The Wingthorn Rose. Melvyn Chase

      “When did you get your divorce?”

      “I didn’t. Catholics don’t get divorces. Besides, I’m enjoying the fact that he’s living in sin.”

      “That’s not very Christian of you.”

      “Granted.”

      “If you didn’t want to go out tonight, why are you here?”

      “Jill wouldn’t leave me alone. I work a few feet from her every day. It wasn’t worth arguing about.”

      Joey and Jill returned to the table briefly, drank some beer, whispered to each other and returned to the dance floor.

      “I’m not sorry I met you tonight,” Margot said. “So far. It’s too noisy in here. My ears hurt. Do you want to go for a walk, or something?”

      “We came in separate cars. Joey insisted.”

      She laughed.

      “We can drive someplace, if you like,” Lucas said. “Someplace quiet. Or I can take you home.”

      She thought about it for a minute.

      “There’s a coffee house a few minutes from here. It’s not very fancy, but there’s no music. In fact, there are fake tapestries on the wall that absorb sound.”

      “Let’s go.”

      “After that, you can take me home.”

      They waved to Joey and Jill on the way out. Joey smiled conspiratorially. Jill just smiled.

      The coffee house was a tired relic of the Sixties. The pony-tailed proprietor and his wife were gray-haired Flower Children whose petals had faded long ago. But the place was quiet and they could talk without shouting, while they drank their espressos.

      Lucas tried to relax, but he felt uneasy.

      “You’re a college graduate. And you’re working as an executive assistant. Are you looking for something better?”

      “Not at the moment,” she replied.

      “What did you major in?”

      “Economics.”

      He grunted. “Difficult and boring. You’re a better man than I.”

      Margot nodded, as if she agreed with him. Her eyes were dark blue and opaque, like the tinted windows of a limousine: a guarantee of privacy.

      “Now back to questions,” she said. “So you retired early, but you said you didn’t make a fortune?”

      “I don’t need much to get along.”

      “That’s another packaged answer.”

      Lucas tried to read her expression.

      Aggressive, but not unpleasant. She’s playing with me. I should reciprocate.

      “Lucas, would it be all right if I called you Luke?”

      “I’ve been called worse.”

      “Luke, I guess you’d rather not tell me much about yourself. But I’d like to see you again, anyway, even if you get to know all about me and you still remain a man of mystery.” She paused a moment and looked at him earnestly. “Since my marriage broke up, I’ve met a lot of men. I’m not the answer to anyone’s prayer. I’m not beautiful or sexy. Like I said, I’m not even that interested in sex. But most of the guys I’ve gone out with aren’t good enough for me. I suppose all the good ones go to Boston or New York.”

      “Could be.”

      “I used to be bitter about my marriage, but what’s the point of that? It doesn’t do you any good. So I let it go. I stopped thinking about it. I started enjoying things: a glass of wine, a good meal, a movie, a book, sleeping late on Sunday morning. Pleasures that are easy to come by.”

      “What about family?”

      “My folks live in Hartford now and I call them every week. I see them once in a while. My brother moved out to the west coast a few years ago, met someone out there and got married. They have a little girl. I go out to visit them every year, in the winter.”

      “Friends?”

      “I have one very close friend. I’ve known her since high school. She moved to Boston, but we see each other every couple of weeks. We’ve gone on vacation together a few times. Once in a while, I have dinner with Jill and a couple of the other women at the office.”

      “And, now and then, you go out on a terrible date.”

      “Ain’t that the truth.”

      “And you don’t consider this one of those terrible dates.”

      “I don’t. Do you?”

      He knew that he should back away from her. She didn’t fit into his plans.

      Be careful.

      “No, I don’t either.”

      “You know,” she said, in a reassuring voice, “I’m not looking for anything permanent, if there is such a thing. So I’m not dangerous.”

      “So far.”

      She smiled and echoed, “So far.”

      She opened her handbag and took out a small note pad and a ballpoint pen. She wrote her name, address and phone number on a sheet of paper, tore it off the pad and handed it to him.

      “For your Rolodex.”

      Later, he drove her to her home on a quiet street about a mile north of Route Forty-Six. It was a small, old-fashioned New England saltbox. A wrought iron bench, painted white, stood on the lawn a few feet from the front steps.

      At her door, she shook hands with him and said, “I had a nice time tonight.”

      “For a change?”

      She laughed. “For a change.”

      “So did I.”

      “Call me.”

      Her voice was very soft and her hand was small and fragile.

      “I will.”

      When he was driving back to Pennington, he shook his head a couple of times, as if he were disagreeing with someone.

      I shouldn’t call her. No reason to call her.

      He thought of the wind chimes, hanging from a branch in the forest.

      Music where no one can hear it. What a waste.

      He remembered the harsh jangling when he hit the chimes with a stone.

      He decided to call her anyway.

      Although he walked through the Cascades at the usual time on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday morning, he didn’t meet Fay again.

      I’ve known her for only a few days and she’s already trying to avoid me. That’s encouraging.

      On Wednesday morning, it was warm and summery, so he wore shorts and a tee-shirt. Halfway to the waterfall, he started to run. His stride was smooth and practiced.

      He drew the heavy, tree-scented air into his lungs, and felt the gentle fingers of a self-created breeze. He moved through variegated patterns of sun and shadow, from light to darkness and back again.

      He remembered the fierce joy of running beyond his endurance, beyond thought, beyond feeling, running until there was nothing but running—no earth, no sky, no sun, just the painful rhythm of step after step after step.

      What was chasing him then?

      And now?

      4

      Let’s Get Lost

      On Wednesday afternoon, he went to the