thoughts fought for her attention, but the Saturday dinner date with Marc prevailed over them all, in spite of herself. What she should fix for supper tonight turned into what she should order Saturday night. Spaghetti might be embarrassingly hard to eat. Manicotti perhaps? Lasagna? What would Marc order? Was Sicily’s a dress-up or dress-down restaurant? Funny she’d never heard of it.
It had been a while since she’d dated anyone, and she remembered with a shudder Sig Thorsten and the Moose Lodge fiasco. Where was Sig now? She’d never seen him since that dreadful night. If he’d ever gone back to Rock Church, she’d never heard about it and had certainly never seen him there. Her thoughts turned back to Marc. Sig was handsome but not nearly so handsome as Marc Garman. What would Marc wear Saturday evening? She’d seldom seen him in anything but typical office apparel—long-sleeved or short-sleeved shirts, coordinate ties and dress slacks. She couldn’t imagine him in blue jeans.
With an inward smile, she quickly decided she would wear the new jeans she’d bought a couple weeks ago. They fit her perfectly, and she could wear her green ribbed sweater, modest yet still flattering. She found herself thinking, with a bold new confidence that felt like freedom, that she could just ask Marc to take her someplace else, if Sicily’s was too dressy for the outfit she’d chosen.
As she pulled up in front of her apartment building, she wondered where this sudden confidence had come from. It wasn’t that she was indifferent about attaining his approval. Far from it. After all, Marc Garman was the very man who readily caused her to blush. But somehow, she knew she’d attained that approval already, although she couldn’t put her finger on any concrete basis for such assurance.
After a hurried supper she tidied up her apartment and laid out the clothes she’d chosen for Saturday night. Pulling out her shoes from the closet, she stopped, caught up in her own mind’s wake-up call. Why was she so full of anticipation for this dinner with Marc Garman? He was only paying off the debt he felt he owed her, after all. “Climb down off your cloud, Carla,” she told herself reproachfully. “This is not a date. It’s just a reasonable effort to say thanks in a special way for my help.” She put back the clothes and was soon headed out the door for TNC.
Carla found herself quite back on terra firma when she crawled into bed that night, not allowing reverie that smacked even the slightest of romance. But she knew it would take great effort to maintain this honest viewpoint for the next 48 hours.
……….
Friday morning Rita Helgessen stopped by Carla’s desk to ask if Mr. Garman was in.
“No, he won’t be in today,” Carla replied, trying to extinguish the pleasure she felt in saying so.
“Really? Not this afternoon?”
“No, he won’t be in until Monday. Would you like to leave him a message?”
“Umm… No.” She paused, obviously a bit disgruntled. “That’s OK. I’ll talk to him then.”
“All right.” Surprised at her own disingenuous intent, Carla asked sweetly, “So do you have plans for the weekend, Rita?”
Rita’s face showed her suspicion of Carla’s purpose for the question and she coolly replied, “I don’t; do you?”
“Nothing too exciting—same old, same old.”
“And what is the ‘same old?’”
“Oh, get together with friends, maybe go out for a meal. Like I said, nothing too exciting.”
“What friends do you get together with?”
Carla laughed superficially, buying time to weigh her answer, and regretting that she had started this exchange. “Oh, I don’t even try to predict that. I just let things happen as they happen. Once in a while I make specific plans. Is your family going to do anything special?”
“My in-laws are in town. We’ll probably go out to eat.”
“That sounds like fun. Are they from far away?”
“About 180 miles.”
“Ah. So you don’t see them too often.”
“Very seldom, actually.” She acted impatient to go.
“Well, I hope you have a good time.”
“We will.” Rita’s tone was quite aloof, Carla thought to herself, but she recognized that she herself had done nothing to mitigate the distance growing between herself and the older woman. She felt a twinge of guilt, much like she’d felt when Rita had stopped by her desk last week when Nancy had been there. But the guilt was quickly replaced by resentment at Rita’s next words.
“You know, Carla, I was married at your age. Maybe you should alter your weekend activities and concentrate on getting a date once in a while.” She was gone before Carla even had a chance to process the words, let alone reply.
“Thanks, Rita,” she said under her breath. “You’re too kind.” Carla was overcome with indignation. “How rude,” she thought. “What is with that woman!”