Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thirty-seven
Driving to Connecticut three times in less than twenty-four hours was something I never thought myself capable of doing willingly. But here I was, on my way back to Union again, talking to Richie on my Bluetooth and feeling like a commuter.
Interestingly, if you added three round trips from Boston to Union, Connecticut, the mileage was less than that of one round trip to Asbury Park. But as I was telling Richie, that didn’t stop this latest journey from feeling especially long.
“What’s Union like?” Richie asked.
“Reminds me of that town in the movie Groundhog Day,” I said. “But that could just be because Melanie Joan and I keep seeing it again and again and again.”
“Makes sense,” he said. He was quiet for a little while.
“What are you thinking?” I said.
“Nothing, really,” Richie said. “I just can’t believe how much has happened since you met with Swinging Dick.”
“Jeez, you’re right,” I said. “I feel like he should be about forty by now.”
Richie laughed. “Your life moves fast,” he said.
“Too fast for my liking,” I said. “And not enough Richie Burke in it.”
“Agreed,” he said.
I looked out the window. It was past seven-thirty and still bright as ever, which annoyed me. It made this overly long day feel endless. The exit sign for Union loomed ahead of me. Just about a mile to go and I’d be there. Again.
“So, I talked to Carll,” Richie said. “He’s out of town, but he’s back Wednesday. I arranged to meet with him. I suggested we have lunch, and he agreed. He offered to buy.”
“Lunch?” I said. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.”
“But it could have been an email.”
“No, it couldn’t,” he said. “You tell your boss you want to meet face-to-face, they take you more seriously. And this is serious.”
I smiled. “It is.”
“I wouldn’t even tell him what the meeting was about,” he said. “I said I just had something that I wanted to discuss with him. I think I scared him.”
“Anybody would be scared of losing you,” I said. I blushed a little hearing myself say this. Richie and I were embarrassing sometimes.
“You’re slightly biased there.”
“Nope. I’m speaking objectively,” I said.
“Why I love you,” he said. “Your objectivity.”
I glanced in the rearview. I was still blushing. “Anyway,” I said. “I kind of wish you were here for all this.”
“Kind of?”
“Just slightly.”
We were quiet again. Richie and I often did this—spending time in each other’s company without saying a word. I found it comforting, even over the phone. And I was pretty sure he did, too.
I passed the sign letting me know Union was the next two exits.
I remembered driving here with Melanie Joan for the first time, Spike behind the wheel.
At one point, Melanie Joan had looked Union up on her phone.
She talked about the town’s small population and wondered aloud if it was anything like Utica.
She’d been hopeful then. We’d all been hopeful—or at least we’d believed that there was a tiny chance that we might be able to right the sinking ship that was Melanie Joan’s career.
Now I was just trying to keep her from getting jailed for murder.
“What are you thinking?” Richie asked.
“I’m thinking about how much has happened since I met with Swinging Dick,” I said.
“Great minds,” Richie said. He asked how close I was to Union.
“I’m in it,” I said. I was passing the town square again, heading toward the woods where Melanie Joan had joked about looking for a gingerbread house. I said goodbye to Richie because I was about to make that series of turns—same as Spike had done the previous day—and I needed to pay attention.
I gazed out the window and focused on the road and tried to feel hopeful again.