Tips for Living(14)

“I don’t fucking believe this,” I said, gawking at his name.

After I told her and Ben about my marriage and how it ended, Lizzie looked distressed and began fingering a tassel on her scarf.

“God, Nora, that’s a terrible story. I mean, where was the birth control?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lizzie. Believe me, you’re not the first person to ask about that.”

She looked at me dolefully. “How long were you married?”

“We lived together for years. But we’d only been married thirteen months.”

“Do you think getting married freaked him out? Is that why he messed around?”

I wanted to say, Don’t worry, your fiancé is not Hugh. But I was embarrassed to be sharing any of this, especially in front of Ben, who was at his desk listening intently, rubbing his chin and frowning.

I shrugged. “I’d really appreciate it if both of you would keep this information to yourselves. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t say a word,” Lizzie said, crossing her heart.

Ben had an unusually emotional reaction. He apologized vehemently on behalf of his gender. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Nora. Men who behave like that make me ashamed of my sex.” Given Ben’s usual terse self, I was even more astonished he made it a point to say something nice again before the day’s end: “You deserved a lot better, Nora. A whole lot better.”

I could barely concentrate the rest of the afternoon. I was supposed to be working on my feature, “Canines for Heroes,” about a pet adoption program designed to help Iraq War veterans recover from PTSD. Struggling to formulate questions for an interview with one of the vets, all I could come up with was a preliminary, “Have you ever owned a dog before?” Instead, I began playing the virtual slot machines on slotsofvegas.com, scoring $63,235. My highest total yet. I wished the games were real and legal, because my nest egg was gone. A small-town reporter’s salary wasn’t going to replenish it.

By six o’clock, everyone else in the Courier office had left for the day. It was a quiet time, good for taking another crack at the interview questions. Just as I reopened the work file, I heard the door to the street close. Seconds later, Al Rudinsky appeared. A sweet bear of a man with a buzz cut, Al was wearing his royal-blue Tidy Pools coveralls, and they were caked with mud. He stood in the office doorway wiping his dirty work boots on the mat. His meaty neck and broad forehead were streaked with grime and sweat.

“Am I too late? Did I miss the deadline? I brought cash.” He gave me an anxious smile.

Al was married to Sinead, one of my Pilates classmates—Sinead O’Halloran-Rudinsky. Their Irish-Polish union produced four kids, and Al was always low on money. In fact, he was months behind on payments for his ads. Ben had reluctantly put him on notice. No more credit. This was the last day to buy space in the Summer Lawn and Garden insert, an important advertising platform for Al’s Tidy Pools, Irrigation and Landscaping Service.

“The ad department is gone for the day,” I said, indicating the closed door to the back office where our accounting and advertising staff work. “Everyone is. But I’ll make sure Ben gets your money. He might be okay with extending the deadline since you brought in your payment today.” I smiled at him. “In fact, I’ll lobby for it.”

Al crossed the floor in his bowlegged stride and handed me a manila envelope with his big, dirty hand. He looked down at the mud he’d tracked in, chagrined.

“Sorry, I tried to get it all off.”

“It’s all right, Al. No big deal. I’ll sweep it up later.”

He bent down and began to scoop up the clumps of wet earth with his bare hands.

“Can you tell Ben I’m sorry, I really meant to get here earlier? I had a rush job out at Pequod Point,” he said, straightening up.

I drew back. My antennae went up. Could he mean Hugh and Helene’s house?

“Oh? What job was that?”

He shoved the dirt into his coverall pocket and wiped his hands on his thighs. “Biggest property I handle. New owners moved in today, and they want everything done yesterday. Had to get the pool cleaned, replace the filter motor and dig out a busted sprinkler line. Four thirty came around, I told them I had to make an important delivery and I’d come back to finish,” he said, indicating the envelope, “but the lady of the house insisted I stay or not come back at all.”

I sat up in my chair and frowned, unable to hold my tongue. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Al nodded in agreement. “Summer People. But the husband is an interesting guy. An artist. I’ve done jobs for some artists out here in the summers before. They like the light.” He spotted another clump of mud on the floor, snatched it up and pocketed it. “Saw him unwrapping paintings in his studio while I worked on the pool. He’s painted lots of pictures of himself with his wife. One of them was pretty wild—with him naked, curled around her when she was pregnant.” He shrugged. “Guess she inspires him.”

“Sounds like it,” I snapped.

Fortunately, Al didn’t seem to notice.

“You know, I used to do some drawing. I drove in at night to take classes at the Brooklyn Museum. This is before Sinead and the kids. No time now,” he said wistfully. “Well, I’d better get home. Thanks for putting in a word with Ben.” He headed out, stopped at the door and turned back for a second. “Really sorry about the floor, Nora.”