Mrs. Fletcher(75)

“Thanks, dude.”

“Take care of yourself,” he told me. “Maybe I’ll see you in a couple days?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe.”

I got out of the car and watched him drive away. Then I stood on the sidewalk for a while. My house looked sleepy and peaceful, the way it always did when I got home late. I hadn’t told my mom I was coming home, so I was surprised to see that she’d left the porch light on, almost like she was expecting me.





PART FOUR


The MILF





That Happened


Eve was deeply relieved, and not at all surprised, when Amanda gave her notice in late January. The only real surprise, given the mess they’d made of their friendship and work relationship, was that she’d lasted as long as she had.

“I got the library job,” she said. “Director of Children’s Events. I’ll be in charge of story time, arts and crafts, author visits, holiday celebrations, stuff like that. Kind of like here, just with kids instead of old people. It pays a little better than what I’m making now, so that’s a plus.”

“That’s great,” Eve told her, but then she caught herself. “I mean, I’m really sorry to be losing you. That goes without saying. You’re a valued member of our staff. Everybody’s going to miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you, too. You were such a great boss.”

She sounded completely sincere, though nothing, Eve knew, could have been further from the truth. She’d been a terrible boss—completely irresponsible, not to mention legally culpable—and she’d put Amanda in an impossible position, giving her no choice but to leave.

“Thanks again for the recommendation letter,” Amanda continued. “I think it made a big difference.”

“I meant every word. You have a bright future ahead of you.”

She’d used that exact phrase in her letter: Amanda Olney has a bright future ahead of her. She was also a model employee and a beacon of good cheer in the office, not to mention a self-starter who revitalized the Lecture Series during her brief but eventful tenure. And now she was looking for new challenges more commensurate with her exceptional abilities, opportunities the Senior Center regrettably couldn’t provide. Eve had understood, even while composing the letter, that she was laying it on a little thick, but she figured it was the least she could do.

“My last day is February 13th,” Amanda told her. “That’s a Friday. Just my luck.”

“Day before Valentine’s,” Eve added, unhelpfully.

Amanda nodded, well aware of this fact.

“You doing anything? For the holiday?”

Eve shook her head. “You?”

“Nothing.” Amanda shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “Just whatever. I’m not a big fan of Valentine’s Day. It’s always kind of depressing.”

That was when it descended, the gray cloud that followed them wherever they went, the Big Awkward Thing that couldn’t be discussed or undone. It seemed completely impossible that it had even happened, except that she could—and all too often did—visualize it with mortifying clarity, though only in choppy fragments, involuntary bursts of memory that made her wince and blink, as if a flashbulb had gone off a little too close to her face: Amanda whimpering through gritted teeth; Julian moaning oooh fuck, oooh fuck over and over; all three of them breathing hard, encouraging one another, working together as a team.

It was so stupid and frustrating. They should have been able to get past the weirdness, to find a way back to being friends and co-workers who could meet for an occasional drink, go to the movies on Sunday afternoon, or keep each other company on the loneliest night of the year. Maybe there were women somewhere who could have done that, friendly colleagues who’d blundered into an ill-fated sexual adventure and then found a way to laugh it off, people who just shrugged and said, Well, that happened, and went back to being the way they were before. That would have been a healthier way to deal with it, instead of dying a little inside every time you saw the other person, as if the two of you had buried a body in the woods or something.

And it wasn’t like they were in any danger of repeating their mistake. Whatever desire they’d felt for each other had consumed itself in that single, regrettable burst of flames, and now there was nothing left. They’d learned this the hard way after the staff Christmas party, when they tried to spark it back to life with a tipsy kiss in Eve’s office that had left them both empty and discouraged.

I don’t know, Amanda said. I’m just not feeling it.

Eve nodded, conscious of a sad taste in her mouth. Let’s pretend it never happened.

Unfortunately, they weren’t good pretenders. They couldn’t remember how to talk to each other like normal human beings, or find a way to build a fence around their error. In the end, it was easier not to have to see each other at all.

“Good luck,” Eve said from behind her desk. “I hope you like your new job.”

Amanda scowled at the floor for a moment, as if troubled by what she saw there. Then she looked up.

“I’m not ashamed of what we did,” she said. “I want you to know that.”

“That’s good,” Eve told her. “Because you have nothing to be ashamed of.”