Chapter Forty-Six

Denise had called a taxi because she was in no shape to be driving. The thought bothered her, so she did her best not to think about it anymore.

In the back of Jerry’s Tercel, she closed her eyes. He seemed like a nice enough guy, chatting her up about his grandkids in Idaho and his son’s inability to use a telephone. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t end up murdering her in a back alley, so she kept them closed, willing away the tiny headache in her temple that reared itself whenever she had one too many glasses. She was going to see George Jennings, a notion that made her slightly nauseous. She knew him as her boss, her father’s golf buddy. A married man.

They decided to meet at work. Jerry pulled up in front of a square, red-bricked office building that gave off a no-nonsense feel that Denise had always connected with the Depression Era in which it was built. She could see George’s pewter-colored Lexus tucked around the back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jerry said. He was a man whose skin looked like leather, the pores deep and wide across his nose. He didn’t have a pretty face, an expected face, and maybe that’s why it was a comfort to Denise. It was everything she wasn’t supposed to be.

“What will?”

“Whatever this is. Whatever’s going on. I can sense your sadness.” Denise bobbed her head and plastered a smile that she hoped would throw Jerry off her scent. She paid him in wadded up bills and had to go searching on the ground for the coins that evaded her grasp. She tried her best not to think how Jerry saw her as he drove away, but that was next to impossible when she realized her skirt had hitched up too high on the back of her right leg. She yanked it down, silently cursing herself for wearing her work clothes at eight at night. She had thought they had given off an air of professionalism, but apparently, they gave off the kind of air that made taxi drivers feel sorry for her.

“Hello,” she called as she let herself into the building. George had unlocked it, and the hall was glowing softly from the light in his office. She took inventory of each of her nerves, but for some reason it felt like she couldn’t find them. She felt almost at peace inside her office building knowing George wasn’t too far away.

“In here,” he called out. Denise took a deep breath and said a prayer in her heart that was part remorse and part hopeful. When she entered his office, he was sitting on the floor, legs splayed and surrounded by books. There was an opened box, and she could see one flap had “Geo” slashed across it in what almost looked like red lipstick. Denise also noticed a pillow and blanket folded and tucked into one side of the couch.

“Welcome to my abode,” George said genially enough, but she could feel the pain behind it. She could only imagine what Jerry would think.

“Nice digs,” Denise said, immediately regretting it. She was trying to play the part of the hip, young thing who wasn’t just drinking alone in her apartment, but she was sure the bags under her eyes were testament to a different story. “I’m sorry,” she said, cerebrally scanning a list of all the different things she could be sorry for.

“Don’t be. It’s...dismal. The whole thing, of course. But have you ever thought someone was one way and then they totally change on you? That’s what it’s like with Tina. When I met her, she, I don’t know. She just loved me. But now I’m second guessing everything. She hates my guts. She’s obsessed with something called Pilates and feels the people in her class are the only ones who get her.” George paused, mindlessly thumbing through a copy of Madame Bovary. “You know what I think? I think I got old, and she doesn’t want to play nurse.” George tossed the book into one of his piles, the titles of which didn’t reveal which ones he was giving away and which ones he was keeping. 

Denise didn’t know what to say to this. She didn’t see an old man in George. He was several years younger than her father, fit, well read. He seemed like someone who would like Benjamin and put his hands softly on hers to keep her from pouring another glass of wine. And maybe with him, she’d have no reason to.

“Why do you play golf with my father?” she asked. Or maybe more accurately, it seemed to ask itself. Why would anyone like George want anything to do with a man who couldn’t even love his daughter properly. She took a chance and looked at his face.

“Who else would I play with?” Denise sat down slowly on the side of the couch that didn’t have the pillow and blanket. His answer was honest, slightly confused.

“But he’s not a good man.”

“I’m not sure goodness is a requisite.” 

“He’s hurt me all my life.” Again, the words slipped out. She needed a needle and thread to sew up her mouth, but a part of her was glad to be rid of the burden. She’d told Pastor Luke these things, but she’d never told somebody who felt just as lost as she did at that same moment.

“There’s no excuse for that, Denise. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to feel that way, especially when it comes to your own family.” Denise dared herself to look at George’s face again, and there it was. Complete and total understanding.

“It’s not your fault.” Another thing wiggled against the insides of her mouth, too quick to catch with her teeth. “Was the only reason you hired me because my father asked you to?” She had known George all these years but never had the guts to ask him this or much else. He seemed different than her father but cut from the same cloth, a fabric she was only relationally familiar with. She wasn’t like the people her parents had always tried to be or imagined they were. She had always been herself, right on the cusp of everything.

“No. Requests like that are a dime a dozen. In fact, I had two other friends asking me a favor that same year. But I chose you because of what you told me.” Denise tried to shuffle and straighten the loose papers in her mind but ended up sitting in the mess.

“I don’t remember.”

“I asked you why. Why of all things would you ever want to be a pro bono lawyer. Nobody ever wants to be that. Nobody ever even wants to marry that. In fact, I’m starting to think poor Tina didn’t even know what ‘pro bono’ meant. But I wanted to, and I knew you wanted to too when you told me your answer.” 

“What was it?” Denise asked like those words would hold the way back to herself.

“I want to know what real feels like.”