me a pitying look.
I laughed and polished off my drink. “That about sums it up.”
“No word from Crawford?”
“Not a one.”
Kevin gazed out the window. “Why do you think that is?”
I laughed ruefully. “I asked for time. He’s pretty literal.”
“That doesn’t remind me of anybody I know,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes. He ran a hand through his shaggy blond mop of hair, a blatant time killer.
“Cut to the chase, Kevin.”
He waited another beat or two. “Do you think it’s time to move on?” he asked quietly.
The waitress put salads in front of us, delaying my answer. I dove into the pile of iceberg lettuce and Russian dressing with more enthusiasm and fervor than the wilted plate of greens deserved. I pointed to my full mouth with my fork.
“I’ll wait for your answer,” he said. “I’ve sat in darkened confessionals in silence for hours. Your iceberg-filled mouth isn’t very daunting. Trust me.”
I chewed and thought about his question. Was it time to move on? I didn’t know. I did know that I missed Crawford terribly and hoped I would hear from him. I wished I was more twenty-first century and could pick up the phone and call him myself, but I always hesitated; I don’t know why. “I don’t know, Kevin. Do you think I should move on?”
He turned pensive. “I do. And I want to bring something up about that and now is as good a time as ever.”
I waited.
“I have a brother…”
I put my hand up. “No!”
“…and he’s single.”
I shook my head.
“He’s not married. Or separated and married. Or not separated. He’s completely available. His name is Jack and he works for the Rangers. You know, the hockey team?” he asked, knowing full well that I knew who the Rangers were. I was intimately acquainted with many of the New York Rangers, if only in my sweat-soaked sexual fantasies. Besides that, I liked hockey. A lot. Kevin took a sip of his drink and waited for my response.
I had nothing to say. I would rather have a root canal without anesthesia than go on a blind date, but I kept that tidbit to myself.
“You haven’t really done a lot of dating since your divorce.”
Fortunately for me, his cell phone trilled, preventing me from having to strangle him on the spot. He pulled the phone from his cargo shorts, peering at the caller ID. “The convent,” he said. He clicked the phone on. “Hello?”
I continued eating my salad, listening to his end of the conversation. He hung up a few seconds later. “Sister Bertrand needs last rites,” he said.
I knew Sister Bertrand from my days as a student at St. Thomas; she was the Latin professor and a formidable conjugation adversary. The only thing that saved me was the fact that I was bilingual, having been raised in a French-speaking household, and I could sometimes figure things out without killing too many brain cells. Of course that was before I had discovered the joys of ice-cold vodka and olives. “Oh, Kevin. I’m sorry.”
“Leukemia,” he said. “Hospice brought her back to the convent to die, and it looks like it will be tonight. I’m sorry,” he said, getting up. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind having them wrap my dinner? You can leave it at the desk in my building.” Kevin lived on the top floor of the men’s dormitory on campus; my car was parked in front of the building, as always, so he knew that I would be returning to that area within the evening.
“Of course.” I stood and embraced him. “I’ll say a prayer for Sister.” I watched him leave before sitting back down and returning to my salad. The waitress delivered my second martini. I looked out the window at the traffic outside, people walking past the restaurant looking as wilted as my salad, baking in the unseasonably warm weather as they made their way home from the express buses stopping at the corner. I raised my drink to my lips and focused on the opening to the main dining room. I froze.
Crawford, his wife, and his two daughters entered, smiling and chatting with each other, joking with the hostess as they made their way to a table that was thankfully as far away from mine as you could get. A waitress glided past me, a stack of menus in her arm.
I grabbed her. “Hey, could I have one of those?” I asked.
She stopped at my table. “Do you want to change your order?”
No,