saw Drew’s expression and raised the finger he used to quell arguments in faculty meetings. “No need for you or Nadie or anyone else to go crafting any obituaries just yet. The docs caught it relatively early. Confidence is high.”
Drew didn’t think his old friend looked especially confident, but held his tongue.
“Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about why you came. Have you decided how you’re going to spend your sabbatical?”
Drew told him he wanted to take another stab at a novel. This time, he said, he was pretty sure he could bring it off. Positive, actually.
“That’s what you said about The Village on the Hill,” Al said, “and you almost lost the wheels off your little red wagon when that one went south.”
“You sound like Lucy,” Drew said. “I didn’t expect that.”
Al leaned forward. “Listen to me, Drew. You’re an excellent teacher, and you’ve written some fine short stories—”
“Half a dozen,” Drew said. “Call the Guinness Book of World Records.”
Al waved this off. “ ‘Skip Jack’ was in Best American—”
“Yes,” Drew said. “The one edited by Doctorow. Who’s been dead lo these many years.”
“Many fine writers have produced almost nothing but short stories,” Al persisted. “Poe. Chekhov. Carver. And although I know you tend to steer clear of popular fiction, there’s Saki and O. Henry on that side of things. Harlan Ellison in the modern age.”
“Those guys did a lot better than half a dozen. And Al, this is a great idea. It really is.”
“Would you care to tell me a little about it? A drone’s eye view, so to speak?” He eyed Drew. “You don’t. I can see that you don’t.”
Drew, who longed to do exactly that—because it was beautiful! damn near perfect!—shook his head. “Better to keep it in, I think. I’m going up to my father’s old cabin for awhile. Long enough to get this thing rolling.”
“Ah. TR-90, correct? The back of beyond, in other words. What does Lucy say about this idea?”
“Not crazy about it, but she’ll have her sister to help with the kids.”
“It’s not the kids she’s worried about, Drew. I think you know that.”
Drew said nothing. He thought about the saloon. He thought about the sheriff. He already knew the sheriff’s name. It was James Averill.
Al sipped his tea, then put the glass down beside a well-thumbed copy of Fowles’s The Magus. Drew guessed there were underlinings on every page: green for character, blue for theme, red for phrases Al found remarkable. His blue eyes were still bright, but they were also a trifle watery now, and red around the rims. Drew didn’t like to think he saw approaching death in those eyes, but thought maybe he did.
Al leaned forward, hands clasped between his thighs. “Tell me something, Drew. Tell me why this is so important to you.”
3
That night, after making love, Lucy asked him if he really had to go.
Drew thought about it. Really did. She deserved that much. Oh, and so much more. She had stood by him, and when he’d gone through the bad time, he had leaned on her. He kept it simple. “Luce, this might be my last chance.”
There was a long silence from her side of the bed. He waited, knowing if she told him she didn’t want him to go, he would give in to her wishes. At last she said, “All right. I want this for you, but I’m a little bit scared. Can’t lie about that. What’s it going to be about? Or don’t you want to say?”
“I do. I’m dying to spill it, but it’s better to let the pressure build. I told Al the same thing when he asked.”
“Just as long as it’s not about academics screwing each other’s spouses and drinking too much and having midlife crises.”
“Not like The Village on the Hill, in other words.”
She poked him with her elbow. “You said it, Mister, not me.”
“It’s nothing like that.”
“Can you wait, honey? A week? Just to make sure it’s real?” And in a smaller voice: “For me?”
He didn’t want to; he wanted to go north tomorrow and start the day after. But… just to make sure it’s real. That was not such a bad idea, maybe.
“I can do that.”
“All right. Good. And if you do go up there, you’ll be all right? You swear?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He saw the momentary gleam of her teeth as she smiled. “That’s what men always say, isn’t it?”
“If it doesn’t work, I’ll come back. If it starts to be like… you know.”