Dashing back into my office, I dialed the number of Frank's Outdoor Outlet, hoping he wouldn't answer the phone. The line was busy. God, didn't these people know about call waiting? A glance at my watch told me it was after twelve thirty. I'd have to try later. Caroline awaited.
The light but steady snow lent a festive air to the streets in Iowa City. I parked on Washington Street and walked across the bricked surface of the pedestrian mall, passing the storefronts and plentiful benches that comprised the popular shopping spot. The four square block area had been closed to vehicles and styled to invite both shoppers and those who just wanted to rest and enjoy the sights.
I saw two college kids playing chess on the pavement, with fifteen inch plastic chessman that they carried along the board. The board was comprised of pavement squares which were of two shades and were set into the floor of the mall, replacing the usual brick. It was an interesting perspective on the game. A couple of older guys were watching the game from one of the benches, unbothered by the snow falling around and on them.
I emerged from the pedestrian mall on Clinton Street and walked south to the Bread Garden Bakery and Cafe. They baked a lot of great breads here, the crusty kinds that I loved. It wasn't fancy, but the sandwiches and deli choices were to my liking. I thought Caroline would enjoy them, too. I went in to get a table and look for her. It wasn't too crowded today and I quickly saw that I'd gotten here before she had. I got myself a coffee and sat at one of the tables near the window to watch for her.
By one-ten, I was beginning to wonder if she would show up. Then I saw her emerging from the parking garage across the street. The dark blue hat and a long dark coat were easily visible through the light snow. When she looked up as she crossed the street, I waved at her from the window and she smiled and waved back.
I offered to go up and order our lunches and she readily agreed. I chose one of my favorites, the chicken walnut salad sandwich for each of us, as well as an order of red skin potato salad. I mentioned to Caroline that fresh carrot juice was available, but she opted for iced tea and I had a second cup of coffee. I carried the tray back to our table and set out the food and napkins. She looked amazed.
"Wow. Those look great. What kind of sandwiches are they?"
"I told her and she bit into hers with enthusiasm. We were silent for a few minutes as we chewed. She was the first to break the silence.
"You know, Rudy, you really look almost the same as I remember you. Maybe a little older, but it's amazing how you still look like that boy I knew so many years ago."
"I guess I was just a boy, but I never think of it that way."
She laughed, that same tinkling laugh that I remembered and still heard in my dreams. "Oh, you were a boy, all right. And I was so young, too. And here we are meeting again after all this time. What have you been doing back in Pittsburgh? And what brings you out here? Are you visiting your sister?"
I'd finished the first half of my sandwich and most of the potato salad. I sipped some of the coffee before I answered. "No, actually I've moved to Oak Grove." I told Caroline about my sister's bout with breast cancer and my decision to spend more time with her and her family. I was now rethinking my position on one tall, slimy member of her family, but I saw no reason to explain all that to Caroline. She wanted to know more about what I had done after we'd parted.
"After you left, I said, "I stayed at the garage, mostly. Woody helped me out and we kept it afloat financially. I managed to take some business courses at Pitt and between that and running the garage, I was pretty busy for the next couple of years. Then, we got an offer to sell the place. The location was a good one and the offer was really high. Maxine was already living in Iowa City and was expecting Madeline about that time, so she had lots of uses for the money. We agreed to sell the garage and I've never regretted it. How about you?" I asked. "What have you been doing since you left?" That sounded too dumb and I tried to spruce it up a little. "You know, I mean what is your average day like as a nun?" That was somewhat better, but not by much. I couldn't seem to shut up and kept babbling like a demented brook. "I was, um, expecting you to be wearing a regular habit." I didn't mention that my surprise had originally taken place when I first spied on her at the convent. Instead I placed the blame on my sister. "Max didn't say how you were dressed at that, uh, retreat last Christmas, but I just assumed...you know?"
"Well, I am a Dominican Sister, of course, but each of us can decide whether she will wear a full habit, a modified version of some type or regular secular clothes. I usually dress moderately, in a monochromatic color scheme. It fits my style, I guess."
"So what do you do every day, now? Do you work at the convent?"
"Oh, we all have our responsibilities at the house. I have my Master's in Psychology, though, and I work as a counselor at a clinic on the eastern edge of Iowa City. Our order works with the poor also, and the sick and sometimes we teach. At Saint Anne's, eleven of us are in residence and most of us work at medical clinics or hospitals in the area. Three are teachers in one or another of the Catholic schools. I was a counselor, sort of a social worker, at Mercy Hospital for a while and now I deal with troubled families. I've lived here for almost five years now and so far, I'm very happy." Apparently that was the condensed version. She turned the subject back to me and my life after we'd parted.
"What did you do, Rudy? Did you go back and finish college after you sold the garage?" She held my gaze as she asked. It made me feel unsettled but, as insane as it seemed, hopeful. It felt like there was a chance, that if I could just 'connect' with her eyes somehow, on some deeper level, we would erase the years and go back to being the 'us' that I remembered.
"No," I said. "I had that Associate Degree in Communications and that was enough college for me. I didn't want to go to school any more. I'd always wanted to be a private investigator. Do you remember me reading all those detective novels and how I badgered poor Ira when he was tracking down those two hoods? I was always spinning my big plans and dreams about being a private investigator." "A private investigator. Oh, do I remember those dreams, Rudy!" Caroline smiled broadly. "And all the books that Ira gave you and how you pored over them. You were going to be like Travis Magee, only without the houseboat." She laughed out loud and covered her mouth with one hand. "And you actually became one?" she asked.
"I did," I said with a nod, "eventually. Ira was my inspiration. He'd always told me I could do it. When he gave me his manuals, he said he'd already read them several times and wanted to pass them on to an apt pupil." I paused. "That was me," I grinned. "So I learned a lot of useful things from Ira and the rest from books, his and others that I've acquired along the way. I'm still learning," I added, "about human nature as well as about investigative work."
Caroline nodded and tilted her head to one side, anticipating more of my story it seemed. "When was that?"
"A few months after I sold the garage. I had the money to set up my own business so I did. I got all the required licenses and rented an office over on the Southside. You remember where my house was? Well, this place was three blocks away, above the newsstand near the bridge. Of course, I kept the house. It was paid for, and I needed a place to live anyway."
"And the business has worked out well for you?"
"Oh, yeah. Very well, in fact. I had one huge case, kind of industrial espionage, I guess, where two ketchup manufacturers were having a dispute about ingredients. I made a tidy sum on that one, which turned out to be my last case in Pittsburgh. I named it "The Tomato Wars" in my files, but it was a gold plated tomato for me."
Caroline was leaning back in her chair, laughing at my last remark.
"So after the Tomato Wars, you moved west?"
"Not right away. Max had been asking me to for a long time, but it wasn't until last year, when she got sick, that the idea really started to brew. I'd been dating a woman for a couple of years and it had come to the point where, at our ages, you either moved ahead...like marriage, or moved on." I couldn't believ
e that I was telling her all this. It was always so damned easy to talk to her and here I was blabbing on about another woman to Caroline. Her encouraging smile and those warm eyes held me in place, though, and I started right up again.
"This woman, Elaine, was really great and I liked her a lot. She was a travel agent whom I'd met when I was planning a vacation. I thought maybe I loved her, but I wasn't sure. She had two little boys, they were eight and nine then, that I really liked. I took them to ball games and stuff, you know." I shook my head. "It was really tough to say goodbye to those two kids."
"That was what was keeping you with her, the little boys?" she said softly.
"That was it. It took me awhile to recognize that and then some more time before I had the guts to tell her. I kept seeing her until I was sure, which wasn't the most honorable thing I've ever done."
"You weren't being dishonorable." Caroline was still on my side, it seemed. "You weren't sure and you were merely taking the time to be certain you did the right thing." Caroline reached across the small table and laid her hand on my wrist. I looked over at her, hoping for that connection, but there was only a look of compassion.
"Caroline, I.." I started, but she patted my hand and drew hers away as she interrupted me.
"Rudy, I've always felt it would have been better if we could have talked over my decision before I left Pittsburgh."
"Yeah, well, “I muttered. "It was your choice. I guess you did the best you could."
"Rudy, look at me." Again she rested her hand on my wrist. I kept staring into her eyes, searching for that elusive point where I'd feel like I was seeing into her soul again.
"Rudy, this is my life now. I'm not sorry at all. I only regret that both of us were tormented by a decision that I had to make. I was too immature to articulate my feelings in a way that would have been more helpful to you." She stopped for a moment and looked directly into my eyes. "We were so young, Rudy. Too young."
"It didn't feel like we were too young." I was prepared to defend the most important time in my life.
"But we were still almost children," she whispered gently, "trying to make tremendous decisions about our lives." Caroline's voice took on a more authoritative tone as she went on, probably drawing on her professional skills. "You have to understand that, Rudy. My life is so different now than I would ever have expected, but it's what I want for myself. I'd like to know that you're happy, too. I never wanted to hurt you." She may not have wanted to hurt me then, or even now. But I felt like I'd just swallowed a handful of sand. I wanted to puke. I wasn't about to let her know that, though.
"Oh, you didn't hurt me, “I said quickly. "I was just too stubborn to understand, I guess. Anyway," I smiled brightly, "I'm glad to know that you're happy now. Actually, I'm doing pretty well myself. I like it here in Iowa and I bought a place in Oak Grove and started my Private Eye business out here. I even met a nice lady. We went on a winter picnic the other day. Can you believe that?" I laughed at my own foolishness. "I must really think I'm twenty again."
Caroline laughed with me and we chatted about the weather for a moment before I helped her into her coat. We promised to keep in touch and before she crossed the street, she reached up and touched my cheek. I wished she hadn't done that.
Chapter 16
I'd like to say that I left the bakery and climbed back up on my trusty steed and rode off to solve crimes and save lives, but I didn't. The snow was falling pretty heavily when I watched Caroline walk away, and it was rapidly piling up on the streets and sidewalks. Starting up Clinton Street, I turned off to my right and stepped onto the brick surface of the pedestrian mall, trudging along through the slushy snow with my head down against the wind. The two college kids at the oversized chess set had been replaced by four younger boys who were playing some sort of tag team chess match. All the benches were vacant and snow covered, but I slumped onto one beside the inlaid chessboard and tucked my chin down. Pulling the parka's furry hood over my head, I jammed my hands deep into the jacket's pockets and stretched out my legs, crossing them at the ankles. Now. Let it snow, damn it. Let it freakin' snow.
I sat there feeling sorry for myself for a good while, long after the north wind had picked up and brought a drier, blowing snow to the mall and long after the four kids had given up and gone home to dinner and a warm house. My feet reminded me of an errand I needed to do and I forced myself to move off the bench and into a men's clothing store where I bought myself several pair of heavy socks.
It was almost dark when I emerged from the shop and I plowed through the drifting snow and walked toward Clinton Street. Across from the outdoor mall was the Campus III Theater, which seemed to imply three movie choices. I jaywalked across Clinton and went inside. It was four forty-five and one of the features had just started, so I bought a ticket and went in. The seats were almost all empty, which was fine with me. For the next two hours I was warm and comfortable in the dark theater, staring at the screen. Occasionally there was the sound of laughter from somewhere in the room, so I think it was a comedy.
After the movie let out, I walked around the downtown section of Iowa City, which was almost deserted on this snowy Tuesday. There was a basketball game at Hawkeye Carver Arena at seven, so a lot of the students were probably over there. The snow and freezing winds must have kept the rest of them in their rooms. Even the student hangouts along Market Street looked empty. I walked until I was too tired and cold to walk anymore and then I found my car and drove home. It had been one hell of a day and I wanted to be exhausted enough to fall asleep before I could think about any of it.
By Wednesday morning, I was feeling somewhat rested, having slept a few fitful hours. I wasn't hungry but drank a couple of cups of coffee and took a handful of vitamins to tide me over. I was draining the second cup when Melanie Goodwin telephoned me.
"Rudy? Hey, I found your pocket knife in the truck the other day. It was poking me all the way home. I was sitting on the thing. Do you believe it? It's a good thing the blade was closed," she laughed. "Did you miss it yet?"
"I did. I tried to call you at the store yesterday but the line was busy and then I got tied up. Do you want me to come down and get it or can you drop it in the mail for me?" I could see the snow still blowing around outside the kitchen window and didn't really want to drive all the way to Keokuk today. Neither, however, did I want my knife lying around where her uncle Frank might see it.
"I was thinking that if you wanted me to, I could drop it off. I have to go up to Cedar Rapids today to rent a car at the airport, and my friend Amy is going to drive me. We could stop at your place on the way."
"Wait a minute. Let me check something." I laid the phone on the kitchen counter and walked through the living room and into my office. The sticky paper with Woody's flight information was on top of the pile of papers I'd stacked up after the break-in. Peeling it off, I carried it back to the phone, reading it as I went. "I have to pick up a friend of mine at the airport at seven this evening," I said. "If you can have Amy drop you here by six, I'll drive you to the airport. That way she'll save herself some time and mileage."
"Sounds like a plan. Are you sure you don't mind?"
"No problem. You can keep me company on the drive up." I hoped Melanie wouldn't take the offer for more than it was, a simple gesture of kindness to save her friend a longer drive through the snowy night. For all my bravado in telling Caroline of my new "lady," Melanie Goodwin was just a casual acquaintance and was unlikely ever to be more than that. She seemed nice enough, except for her disparaging remarks about my profession, but she didn't interest me romantically.
"Ok, then. I'll see you at your place at six"
"Don't forget my knife. Bye."
After sweeping the snow from the car windows with my sleeve, I drove out to the highway and headed south on 965 toward Cliff's Photo in Coralville. The highway had been plowed, probably several times by ten thirty, and the traffic was keeping both lanes fairly clear. Piles of dirty snow lined both sides
of the road, all the way to Coralville.
Cliff was in and already at work back in his darkroom. When he emerged at the sound of the bell, I congratulated him on his new daughter. On his thin face, the broad smile really appeared to reach from ear to ear. He said they'd been trying for several years to have a baby and had named her Grace. The name brought an image of Sister Mary Grace to my mind, but I stuffed the thought back to a dark corner and asked about my pictures.
"They're right here," he said, moving behind the narrow counter and reaching beneath it for a cardboard box. He quickly flipped through several glassine envelopes and pulled one out, handing it to me. "I printed all three negatives, but you can see they're all the same. There's not even a difference in the expressions on their faces. Your negs are in there, too."
I slid the top eight-by-ten out and looked at it. It was a nice sharp picture, and probably was taken by a newspaper photographer as Lois Wilson had told me. There were six people in the photo. On the far right of the picture was a tall, light haired man, the only one dressed in a suit and tie. Maybe he was the Kiwanis representative or maybe that was Clyde Wilson. Beside him stood a skinny blond kid holding a plaque, undoubtedly the young Charlie Wilson. In the center of the photo was a wheelchair where a dark haired boy sat with the stiffness and contorted posture that usually indicates some form of Cerebral Palsy.
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