Lisa liked going to bars. Since Chris liked Lisa, considered her his dearest friend, he went to bars with her. For him, these kinds of places had outlived their usefulness by the time he graduated college. Did he really need someone else to pour a drink for him? It wasn''t as if his glass of Cabernet was being prepared in any way. If he could choose from a wider selection of wine, he would never choose the one he was drinking now, if he could choose the music, he would certainly choose something less overplayed, and a chair with a back would be nice. Lisa enjoyed going to these places, though, for reasons she never made clear in all the years they''d known each other. Therefore, they went. "I really think it''s possible I could make my mother''s death look like an accident," she said wistfully.
"You think that, but the crime scene investigators would get you." She slumped dramatically. "You''re probably right. Damned technological breakthroughs." "Besides, I don''t think her calling you three times a day is justification for murder." Lisa threw her hands above her head. "That''s because you don''t have to take the phone calls. Try listening every day to a twenty-minute summation of what she watched last night on TV.
Try listening to her petty complaints about her friend Millie over and over and over again. Try listening to her word-by-word recollections of the conversations she has with the produce guy at Stop and Shop. You wouldn''t rush to judgment so quickly then." Lisa made an elaborate show of draining her glass - she was drinking Negronis tonight - and putting it back down on the tabletop. Chris laughed. "Your mother calls me ''Honey.'' She can do no wrong as far as I''m concerned." "I need a new best friend.
" Lisa signaled the waiter for another drink. She put both elbows on the table and leaned toward him. This pose made her look easily 20 years younger, especially in the dim light of the bar. Chris often wondered what Lisa had been like as a college student. She seemed perpetually in her late 30''s, even though they met when they were in their mid-20''s. "What''s new at work?" Chris sighed automatically. "A woman on my staff who is on pregnancy leave called yesterday to tell me she''s decided to be a stay-at-home mother, a guy came into my office today to tell me he''s being sexually harassed, and management has decided to limit salary increases to one-and-a-half percent this year. Have I told you lately how much I love being an administrator?" "You should''ve taken that spot in Rhode Island.
" "It was the wrong place at the wrong time." "It was the right job." "In the wrong place at the wrong time." "The job in Westport, then." "It was a startup. The risks were too big." Lisa patted his hand. "You do know that their stock has gone through the roof, don''t you?" Chris pulled his hand away and gestured with it.
"Yes, I know their stock has gone through the roof. Unfortunately, my crystal ball was in the shop the day they offered me the job, so I couldn''t see a year into the future." Lisa shook her head, glanced around the room, and pretended to concentrate on the song playing through the sound system. Chris simply focused on his adequate wine. When Lisa''s new drink arrived, she clinked her glass against his, drawing his attention. "So, you never get a chance just to wriggle anymore?" "Wriggling" was Lisa''s pet name for genetic engineering, which Chris had done for 15 years before being kicked upstairs two years ago. "I haven''t wriggled in centuries. Nope, a Ph.
D. in Botany is really only good for one thing these days - budget reviews." "You didn''t have to take the promotion, you know." "I shouldn''t have taken the promotion. But I did. That ship has sailed. Let''s not have this conversation for the second time in five minutes." "Hey, at least you can get a promotion in your job.
I''m stuck in the same spot until I retire." Chris smirked. "Yeah, tough spot. You sold two million-and-a-half dollar homes last month, right? As long as the housing market continues to appreciate, you get promotions all the time." "But no sexual harassment cases." "You could always start one." Lisa snorted. "You haven''t been down to the offices lately.
The only thing I could start is an a sexual harassment case." Chris laughed despite himself. "Speaking of sex, what''s the latest with Ben?" "I think he''s in Melbourne tonight. Either that or Taiwan. He touches back down on this continent sometime next week. I think he has a drive-by past Connecticut scheduled before the end of the spring." "It''s the perfect relationship." Lisa rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, perfect. We''ve been together for nearly three years, and I think we''ve spent less than a hundred days in the same place." "And you never fight, and the sex is great." "True on both counts." "What''s the downside?" "The downside?" Lisa looked around the room and leaned forward further, as though she were about to impart a state secret. "I think I love him." This was a surprise. In all the years they''d been friends, Chris never recalled Lisa being in love with anyone.
"Really?" "I''m probably just kidding myself. But I miss him more all the time. I''ve been making him stay on the phone with me longer and longer lately." "Like mother, like daughter." Lisa reached across and punched Chris on the arm. "That was totally unfair." Chris rubbed his arm. "So, what are you going to do about these .
feelings ?" "What can I do about them?" "Tell him?" "And screw up what we have? I don''t think so. No, not a chance." She looked at Chris as though he had three heads. "I assume since you haven''t said a word about Patty that your date with her went the way your dates usually go." Chris cringed at the mention of the latest woman Lisa had fixed him up with. She''d been doing this since a few months after the divorce. Lisa seemed to have an endless supply of women for him to meet and an equally large supply of optimism about blind dating despite Chris'' gruesome track record. "I''m afraid so.
" "What''d you do wrong this time?" Chris pretended to be offended. "Why do you automatically assume it''s me screwing up these blind dates?" "Are you actually asking me that question?" Chris knew not to pursue this. "She seemed really nice. She likes books, she likes sushi, and she has beautiful eyes. I thought things were going pretty well for a while there." "Until . " "Until I got sad." "You got sad? Amazingly, I haven''t heard this one before.
" "There was the thing with the anniversary." "Ah yes, the day that will live in infamy." Chris shot Lisa a look to say that this wasn''t something to screw around about, and she threw up her hands as if to acknowledge that she''d slipped. "We should just remember next year not to do something like that around this time," Chris said. "I''m not very good with it." "Sweetie, you have to get past it at some point." "I am past it. That doesn''t mean I can''t mark it in some way.
" Lisa nodded very slowly. Chris wasn''t sure if this meant she was acknowledging his point or reproaching him. "How was Becky when you saw her that night?" Chris shrugged. "Who knows? I might be the last person on the planet capable of answering that question." "Teenagers are tough." "It wasn''t going to be like this with us." "Actually, it probably was. From everything I''ve heard, it doesn''t matter what your relationship is like with your kid before she becomes a teenager.
Once she''s there, all the wires get crossed. I know what you mean, though. You guys clicked." "Excellent use of the past tense." Lisa reached out for his hand again, but this time she squeezed it. Chris squeezed back and made a moment''s eye contact with her. How many times had she propped him up over the years, when Becky was sick, when things started to break down with Polly, when he moved out? There really was no substitute for old friends. "You know, for some reason, I still think about that bedtime story world you guys created.
What a great way to spend time with your kid. Sometimes I''ll be showing a house, and I''ll walk into some kid''s room, and it makes me think of the two of you telling stories together. That was an amazing thing." It was unquestionably an amazing thing. The inspiration for it might have been the right-est moment Chris had ever experienced. It was a week after Becky''s first chemotherapy treatment, and the five-year-old was visibly frightened and confused. She was having trouble sleeping, and he had already spent several nights up with her trying to find some way to comfort her, some way to ease her mind. Chris never believed Becky was going to die - his failure to "take her illness seriously enough" was in fact one of the things he and Polly had been fighting about at that point - but he couldn''t think of any way to imbue his daughter with the same confidence.
On their fourth night up together, Chris sat against Becky''s headboard with her head on his chest, their usual position. They hadn''t spoken for at least a quarter of an hou.