Earnest

by Kristin von Kreisler

  CHAPTER 30

  Nothing like a holiday to dredge up loneliness. As Jeff rolled his shopping basket toward Thrifty Market’s frozen foods, he felt like the last person in America with no Thanksgiving plans. All the happy people shopping for their Norman Rockwell dinners stoked his isolation. He might as well have washed up on a Pacific island, and the only sign of human life was Amelia Earhart’s skeleton.

  Jeff reminded himself that friends had invited him for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, and he’d turned them down. He’d not wanted to leave Earnest alone in the apartment after his assault on the drafting table’s leg. Jeff would never let him get anxious like that again. Tomorrow they would celebrate Thanksgiving together.

  Jeff had bought a turkey roast for them. At the Creamery he’d get blackberry cheesecake ice cream—as close as he could come to the blackberries Earnest liked to bite off bushes—and Jeff would serve him his own little bowl. For trimmings, they were going to share a frozen turkey dinner. Jeff stopped in front of the freezer’s glass door and studied the brands—Stouffer’s, Lean Cuisine, and Hungry-Man. Each package heralded a scrumptious meal on a china plate, but, what awaited him inside the cardboard wrap, besides a turkey slice, was a compartmented plastic tray of overcooked dressing, potatoes, and vegetables.

  The pickings would seem puny after last year’s feast with Anna. They’d smoked a turkey on his outdoor barbecue, which she still had, and he intended to get back, though he hadn’t drummed up enthusiasm for grilling on his balcony over the gas station. Jeff had mashed the potatoes, and Anna had produced a lumpless gravy that would have brought Martha Stewart to her knees. In honor of her grandmother, Anna had also made a green bean casserole as close as she could get to the one she remembered as a child, and a pecan pie that she and Jeff polished off in two days.

  I’m going to miss that dinner, Jeff thought as he studied the dismal frozen offerings. If he were honest, he also missed other things. He’d lost plenty since he and Anna had broken up. First and foremost was the obvious: He’d lost the woman he loved and their family of three.

  He’d lost the condo, and he’d sunk to a seedy apartment. He’d lost three years of history with Anna; there was no one to look back with on their shared pleasures and traditions. And his routine had been blown out of the water—no more tending Earnest together, or waking up to Anna’s breakfast, or washing and folding her sweet-smelling laundry on Saturday afternoons. No more late-night movies, dancing around the living room, conjugal trips to the bedroom. NO MORE SEX! Heaven only knew how horny Jeff was.

  He tossed the Hungry-Man dinner into his basket with the turkey roast and thought that his list of losses could nudge him off a cliff to a canyon of depression. But Jeff would not give in to that. What’s done is done. You can’t go home again, he told himself. It was time to leave Anna behind and move on.

  Jeff stopped in the produce department for Earnest’s Granny Smith apples. Two women were picking through the Honey Crisps. One was too old for him, though she looked damned good for fifty-something. The other, as curvy as a Delicious apple, had sumptuous breasts that were fighting a mighty battle against her tight black-and-white-striped sweater. Jeff’s eyes moved from the single pearl on a gold chain around her neck to her cleavage, which looked like a shadowy tunnel down which his hand could slide to paradise. A hint of her spicy perfume floated across the apples toward him.

  Indeed, it was time to get on with his life.

  At his apartment, Jeff sat at his computer, which he’d finally taken from the condo one Friday night when collecting Earnest—along with his file cabinet, TV, wingback chair, carving knives, and toaster oven. As the computer screen lit up, he felt as if he were about to shoot a gun into the air and start a race, though he, a horny man, would be the only contestant. At the finish line would be a sexy woman who would love and value him. The thought of someone waiting for him out there brought a flush of excitement.

  On his Web browser, Jeff typed in NorthwestSingles.com and clicked on the site. So far, so good. He chose Fun2BWith for his username and lookingforsome1 as his password. He typed in his birth date and e-mail address, then got down to details, such as his range of income (seventy-five to a hundred thousand), occupation (creative/artistic profession), and education (BA). He paused at body build. Was he slender? Average? Athletic? How was he supposed to answer? He checked “average,” then “never married” and “no kids.”

  Choosing his preferences for women piqued his anticipation. He clicked on “blonde,” “blue eyed,” “slender,” and “liberal” before he realized that he was describing Anna. He paused and fixed his eyes on the brick wall across the alley behind his apartment. Was he looking for Anna’s replacement? Could you substitute one woman for another? Definitely not, he decided, no more than he could substitute another Lab for Earnest. Better to strike out into unknown terrain.

  Still, Jeff had always liked blondes, and he saw no harm in sticking to his established taste. He returned to checking preferences—“social drinker,” “nonsmoker.” (Anna again, but so what?) When Jeff got to the pitch he was supposed to make about himself, the challenge nearly made him turn off the computer and forget his quest. But no teacher brandishing a red pen would mark up his statement, he told himself. He forged on.

  He was looking for someone fun, thoughtful, and caring, he said. And someone interested in spending quality time with him. He wanted a companion for hiking, camping, cross-country skiing, and going to art exhibits, concerts, and movies. And he loved his dog, so anyone he met could not be scared of Labrador retrievers. That was essential.

  Finally, Jeff uploaded his firm’s Web site photo of himself looking respectable at his office drafting table. Relieved to finish, he sent off his application and imagined it zooming with fervor to NorthwestSingles.com. Forty-five minutes later, his computer pinged to let him know an e-mail had arrived in his inbox. NorthwestSingles.com had approved him and sent his four allotted matches for the day. Hunting season had begun!

  With a quiver of anticipation, Jeff studied the first woman. She looked wholesome. She might have spent summers rubbing sticks together for Girl Scout campfires. She wore wire-framed glasses, so if Jeff kissed her, they’d both have to whip theirs off in unison. Not a problem. She said she was ready to fall in love and was looking for fun with an active, confident, clever man.

  So they both wanted fun, but Jeff wondered if he could consider himself clever. Then he decided it was not for him to say. When he saw that the woman had listed her occupation as creative/artistic, his heart stood at attention. He marked her as a favorite.

  Next was a woman whose user name was VIVACIOUS!—all caps and an exclamation mark that no one could ignore. She was pretty in her low-cut black dress. So far so good. However, she said that she was “extremely intuitive and could read people like a book” so she needed an honest man. What would happen if someone lied to her? But Jeff was honest, and he didn’t lie. He marked her as a favorite too.

  Then came a woman who had cheeks slightly on the chipmunk side, but that was not enough to rule her out. She’d checked off her body type as “a few extra pounds,” however, and in her bio she wrote that she loved cake and mentioned twice that she enjoyed trying new recipes and cooking new foods. Among her hobbies, she listed cooking, dining out, and watching cooking shows. Maybe all she did was eat. Jeff left her at her table and pressed on.

  The final match showed the photo of a woman who said her name was Alice Spanker, she had a career in a “fun industry,” and she liked to do backflips. What am I supposed to do with all that? Equally problematic, she was sticking out her tongue. Most likely for an invitation? She wrote, “I want a man willing to stomp on all spiders.” She doesn’t want a boyfriend—she wants an exterminator. No favorite for her.

  Jeff leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Two favorites out of four possibilities today. Fifty percent. He couldn’t complain. He’d send messages to the first two women, and tomorrow morning he’d see if they replied. Now w
hen he woke, he had something to look forward to. It was not like rolling over in bed and snuggling up to Anna, but he’d see where NorthwestSingles.com led.

  CHAPTER 31

  Earnest dashed across the muddy terrain, thrilled to get to Anna. You’re here!You’re here! His eyes flashed joy. His tail wagged prestissimo. Though he’d seen her yesterday, anyone would have thought it had been a century ago. You’re here!

  “Hi, Sweetie!” Anna hugged him, wiggling, as Jeff strolled toward them. Unlike Earnest, he did not seem glad to be going on the walk today. But as he came closer, his lips turned up into a slight hint of a smile. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.” Anna turned her own lips up into a slight hint of a smile back. It was a reflex, really. When someone smiled, she couldn’t help but respond.

  Lately, their walks had been businesslike and civil, though hardly warm. At least Jeff had not recited the Gettysburg Address, and Anna had not resorted to “Rain, Rain, Go Away.” Today, however, a recent Crier notice threatened to ratchet up the tension between them and set them to sparring again: The planning commission would meet at city hall on January 29, to approve or disapprove of Cedar Place, and the vote would influence the fate of Grammy’s house. Today Anna and Jeff’s conflict would simmer with new intensity beneath the surface.

  Anna complained, “This is a crummy place to walk. Earnest will get muddy.”

  “Mud can be washed off,” Jeff said.

  She remembered the Monday morning when she’d picked up Earnest, splotched with mud, his fur stiff with salt water. “If he gets dirty, you need to take care of it. You can’t expect me to bathe him every time.”

  Jeff ’s former slightly upturned lips straightened to a horizontal line. “I don’t expect anything, Anna. I suggested this park because I wanted Earnest to see a new place. We’ve been to the other parks a gazillion times.”

  For today’s walk, Jeff had chosen Disappointment Park, so named because the scenery offered nothing to be desired. A few scraggly madrona trees struggled to live around the edge of an abandoned quarry, which was a huge pock in the ground. Little grass grew here, so mud ruled when autumn rains began. No one came for picnics.

  Jeff patted his thigh. “Here, Earnest. Let’s walk.” Without waiting for Anna, Jeff started along the path around the quarry.

  Earnest followed, but after a few steps, he stopped. He looked back at Anna, then ahead at Jeff, then back at Anna. His troubled eyes asked, Aren’t you coming? I want us together.

  Anna started out, though Jeff’s long strides had already taken him a tennis court’s length ahead. For Earnest’s sake, she dodged boggy places in the dirt and hurried to catch up. When she reached Jeff, she said, “You could have waited for me. It’s no good unless we walk Earnest together.”

  “I didn’t feel like waiting,” Jeff said.

  “You’d just leave me here?”

  “You can take care of yourself.”

  Yes, I certainly can take care of myself. I don’t need you.

  Feeling irritated, Anna rested her fist on her hip and dug her heels in the mud. Jeff’s walking off and leaving her was rude, but not a big offense. Still, it was a small piece of a larger picture, a microcosm of the macrocosm that had caused her so much grief. He’d left her behind today just as he’d left her behind to work with Mrs. Scroogemore. Both actions boiled down to the same thing: Jeff didn’t care about her. He had no regard for her feelings.

  Jeff kept walking, but he must have realized that Anna had lagged behind. He turned around and came back with Earnest.

  “You’re no better than my parents,” Anna mumbled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeff asked.

  “Oh, never mind.”

  “Really. Why do you say that?” Jeff looked at her with genuine incomprehension.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s just . . .” Anna’s sentence faded away, unfinished.

  “Please, explain.” Jeff was frowning. With impatience? Concern?

  Without caring which, Anna blurted out, “One morning I found Grammy dead. I was just ten and I was traumatized. I ran to Mrs. Webster, and she called my parents in Lebanon, but they didn’t bother to come back for me.” Anna pressed her hand against her heart to protect it from that horrible hurt.

  “Mrs. Webster arranged Grammy’s burial and enrolled me in boarding school. All that mattered to my parents was filing their next CNN story about the civil war. My mother asked Mrs. Webster to tell me she loved me, but she didn’t ask me to come to the phone so she could tell me herself. Her ‘love’ meant nothing.”

  Anna remembered sitting on Mrs. Webster’s sofa while she’d made that call, and Anna had never felt so sad and alone and insecure. She’d squeezed her hands together and bitten her lip till it bled. For all these years, she’d never told anyone what her parents had done. But she’d never forget it.

  Now Anna looked down at the muddy path and wished she’d never mentioned any of this. She had no idea what had gotten into her—except that Jeff had pressured her to talk. Without meaning to, she’d slipped back into being open with him like in the old days. But never again. She brought her guard back up.

  When she raised her head, he was frowning at her again. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  “That never should have happened. Your parents should have gotten on the next plane to comfort you,” Jeff said.

  “It was too much trouble. It might have hurt their precious careers.”

  “No wonder you never talk about them.” Jeff reached out as if he were about to put his arm around her, then drew it back. “Anna, I don’t understand. Why am I like them?”

  Anna widened her eyes, incredulous. “You don’t get it? It’s so obvious.”

  “It’s not obvious to me.”

  “They abandoned me. So did you when you agreed with Mrs. Scroogemore to tear down Grammy’s house. Like you, they cared far more about their work than me. I’d trusted them, and they betrayed me. You don’t see yourself in this picture?”

  Jeff didn’t answer. He just stood there, his hands in his jeans pockets, his gray muffler wrapped too loosely around his neck to offer warmth. His face was frozen somewhere between puzzlement and anguish. He looked at her as if he were meeting her for the first time.

  Earnest picked up Anna’s feelings, which prickled from her like thistle thorns, and he pressed against her legs. She reached down and stroked his reassuring neck. She could trust him.

  But she couldn’t trust Jeff, and suddenly she felt vulnerable, as if she were in her own bad dream, standing naked in Disappointment Park and a crowd had gathered around to gawk. All these years, she’d kept her parents’ rejection to herself. And now he knew.

  “I’m going to leave. You can walk Earnest by yourself today. I don’t want to be with you,” Anna said.

  “I wish you wouldn’t go,” Jeff said.

  Only because of Earnest. Jeff doesn’t want to miss the chance to make him more secure today.

  Anna said, “Earnest will understand if I don’t finish the walk. He understands everything.” Unlike you. She bent down and kissed the top of his head. “Good-bye, Sweetie. See you Monday morning.”

  Earnest whimpered as she turned around and left. Anna could feel his and Jeff’s eyes follow her as she walked toward Vincent. Only when she drove away did she realize that neither she nor Jeff had mentioned the planning commission’s meeting. They’d pretended like it wasn’t coming in a few weeks, just like, for Earnest’s sake, they’d tried to act like they weren’t at war with each other. But they were.

  The Gamble Island History Museum was located in a red one-room schoolhouse that had been moved from a rural area to downtown. Instrumental in the move had been April Pringle, president of the historical society and once Grammy’s friend. Miss Pringle knew more about Gamble’s past than any other living person, and that was why Anna chose to talk with her first
about the planning commission’s meeting. Anna found her shuffling through a drawer of the schoolmarm’s desk, which now served as her own.

  The classroom’s walls were dark rough-hewn boards between which strips of muslin had been tacked to keep out winter drafts. Now from the walls in poster-size black-and-white photos, Gamble’s early citizens looked down sternly on students’ desks, lined up in tidy rows. The school smelled of dust and age. In the air floated memories of rulers whacking knuckles. The floor creaked under Anna’s footsteps as she and Earnest walked to the front of the room.

  “Got a minute?” Anna asked.

  “Sure, Anna. What’s going on?” A wisp of a woman, Miss Pringle pulled back her hair into a severe gray bun. She wore a shirtwaist dress and no-nonsense shoes with rubber soles.

  “Have you heard about Naomi Blackmore’s application to tear down her historic house?” Anna asked.

  “Heard!? Girl, I’ve been complaining to the city for weeks. The planners wouldn’t dare let that go through. The very idea.” With indignation, Miss Pringle seemed to spit out the idea and stomp on it.

  “The planning commission is meeting about it.”

  “So I read in the Crier . . . Humph.”

  “Will you come and speak for the house?” Anna asked.

  “Nothing could keep me away. I’ll get our members over there.”

  “Perfect.”

  “You’ll need to call the neighbors and the chamber of commerce. You might try some environmental groups. Ducks and grebes nest in that marsh behind the property.” Miss Pringle’s hands fluttered like wings.