As usual, I was dressed and ready to go before Joe found his underwear.
It's a constant source of amazement to me that anybody can take as long as he does to get dressed. And it's not like he primps or anything; the best way I can describe it is... he gets distracted.
He'll start to brush his teeth, then suddenly remember he needs to phone somebody. He'll go make the call and while he's there, he'll see the plant on the phone stand needs watering. He gets the watering can and as he's filling it at the sink, he realizes he forgot to tell me about the appointment he made for the boat to go in for repairs.
At that point, he'll wander into the bedroom with the watering can in one hand and the phone in the other, a towel the only thing keeping him from being one with nature.
That's my cue to start bitching.
So it's me that ends up watering the plant and hanging up the phone, while Joe jumps into the clothes I've already laid out for him - only because I'm wise to his tricks. I don't want a repeat of the time I left him alone to dress, only to find him sitting on the floor by the closet, nude, and sorting his collection of baseball cards, when we were already five minutes late for a dinner with one of my clients.
Today was no different. I gone into the bathroom to find out what the hell was taking him so long, only to see him talking on the cordless he'd snuck in there with him. I say 'snuck,' because I'd learned along time ago that Joe with a phone was not good thing if you wanted to get anywhere on time.
"What the hell are you doing?" I crossed my arms and tried to look disgusted.
He ignored me as always. "Here," he said, handing me the receiver. "Talk to your sister while I get dressed. We gotta get going or we're going to be late."
I gasped indignantly, but he just laughed and walked out of the room.
"Mike!" chirped a familiar voice on the phone. "Mike! Are you there, or are you staring at Joe's ass?"
"Both," I said honestly. Then I gave her my complete attention. "Hey, Sarah. How goes it?"
"Same old, same old. Houston's a bitch in the summer. Why did I move here again?"
I chuckled. "Because it's a big market and really good for your career?"
Sarah was a TV sportscaster, and she'd moved to Houston the previous year to be a reporter on the number one news show in the city. She bitched incessantly about the heat and the humidity. And, you did not want to get her started on cowboys - real and or otherwise - but she loved her job and was damn good at it, if the things I read about her were true.
"Oh, yeah. Well, keep reminding me, okay?"
"Will do, lil lady," I replied, in a very bad impression of a Texas accent.
"And knock that shit off. I hear enough of that crap as it is." She droned on and I laughed and kidded her, while she gave back as good as she got.
It sometimes amazed me, how close we'd become. When we'd
both lived under the same roof, we could barely speak to each other without ending up trying to kill each other. Now, we rarely went a day or two without at least touching base.
Joe loved her too. I knew that's why he'd called her. She was having a big day - up in the box with the network people from ABC, sort of an informal tryout for a place on their team. He'd just been calling to give her moral support. And since I'd been planning to do the same thing myself once I'd gotten him situated, I could hardly blame him.
Besides, I thought, I owed her. Without Sarah, I might never have gotten around to trying to fight for what was important to me...
February 1989
Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was. My doctor said I was lucky because I was a fast healer. My therapist told me I was lucky because the torn ligaments hadn't been worse. My lawyer told me I was lucky because I had options. My friends just said I was lucky to be alive.
The only problem was, the one person who could actually make me feel lucky wasn't around to do the job.
I did hear from Joe. He called after he got to Rome. He apologized for not saying goodbye. He told me he felt like shit because he'd deserted me, and said he wouldn't blame me if I never forgave him. He must have talked for an hour and said nothing but "I'm sorry." Finally, he ran out of ways to do even that and hung up. He was crying.
I didn't cry. I just didn't have the tears to spare. Besides, I wasn't about to admit that five lousy minutes were enough to destroy four years of friendship. So, I hung up the phone and decided to go on with my life. I would nurse my wounds, I would go back to school and I would wait for Joe to come home.
So I went to physical therapy and sweated and swore, but I made progress. I returned to classes - maybe too soon for physical comfort - but great for my determination to get my life back to normal. The waiting for Joe's return was more difficult, but I did my best, and if I spent too much time looking for his face in a crowd, I told myself that nobody noticed but me.
I finally convinced Lucy that I was ready to be on my own about two weeks after I'd moved into her guest room. The relief of being back in my apartment was great, though it felt emptier than I remembered.
Not that I didn't get company. Shit, I couldn't ever remember being so popular. All the usual suspects showed up, along with coworkers and the half if the campus that came to gawk or sympathize. My name hadn't been broadcast, but word had gotten around. Eventually, the gossip
tapered off and then stopped after a few weeks. But it still meant that a lot of people knew what had happened.
This bothered me. Not because I gave a damn about what other people thought, but because I still hadn't any intention of telling my family. I figured the more people who knew, the less chance of keeping that promise to myself. Kevin still thought I was nuts to not let my folks know, but I still thought it was silly to make them worry about
something that was over and done with.
So, except for the hole in my life that Joe used to fill, my life was pretty much back to normal. I got up, went to class, to work, did laundry, shopped - all the normal things that used to keep me bitching about being too busy. My nights were slower, but there were people who visited and studying; and of course, the full time job of trying to not
think about Joe.
Another thing I didn't want to think about was what had happened to me. Unfortunately, there were times when it couldn't be avoided. Cam had set me up with a lawyer in the firm, a real son of a bitch by the name of John Schubring. He laid out exactly what he thought I should do about Elliot and pointed out how much money I could get out of a civil
suit. I told him I'd think about it.
The police were in contact, too, this time for a more detailed statement. After they finished, I got another call from someone in the DA's office. I tried to answer everybody's questions, but the thing I really wished for was that they'd all just go away. It got to the point where that seemed to be all I wanted from anybody.
