Chapter 21: Hatless in Bar Harbour
Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Chapter 14. Chapter 15. Chapter 16. Chapter 17. Chapter 18. Chapter 19. Chapter 20.
When we first arrived in Boston, Liz arranged to borrow Robin’s Jeep for the week, a black and blue two-tone job with a beige canvas roof. Robin took the E train to campus every day, she said, so there was no point in Liz blowing all her cash on a rental car.
Liz was very grateful. “Thanks a lot,” she said.
“Don’t mention it, kiddo,” Robin said.
“If there’s anything I can do for you . . . ” Liz said.
“Believe me,” Robin said, “You’ll be the first to know.”
Looking back on it now, that exchange, which took place in the sun-drenched foyer of Robin’s apartment, seemed quite harmless at the time. In fact, on the Harmful Scale, it’s doubtful such an exchange would’ve even registered.
So much for technology.
We drove for awhile before stopping at Bar Harbour to spend the night. Liz was tired and not very talkative. She kept flipping the James Taylor tape she’d brought over and over.
“Is there something wrong?” I asked finally.
Liz began to cry.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,'” I said.
“Why did you have to leave?” she sniffed, resting her head on my shoulder. We were parked in the lot outside of the Holiday Inn, ignition still on, lights still on. I was in the passenger seat, my feet propped up on the dash. I had offered to drive, but Liz thought that having a dead person driving a borrowed Jeep was taking too much of a risk.
“I told you, sweetie, I just got a little restless. And there wasn’t enough glassware to go around.”
She sat still for a moment, so still I could hear her thoughts gathering momentum. I braced myself against the door.
“I won’t blame you,” she said quietly, dropping her hand into my crotch, “if you never want to talk to me again.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you again?” I asked, honestly unsure.
She kissed the tip of my nose and then sat up, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Hold on to your hat,” she said finally.
Right then I knew I was in trouble.
I wasn’t wearing a hat.
****
Chapter 22
I’m still trying to figure out what Liz said at the end of Chapter 7:
“Thyu beh thuh panthe un aill beh thuh quitik,” she said.
I even ate Velveeta and jelly sandwiches as an experiment to no avail. I didn’t have blackberry so I used strawberry instead.
Do you think that’s why I couldn’t get it?
And please, no jokes about my need to get a hobby/life. I’m hip. Unless they’re really funny.
There is no “L” train in Boston.
“Thyu beh thuh panthe un aill beh thuh quitik,” she said.
Translates to:
“You be the painter and I’ll be the critic,” syuthee thad.
Thanks, SondraK. Hope there’s an E train, then.
Thanks, Jeff. The conspiracy theorists have been trying to make a “Chappaquidick” connection but I wasn’t buying it. This oughta put it to rest once and for all.
Good thing. I’m really full.
I think I see where this is going. Of course, every time I’ve thought I saw where it was going, I’ve been wrong, but I don’t really see how that changes anything.
I coulda sworn I’ve never loaned that Jeep out …
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