The Grand March. Robert Turner

alike. They stood on the same side of the scale, and they each needed someone else to even them out. He’d be doing both of them a favor by calling it off. No question about that. The question was how to do it. He was searching hard for an easy answer.

      The car was another matter altogether. He’d have to file a police report and call his insurance company. Since he already left the city, he guessed he’d have to pretend it happened in Stillwater and file a report there. Unlikely thing to happen in Stillwater, though. Nothing much ever happened there. But he couldn’t very well file a report in Chicago—he would have spent the whole morning there if he had. Besides, he couldn’t remember where he told Ellie that this “Tom” lived. He had to make sure all his stories meshed, but his mind was in no state to sort through his tangled webs right now. Why couldn’t things just be easy? Just once he’d like something to work the way it should. Just once.

      Well, at least his head was numb now. He’d been drinking way too much lately. If he wasn’t careful he’d turn into his old man, drunk all the time. Or not even drunk, really, just always loaded. Right now he had to load up on the coffee if he didn’t want to pass out. That sweet waitress came by empty-handed, but she could come any way she wanted as far as he was concerned.

      “Can I get some coffee when you get a chance?” he asked her.

      She hoisted a rack of coffee cups to her midsection, turned, looked at him without answering and marched to the kitchen. A minute later she returned and filled his cup.

      “You from around here?” he asked in the cheeriest voice he could manage. She replaced the coffee on the burner and hesitated before she replied.

      “Yeah.”

      “Well, I come through here every now and then. Maybe you could show me around sometime.”

      Brilliant move. Good thing to hit on her while trying to figure out how to drop his mistress because of a newfound fidelity to the woman he lived with. And he was high as a kite to boot, in order to mask one hell of a hangover. Yeah, he was doing all right.

      “Look,” she said, leaning close to him. “I’m sure you’re real nice and everything, but my boyfriend’s the cook and I can tell you one thing—you don’t want him pissed at you.”

      She walked away. Couldn’t blame a guy for trying. Except, of course, in his case you really could blame him. Could blame him quite a bit, as a matter of fact.

      He ate eagerly, and just as eagerly sought to relieve himself afterwards. For a moment there, sitting on the can, he actually felt good. All that dope now freely coursing through his blood helped him gain a little altitude over his troubles. His chemically induced solace needed a little reinforcing, so he pulled out the pipe, intending to take a hit and stand on the toilet to exhale through a vent. He sucked the smoke in deeply, then froze as someone walked into the room. The guy moseyed over to the urinal and stood there for a seeming eternity. A cough burst out of Carl’s chest. His attempt to hold it back resulted in snorting and sputtering that fanned the cloud of smoke filling the stall. He sat still while the other occupant of the room finished, and took his time washing up. Before he left he coughed loudly, sending Carl into quite a state.

      He was certain that as soon as he opened the door he’d be arrested. Should he just bolt, try to run out of the joint? No, it was always better to play it cool. He walked back to his seat, trying to keep it together. Was everyone looking at him, or was he just imagining it? It sure seemed like all eyes were on him. Someone coughed. His mouth dried up and his knees got wobbly. He slapped ten bucks next to his plate, then left in a hurry. After dropping his keys and scraping his knuckles to retrieve them, he peeled out and hightailed it to the freeway.

      OK, that was about as uncool as anything he’d ever done, but it was over. And that’s how things would have to be with Mira: over. It was an uncool thing, but it was over now. He had to try extra hard to repair the damage with Ellie. Things could work out for everyone. He and Ellie could be stronger. Mira could find someone better for her. And he could grow up.

      That codeine was kicking in now, slowing him down and taking the edge off his brief panic. He cruised on in his temporary elation until a sudden realization slapped him down. It was Ellie’s birthday today. No. No, it couldn’t be. When was her birthday anyway, the twenty-third or twenty-fourth of June? And today was Saturday the what? Goddamn. Oh, why couldn’t anything be easy? He didn’t need this. No, he most definitely did not.

      He vaguely remembered buying something for her a while back, a silk scarf he found in a shop somewhere. But maybe he had already given that to her. It seemed like he’d seen her wearing it. But come to think of it, he had actually given that scarf to Mira. Oh, he was screwed all right. Why did he have to deal with this on top of everything else? He got off the freeway and stopped in Door Prairie, where he knew of an antique shop.

      The first thing he saw was a fanciful fish made of orange glass. At twenty bucks, it was just about what he wanted to spend. He gave a perfunctory look around the place before coming back to it. What the hell. It was OK. He’d get it for her as a quirky objet d’art. She’d like it. Probably. Besides, he didn’t have the time or the inclination to hunt around. It would have to do.

      Now if he could just get someone to take his money he could get out of here and be home in twenty minutes. His head felt thick, and his dry eyes burned. He hoped he could muster up some energy when he tried to make peace with Ellie. Right now he felt like he was going to faint. He rang a bell on the counter and a wiry, white-haired man walked over.

      “Interesting piece,” he said, turning the fish end over end to find a price.

      Carl didn’t register a word.

      “So, is this a gift?” the man asked, writing a receipt.

      “Huh?” Carl grunted, snapping to. “Yeah. For my girlfriend.”

      The shopkeeper nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you then, if you want.”

      Carl accepted the offer and stood unsteadily as the guy set about finding supplies.