So Long, Chester Wheeler(9)

“Pretty much ‘of the everything’ at this point. It started out in his lungs but it’s all over now.”

It seemed like an interesting double entendre, though likely unintentional.

“And the prognosis?”

“Oh, it’s not good.”

“How long do the doctors think?”

“Three months, if he’s really lucky.”

“I see,” I said.

Which was a deeper statement than it might have sounded on the surface. Suddenly I did see the situation, clearly and very differently.

On the plus side, this would be a very short gig, if I took it. I could try to line up a better job over the next three months, and I wouldn’t have to worry about the rent or bills in the meantime.

On the minus side, I felt I had no right to despise Chester Wheeler anymore, because what kind of monster harbors hate for a dying man? I immediately felt vulnerable and naked with those feelings stripped away, and would have done nearly anything to pull them home again.

“Well,” I said, ending what I think was a weirdly long silence. “Give me another day to think about it.”

Even at the considerable distance, I could see her countenance change. She stood up straighter, and seemed to bounce on her toes a little.

“Of course! Yes, of course I will. I’m just so happy to hear you’re even considering it. Thank you, Lewis! Call anytime, day or night, when you decide.”

I mumbled some polite closing words and ended the call.

She disappeared from her window immediately.

I stood at mine for a long time, staring at the house next door. I was thinking, What the hell did I just do?



In the evening I sat across the table from Anna in a perfectly stereotypical Italian restaurant. Red checkered tablecloth, potted candle in the center of the table. Trellis laden with grape leaves stenciled onto the wall.

I was eating spaghetti because I felt guilty that the meal was on her. The meals had been on her since I’d lost my job, and, though she was doing better than I was, she was hardly made of money. I didn’t want to stress her delicate system. Now and then I would glance across the table at her veal piccata in a vaguely drooly, unfortunately covetous manner.

“So here’s the thing,” I said.

I wound spaghetti around my fork and took another huge mouthful. Which is—let’s face it—weird behavior when you’ve just said to someone “So here’s the thing.”

Unfortunately, Anna knew me all too well.

“Got it,” she said. “Really not looking forward to admitting this next thing to me, whatever it is.”

I swallowed hard, but the mouthful was not fully chewed, and it caused discomfort going down.

“I got some new information about that job looking after Wheeler.”

“And you’re actually thinking of taking it,” she said.

She didn’t say it as though she was passing judgment. Really, if I had to characterize it, she sounded . . . almost . . . impressed.

“Only because I’m getting desperate.”

“What information could possibly have changed your thinking?”

“He only has three months to live. Unless he has even less.”

She ate in silence for a full minute or two, nodding every few seconds. Leaving me just waiting to hear what she would say. With my stomach twisting into knots.

“And you could use the three months to line up something better,” she said at last.

“That’s what I was thinking, yeah.”

“I guess you could put up with anything for three months.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll reduce me to a quivering pile of anxiety and insecurities.”

“And maybe this could be your chance not to let him. Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing. Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’ll be terrible. It’ll be your worst nightmare. But how many of us get to stand face to face with our worst nightmare and just . . . bushwhack our way through it?”

I digested those comments for a moment, trying to think how to phrase a request for more details.

I needn’t have bothered.

“This might be a really interesting challenge for you,” she said. “Because this is . . . and this won’t come as news to you . . . your Achilles’ heel. You can’t stand to be disrespected and criticized, or insulted in any way. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting anybody likes it. But it seems to me that you don’t really have that solid core of confidence that lets you shake it off and not take it personally. I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I guess I don’t,” I said, though I pretty much did. “You think it’s possible to grow such a thing?”

“I think this is your chance to find out.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

She dropped her fork onto her plate. It made a lot of noise. Other diners jumped and turned to stare.

“Holy crap, Lewis,” she said. A little too loudly, considering that people were already staring. “All you’ve done is think about it since it first came up. What you have to do now is decide.”

I sat in silence for a few beats, nursing the sting. The other diners grew bored with staring and got on with their lives.

“I’m sorry,” she said, more quietly. “I didn’t mean to yell. But you have a way of pushing decisions down the road. It’s like you’re waiting to be sure how it’ll pan out before you decide. But that never works. We can’t ever know that going in. I think you just need to choose a path and see where it takes you.”