Chapter 3

Mac stood on the back deck, staring at the zinnias and snapdragons, the rose bushes and the carefully-tended bed of day lilies.

He took a long, slow drink of the iced tea in his hand, and sank into the plastic Adirondack lawn chair. The one with the empty chair next to it.

She really is gone. So this is what it feels like.

Not a good feeling.

Why did I spend so much time away from her?

“You were doing good things,” a voice chided him from the back of his mind. “People needed you, you saved lives, you protected people, you may have kept a whole country from falling into hardcore tyranny — at least for another decade or two.”

That’s what his mind said.

That’s not what his heart said.

His heart said, “Shut up.”

An hour later he realized the sun had gone down, the mosquitos were devouring his bare ankles, and the iced tea was no longer even ice, much less iced tea.

He lifted himself up and dragged into the house. The dark house. He turned on the living room lights as he came through the door, and listened.

Nothing. She would have had the Beethoven channel from Pandora playing by now, to carry them into the evening hours.

“I should do something about dinner,” said his mind. “Why?” responded his heart.

I need to go somewhere, do something.

He bought a ticket an hour later. Then he canceled it.

The next morning, with a small overnight bag and a few essentials, he backed out of the garage and pushed the “close the door” button on the remote. Somehow the closing of the door felt like the closing of an era, and he drove away not quite as sad as he had been for … a month? Two months? Too long.

He stopped at the post office and asked them to hold mail until further notice. How long? Not sure, he told them. Not at all sure.

The leaves were starting to turn in New England. Good time to go wander. Maybe a good time to buy a decent camera, and quit depending on a phone. Get something with a zoom lens, and something that doesn’t need film.

He drove north, staying away from the big cities and taking side roads wherever they looked interesting.

At a camera store in a small town outside of Boston he bought a used Canon Rebel XT and a small zoom lens.

Not too heavy. Nice. And not too expensive, so if I lose it, not a big deal.

As he walked out of the camera store, he started seeing pictures. The intersection, with the American flag over the hardware store, and the older fellow with a cane just entering the street to cross. Sunlight coming from behind those buildings, backlighting the man’s white hair.

Twenty pictures later, he looked around to remember where he had parked. Had he eaten breakfast?

Couldn’t remember.

“Is this what life is like, now that she’s gone?” he wondered. Forgetting things, no goals, no direction? His stomach voted, and he decided the Cozy Cafe looked just fine, and it probably wasn’t too late for breakfast.

“Howdy, ma’am,” he said, taking off his hat and slipping into a booth. The waitress stopped placing silverware and a menu in front of him, and said, “Excuse me?”

“Good morning.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Good morning. Coffee?”

“Sure. And some Splenda?”

She paused again, and asked, “Sugar OK? Or the pink stuff, the saccharin?”

“No Splenda? Equal?”

“Equal to … what?”

“Sugar will be great, and some … some milk for it, please.”

“Be right back.”

Maybe I’m a little too far off the main roads, he thought. Actually I’m not too sure where I am.

He pulled out the iPhone, opened up the map app, and touched the arrow that centers the display on wherever you are.

Amazing, he thought. And I thought it was a phone. It’s a computer, and they added a phone thing so people would buy it!

“What else can I bring you?” asked the waitress.

“A life?”

She set the coffee down, and pulled two Splenda packs from her apron. “Found some. Just for you. So, what’s got you down?”

He leaned back and really looked at her for the first time. She honestly cared, and it showed in her eyes.

“Thank you,” he said. “Just lost my wife, and I’m having trouble adjusting.”

She nodded, and set an open menu in front of him. “This one’s on me. Order everything you like, and don’t worry about eating it all. Seriously. Have a wonderful breakfast. The cook is good.”

She touched his shoulder briefly as she turned away to seat another customer.

After the oatmeal, the fried eggs, the bacon, the eggs benedict, the stack of toast, the sausage, and the fresh fruit, he decided a stack of three pancakes would be perfect. And some hot chocolate, and yes, he would like whipped cream on it, thanks.

She brought the ticket when he pushed the last plate away and felt like he would never be able to eat again. The amount due showed “$0.00”, and was signed with a smiley face.

“Are you a church-going girl, may I ask?”

“Sure am.”

“Say a prayer for me now and then, if you would. I’ll get through this, but I sure would like some help now and then.”

“You got it. So, I gather you’re passing through? Looking at the trees?”

“I would like to, if I can make it back to my truck!”

She laughed. “Glad you liked the food. Listen, turn left on the state road at the next light, and follow that road for about a hundred miles. You’ll like what you see.”

“Excellent,” he said. “You’ve been most kind.”

He slipped out while she was waiting on another customer at the other end of the cafe, and left fifty dollars under the ticket. A tip, he thought, just a tip. And well-earned.

The state road led quickly out of town and into wooded country, spread with farms and scattered homes. The maples and beeches were in full color, and every now and then a Bradford pear did its best to compete. Finding places to pull off the road to grab the pictures was the hardest part of the day.

As he sipped coffee at a Love’s truck stop that evening, the phone rang.

“Mac, how are you doing? Haven’t heard from you since she’s been gone.”

“It’s tough, boss. I’m wandering New England at the moment, to get my mind out of neutral, and my body out of the house.”

“How about a bodyguard role for a few days?”

“Not sure I can stay that focused, truthfully. If you’ve got a job watching paint dry, maybe I could handle that.”

“All right, I’ll bring in someone else. Stay in touch, would you?”

“Sure. I will.”

He watched the sun set behind the 18-wheelers and gas pumps. Romantic, he thought. What am I doing?