Like Grownups Do (27 page)

Babe realized that right this minute he was as relaxed as he had been in a long time.

Then his thoughts turned to Millie. He decided that he would ask her if it would be okay for Mr. Pendleton to come along to see her. She really liked the dog. Maybe she used to have one. Maybe she had to leave him when she moved to Boston. He hadn’t thought to ask.

I hope she’s really okay.

Babe thought about the night that Millie moved out of her sister’s apartment. He caught a ride home with MG after a session ran late and on their way to drop him off, Millie called MG.

Millie had lived with her sister, Lauren, since she arrived in Boston.

Whatever happened between the sisters must have been ugly, because Millie was a mess that night. As far as Babe knew, the sisters had never spoken again.

“You brought him,” Millie squealed, bending down to greet Mr. Pendleton. He greeted Millie with lots of sloppy kisses.

Babe jumped in to rescue Millie.

“Easy. Easy, Mr. Pendleton. Tender face warning, boy. I’m sorry, Millie. Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Millie said, standing.

“It barely hurts anymore. You can bring him in. This is a ‘no pets allowed’ place, but there is a shit-load of cats around here that belong to
somebody
. And besides, he’s clean. He smells wonderful!”

“He said the same about you,” Babe said.

He jumped out of the way to avoid a punch.

“I brought some stuff. It was just a thought. Up to you,” Babe said.

Babe emptied a small bag on the table in the foyer of Millie’s apartment; a Red Sox cap, a scarf, and a huge pair of women’s sunglasses.

“I know you’ve been cooped up in your apartment for a few days. I thought you might consider taking a walk with us and maybe get a bite to eat,” Babe said.

Millie was already trying on the disguise and looking in the mirror.

She seemed satisfied; or desperate.

“Fuck
yes.
Oh, pardon my French, Mr. Pendleton.”

She looked at Babe.

“Does swearing bother him?”

“I don’t know. All I know for sure is that he’s Catholic,” Babe said.

“Let’s pretend that I’m a famous actress on location in this quaint village, walking her Labrador puppy, who is of regal lineage and on his way to a complete and utter domination of the dog show circuit,” Millie said.

“You may play the part of dog-walker to the stars, slash pool boy, slash all-around faithful servant and man-slave.”

“From my humble beginnings to such lofty career achievements—why, what an American success story I have become,” Babe said.

“From such humble beginnings and able to overcome so many,
many
obvious shortcomings,” Millie said.

The weather was perfect. Babe, Millie, and Mr. Pendleton walked several blocks to a cafe with outdoor tables. Their young waitress fell immediately in love with Mr. Pendleton.

“You can pet him if you want,” Babe said.

“He’s pretty darned friendly.”

The girl stammered, and keeping her hands off the dog seemed to take some effort.

“My boss won’t let me. It’s some kind of health ordinance. Just my luck. I wait tables outside where people can bring their dogs, but I can’t touch them. I
love
dogs. I’ve never been able to have one. Stupid fucking apartments,” the girl said.

She looked up in shock.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry. That just slipped out.”

Babe and Millie laughed.

“She just fucking swore right in front of us,” Millie said, still laughing.

“We’re going to the park for a while. What time do you get off?” Babe asked.

“Five,” the waitress said.

“We’ll come back by at five, and you can play with him,” Babe said.

“Awesome, sir. Thank you.”

“You see?” Babe said.

“From Pool Boy straight to Awesome Sir. My future knows no limits.”

After their late lunch they walked into the park, where Mr. Pendleton met his first set of ducks. He was quite impressed. He seemed to believe that ducks are inherently hard of hearing, because whatever he was saying to them was quite loud.

The ducks quickly grew tired of Mr. Pendleton’s company, and apparently had business to attend to on the other side of the park. The trio walked around the park for before finding a quiet place to sit, close to the pond. They sat backward on the benches of a picnic table, facing the water.

“I’ve missed the park, I haven’t been here in a while,” Millie said.

“It’s practically in your backyard,” Babe said.

“Yeah. I used to come here a lot with Lauren; when it was safe.”

“Yeah. How about your laundry friend? You two ever go out together?” Babe asked.

Millie shook her head.

“She’s a barmaid and part-time bartender. She works all nights, of course. And weekends,” Millie leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and sighed.

“Nothing but a few ankle-deep friends for a long, long time.”

“Ankle deep friends?” Babe said.

“I had a teacher for sophomore and junior English in high school,” Millie said.

“She used to say that swimming was a metaphor for life. I don’t remember if she made it up or just repeated it. I do remember that she always wore these long, flowered skirts and she had leather braids in her hair and wore hippie sandals, and she always smelled like honeysuckle.

“She said that we’re born on the shore and that’s where we stay while we’re young and selfish, and everything is about ME—feed ME, clothe ME, change ME, play with ME. We grow up a little and we see people swimming, or living, in the deep water and we want to go out there. So we make friends on the shore and we start to wade out—we become closer and we depend on each other. It’s thrilling, it’s exciting, and we feel alive.

“But we notice that anyone who is out there alone, is lost. People like Howard Hughes, Hemingway, maybe…Elvis? Or Michael? As if life cannot be lived deeply, alone. But there they are: The geniuses. The ridiculously gifted. They’re all so fragile and lonely. They never last. They can’t last.

“You might pity them or want to help them, or maybe you find that although you were holding someone’s hand at the moment when you could no longer keep your head above the water, they’ve vanished, and you’re all alone and…lost.”

“Lauren?” Babe asked.

Millie turned toward Babe and smiled.

“You have quite a number of layers of which I was not aware, Miss Millie Onion,” Babe said.

“Don’t cut me or I’ll make you cry,” Millie said.

“Are we ankle deep friends? You and me?” Babe asked.

“Probably,” Millie said.

“We don’t talk about your parents or your wife. We don’t talk about my sister, or about Bradley. But hey, we work together and we get along great. No worries, right?”

“I might be getting knee deep with my Dad, finally. My toes aren’t even wet with Mom. I’m probably about waist deep with my father-in-law, as strange as that is,” Babe said.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Millie said.

Babe stroked Mr. Pendleton’s head and stared out into the water.

“Jill only asked me for one thing. Just…one. She could have asked anything. She asked me to stay—to stay with her Daddy.

“Yeah. She was dying and she asked me to stay with her Daddy—who just happens to be the best person I know. Jesus, she might as well have asked me to have a slice of chocolate pie.”

Millie patted Babe’s free hand.

“Lauren moved to Boston about eight years ago. Every time we talked she went on and on about how great it was—the night life and the whole hip lifestyle thing. She had it all planned out. We’ll do this, then that—when are you coming?” Millie said.

“I had another bad break up so I dropped everything and moved here. Right before I did, Lauren moved in a boyfriend—the second one within a year. I always thought it would just be the two of us, you know? But I think Lauren was a little too much on the ‘needy’ side when it came to men.

“Anyway, boyfriend paid me
wayyy
too much attention, and after he made one too many comments in front of Lauren about how ‘great a threesome would be’, she blew a gasket—total fucking berserker— throwing shit, breaking shit, screaming…”

Millie caught her breath.

“That’s when MG and you picked me up.”

“It wasn’t your fault. She had to know that,” Babe said.

“She threw us both out. Then she let him move right back in. I miss her, but what can I do? She’s my only sister, but she chose…she’s so beautiful but I don’t think she even realizes it,” Millie said.

“I am
so
fucking sick of it—the same thing, over and over, ever since I was fourteen. I lost my best friend from the first grade because her boyfriend told her he couldn’t stop thinking about me, and that he was in love with me. But you know what? There are no support groups for pretty girls. Nobody is going to cry for you because you’re slobbered over by men and you automatically piss off every woman that lays eyes on you.

“When I think about those stupid beauty pageants I can’t believe I was so
naive
. They were fun, when I was a kid, and later I really needed the help with school.”

Millie looked down as she opened her right hand, her healing fingers shaking.

“You want to hear something absolutely pitiful? I never told anyone,” Millie said, sniffing.

“The last boyfriend I had before I left home—he has a little sister named Cameron. She was in the seventh grade when I met her—just the neatest kid—smart, funny, and not a pretentious bone in her body. We hit it off the first day. Like soul sisters,” Millie stared ahead and smiled.

“You know what she used to say to me? It always cracked me up the way she busted my chops. She would say to me, ‘don’t be a dumbass pretty girl’. Hell, I tried to get Randy to bring Cameron with us everywhere we went. I know he thought I was a freaking nut case.”

“Anyway, I found out that he was cheating on me with a so-called
friend
, of course, and you know what? I didn’t do anything about it for months because I didn’t want to lose Cameron. I was a college senior, and I let a boy screw me over because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing my fourteen year old friend. How fucking pathetic is that?”

“That’s not pathetic at all,” Babe said. “Don’t be a dumbass pretty girl.”

Millie punched Babe on the shoulder.

“So, what do you say? Calf-high friends?”

“That might be rushing it a little,” Babe said.

“Maybe cankle high.”

Another punch. Same shoulder.

Babe couldn’t help thinking about Bradley’s destroyed nose. The girl could throw a punch.

Babe stood and held his hand out to Millie.

“It’s about time for Mr. Pendleton’s five o’clock date.”

“If he shows symptoms of pretty puppy syndrome, I’m available for counseling,” Millie said.

They returned to Millie’s apartment an hour later. Millie stooped to tell Mr. Pendleton goodbye and then stood and kissed Babe on the cheek.

“This was a fantastic day, Babe. Thank you very, very much; for everything.”

“I had a great time, too, Millie. You should be good as new pretty soon. I’m glad,” Babe said. He patted his pockets and took out a pair of sunglasses.

“I need these for the bus,” he said, jerking his head toward Mr. Pendleton.

Millie giggled.

“Okay. I get it. Have a safe trip home, boys.”

Twenty-Seven

“
H
ow is Miss Vandermeer? Will she be back soon?” Gabriel asked.

“She may be back by next Monday. She’s good. Real good,” Babe said.

“You know, Gabriel, you never explained how you knew something was wrong with Millie in the first place.”

Gabriel stared at Babe and then cocked his head to the side.

“Maybe I could ask you the same question,” Gabriel said.

Babe shrugged.

“You’ve lost me.”

“Really?” Gabriel asked.

He continued to look Babe in the eye as he slowly reached with his right hand across the desk toward Babe’s arm.

Babe jerked his arms back.

“What are you…Stop it,” he said.

Gabriel withdrew his hand and leaned back in his seat. He began to rock gently.

“It is not that uncommon—such a fine line, between the world before our eyes, and the world unseen. Fear makes it no less real.”