Dropping Stones / Kingmaker SET

by Paul Cwalina

She didn’t respond. She just kept hugging me until finally she loosened her hold on me and we sat down. She pulled some tissues out of her purse and wiped her eyes and nose. “Just when you think you are all cried out over something...” she said without completing the thought. Again, it took everything I had not to break down.

  The waitress arrived to take Diane’s drink order. We perused the menus and started catching up on each other’s lives. She managed to keep her job as executive assistant to the mayor. She and Jack were doing well and she detailed her kids’ scholastic and athletic achievements. I jumped at the chance to give her my news.

  “You’ll never guess what’s going on with me,” I offered.

  “I hope it’s good,” she replied.

  “Speechwriter for Senator Rick Roman’s presidential campaign.”

  “Get out! Congrats! How did you manage to get that gig?”

  “Greg. He’s there, too. He’s heading up the East Coast ground game.”

  “Wow. He hit the big time, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. Couldn’t believe it when he contacted me. I start on Monday, so I’m going to spend the weekend packing...again.”

  “Big move.”

  “Not as big as the move to St. Croix was, of course, but still another big one, yes.”

  The waitress returned with Diane’s diet soda and we placed our orders. With Jennifer planning an early dinner, I opted for just a bowl of clam chowder. Diane took the restaurant style literally and ordered a panini and a cup of minestrone soup. The waitress took the menus and I said, “Why must they call it a panini? It’s just a sandwich that’s toasted. That’s all.” I shook my head and continued, “Hipsters.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Diane said.

  We both smiled and I responded, “Fine. I’ll stop.”

  “You’re just going to have to learn to accept things,” she lectured. “Get over it.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “Whatever.”

  We entered a bit of a lull in the conversation. While there, it seemed like Diane had something on her mind. She wanted to say something but, perhaps, she was nervous. Perhaps, the timing wasn’t right. I knew her well enough to know she was holding back. I didn’t push. I asked her about city hall and asked if Jim, my police chief, was still there. She confirmed that he was and told me that the new mayor was a little dull and boring and that she wished I was still there.

  Again, she was holding something back. The waitress brought our food. While I stirred my soup to release some heat, Diane silently prayed. When she finished, she picked up her sandwich and then put it back down. “I have to confess something to you. There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, reaching for her tissues. “It’s about Chelsea.”

  I cannot take anymore. Please.

  She struggled to continue, “I should have told you. Chelsea...um...when her relationship with Adam ended...she um...she threatened to commit suicide. I found her on the Market Street Bridge. She was just leaning over the railing. She wasn’t ready to jump. She was just standing there crying. I didn’t want to tell you...because I didn’t want that to stop you from dating her. I didn’t want you to think less of her or that she was deranged or anything,” she said.

  I felt my anger slowly building. How dare she not tell me something like that? I had a right to know that.

  She continued, “I’m sorry. I know I should have told you.” She stopped to try to stifle herself from crying again. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  When I heard her say the word ‘forgive,’ I immediately started thinking about Pastor Zee and my conversations with him. Let it go. Don’t pick up the stone.

  After a minute or so, I exhaled and said, “It’s okay, Diane. It’s okay. Honestly, knowing what I know about myself it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. I still would have selfishly taken whatever I could from her to satisfy my own needs. That information probably wouldn’t have meant anything to me,” I said with complete candor. “I forgive you.”

  She started crying again, and said, “Thank you. Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me.” Diane’s mood immediately became lighter. It was like removing a clog from a pipe. She immediately cheered up and began eating.

  We talked freely after that. When we finished, I caught the waitress’ attention and asked for the check. As we waited for it, we talked about my impending move. “You’re lucky that you have no ties here, and you can move without a problem.”

  “Yeah, well, not completely free. Looks like there’s going to be a mini-me walking around here,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “What?” Diane asked, confused.

  “Looks like I’m going to be a father.”

  Diane shook her head. “What? Who?”

  “Her name’s Jennifer. I picked her up at the Good Knight the night of Greg’s bachelor party. She works at Omega.”

  Diane was understandably in shock. “I’m just blown away,” she managed to say. Then she lifted herself a little bit out of her seat, leaned across the table, and hit me in the forehead with the palm of her hand.

  “What the...”

  “You haven’t learned a thing,” she scolded. “You haven’t learned a single thing from everything you just went through.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We haven’t seen each other in what...three, four months and your lead story is that you got some job? You are going to be a father. You will have a son or daughter in a few months. That is the lead story!” she exclaimed. “What is wrong with you? You learned nothing.”

  “Whoa. Easy, Diane. One is an accomplishment, the other is an accident.”

  She was getting angry and that didn’t help. I forgot Diane couldn’t conceive and that she adopted her children. I tried to recover. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m over that. I don’t care about that,” she said. “What I care about is that Chelsea was sacrificed and you haven’t learned a thing from it. Let me guess, you are probably treating this Jennifer like an obstacle now. You think nothing of her, do you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t have to. I can tell by the way you told me about it,” she said, then relaxed a bit. “Look, I’m not getting into this right now. But listen to me. You better think long and hard about this. Get your priorities straight.”

  “I think I do. I’m being very nice. I’m not fighting her on it.”

  “I don’t know her, but I can guarantee it’s going to take a heck of a lot more than that.”

  “I’m trying. It didn’t exactly get off to a good start, but I’m working on it.”

  “Is she moving to DC with you?”

  “What? No. Why? She doesn’t even know about the job yet.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What?”

  “There’s a freight train headed right for you and you think it’s a light at the end of a tunnel.”

  “What are you talking about? She should be thrilled with the money I’ll be bringing in.”

  “When are you seeing her again?”

  “Tonight for dinner. Why?”

  “And you’re telling her tonight?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, boy. Like I said, I don’t know her, and I could be wrong, but I’m just warning you, be prepared.”

  I had no idea why Diane was so adamant about this or what I was doing wrong, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing something or how I could impress Jennifer “Okay, you’ve made your point, I think. Help me think of something to bring to dinner,” I pleaded. “I spent a good part of Wednesday finding the perfect bottle of wine and brought it with me to her place for dinner that night...”

  “You brought alcohol to a pregnant woman?” Diane asked and then let out a small laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

  “I know. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Exactly my point,” she said, again trying to make her earlier point.r />
  “I get it. Now, what can I bring tonight?”

  “Just get her some flowers.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that? Brilliant!”

  “Do you really want an answer to that?”

  “No. Let’s just get out of here. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  I paid the check and we said our goodbyes with the promise to get together the following week. Despite what I felt was her misplaced lecture on Jennifer, it was so good to finally have that long overdue conversation with an old, dear friend, and more importantly, get and give the forgiveness that was so freeing.

  I knew a florist a couple blocks away and decided to walk there straight from the restaurant. When I arrived at the florist’s shop, I asked for the store owner. While I waited, I browsed some of the pre-made arrangements. They were nice, but I wanted something really special.

  The shop’s owner, Martin, emerged from the back and greeted me with a wide smile. “Mayor!” he exclaimed, extending his hand. I shook it.

  “Martin, you’re gonna have to stop calling me that.”

  “Someday, but not today. What can I do for you?”

  “I need a really special bouquet of flowers for someone.”

  “Are you in the doghouse?” he asked.

  “You could say that, I suppose.”

  “How deep in the doghouse?”

  “All the way in the back and in the corner.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Okay, give me five minutes. I’ll get it ready for you myself.”

  He ordered one of his employees to gather a series of items that sounded like flowers and plants. I had no idea. I was definitely just a bystander in this place and on this project. I had no expertise in this area. I was completely at Martin’s mercy.

  He didn’t meet his goal of five minutes, but I didn’t mind. He called me over to the counter and laid in front of me a bouquet that was roughly the size of a pre-adolescent human. I’m no judge of flowers or bouquets, but it seemed to me to be one that a woman would really like and one by which any woman would be impressed. It was certainly one that was not only capable of springing a man from a doghouse, it had a chance to erase a woman’s memory of any incident that sentenced him to the doghouse in the first place.

  “Martin, you’ve outdone yourself. Very nice,” I said.

  “Thank you. I hope it works for you,” he said. “With tax that comes to one hundred and five.”

  “Dollars?!?” I challenged. Martin had no expression on his face. He just looked at me, not amused in the least. Fair enough, I guess, because neither was I. Thanks, Diane. This better work. I paid the bill and scooped up the arrangement.

  I regretted walking to the florist because now I had to walk back three blocks to my car, carrying what looked like a carnival prize. I did my best to protect it as I walked through crowds of approaching pedestrians and against the wind. I made sure I secured it in the car for the ride home, and when I got home, I did my best to get it into the house unscathed.

  I drove to Jennifer’s and pulled the bouquet out of the back seat. There was no way I could hide them behind my back, so I just carried them in front of me and rang the doorbell.

  When she opened the door, I just stepped inside and held the bouquet out to her. “Hi! I hope you like these...”

  “Oh my. Get those out of here!” she demanded and disappeared behind the door. I stood there dumbfounded. “What?” I asked.

  “Please!” she shouted.

  “Um...” I was shell-shocked. I just stood there not having a clue as to what was going on.

  She reappeared from behind the door, grabbed the bouquet out of my hand, and threw it out the door. I watched as one hundred five dollars sailed past me and landed in a heap on the porch, with a handful of flowers spilling out. She jerked me by the arm out of the way and slammed the door and started waving her hand furiously in front of her face. “I have allergies. The pregnancy is making them ten times worse. I’ll be sneezing all night,” she explained and pulled me by the arm out of the foyer. And then she sneezed. Then she sneezed, again.

  You have got to be kidding me here. Strike one...or is that four?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to be mean. I’m sure they were beautiful.”

  Whatever. I want credit for this at least.

  “Have a seat,” she said. “There’s some fruit and homemade dip while we wait for dinner. It’s almost done.”

  I did my best to try to put what had just happened behind me. I sat down at the table and picked on the fruit, while I looked at the painting of the four horses. It seemed closer tonight or bigger somehow, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I had to concentrate on trying to get over what happened on Wednesday. It seems like I may have a clean slate here, or something close to it if Jennifer invited me back and cooked another dinner for me.

  Reset. Put down the stone.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” she assured me. “How was your day?”

  “Good. Had the chance to meet with an old friend I haven’t seen in a while. How about yours?”

  “Oh, just your typical day of bloating, discomfort, and stress,” she said with a smile.

  “Sorry, can’t help you with the first two. Maybe I can help with the stress, though,” I said, hoping to make her feel a little better. “I got a job. And not just any job. It’s a really good one.”

  “Congratulations,” she said genuinely. “Hang on. Dinner’s ready. Tell me about it when I come back in.”

  As I waited, I searched for just the right words to tell her about it. I wasn’t sure what she knew about politics, so I didn’t know what I would have to explain. I didn’t want to talk over her head and I didn’t want to insult her by talking down to her. I wanted it to go well.

  I got up from my chair when she came into the room and helped her place everything on the table. We loaded our plates with the chicken cordon blue, almondeira string beans, and rice pilaf.

  “So, I got a call from a guy named Greg. He was my campaign manager and chief...”

  “Wait, please,” she interrupted. “Hands.” She extended hers across the table. I placed my hands in hers. Then she prayed, “Father, we are here, again, before you as sinners in need of your mercy. Please help us to put aside any harsh feelings from our last time together and help us to move forward together for the sake of our child. Thank you for these provisions and the opportunity to enjoy them. Thank you for your blessings and mercies every day. Through our redeemer and savior, Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.” Then she lifted her head and looked at me. “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Right. Anyway, Greg was my chief of staff and he is now working on Rick Roman’s presidential campaign in DC...” No reaction to that? Are you kidding me? “So, he calls me earlier this week and asks if I’m still looking for work because they need a speechwriter, and I guess I have a knack for that,” I said, stopping briefly to take my first bite of the chicken cordon bleu. “This is delicious,” I offered and didn’t wait for a response. “Anyway, they asked me to write a speech for Roman to deliver on Friday...well, today...and if they liked it, they would hire me. And, well, they liked it.”