It takes exactly 100 steps for me to walk from my desk to the Riverside – 103 if you count the steps from its front door to the bar.
On the 97th step, as I approach the door, I can see Wanda and Bitsy coming into view. They appear to be enjoying salads. A few bottles of wine sit on the table between them.
As I walk in, I catch Cassie’s eye. I point to the ladies lunching.
“What’s brewing there?” I ask her.
She shakes her head and shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she says, “What’s new?”
I can’t help but smile. “Well …”
I point to the Fiddlehead tap and hang up my coat as she begins to pour.
“Bernie … what the hell … you seem … happy!” Cassie laughs. “I’m not sure what to say, frankly!”
I nod as she sets the draft in front of me. “I’ve been offered a job with The Atlantic.”
“Oh God!” Cassie says. She steps out from behind the bar and throws her arms around me. “Wow! I’ve been waiting for something like this for you!”
“Okay, okay, let’s not make a scene of it.” From the corner of my eye, I can see Wanda and Bitsy looking our way.
“So spill … I guess you’re moving to New York and all, I mean, you couldn’t do a job like that here.” She leans in on her elbows, fully attentive. “Can you?”
“Deep breath … please … I’m not moving. I’ll go back and forth, but I’m not moving. I mean, the girls still come home from time to time, and … well … I’m not. No interest.”
And it was true. I had no desire to close up shop here. The girls are a convenient excuse – they don’t come around much anymore. But the truth is there’s still a ton to be done – or, possibly, redone.
That is, if Elyse would ever have me.
“What will you be doing for the lovely Atlantic?” Cassie says, wiping down the bar as two new patrons arrive. She reaches for glasses and begins to pour, clearly knowing their orders.
“Same thing I do here, but in more depth and for more money. No people management, thank God. The title is ‘editor-at-large’ so I’ll be a one-man-band.”
Cassie smiles. “That’s awesome. When are you done at the Dispatch?”
“End of the week.”
“Wow!” Cassie hands the beers off to the folks next to me, then, inexplicably, slaps her hands on the bar, breaking my train of thought. “Lunch is on me. What can I get ya?”
My phone is ringing in my jacket pocket. “Burger, cheese, onion, side salad. The usual.”
I wrestle with the jacket but manage to pull the phone out as Cassie grabs a menu from behind the bar.
“Branch out,” she says, slapping the menu in front of me. “It’s a special day.”
I roll my eyes as she walks away. On the phone is a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?” I say.
“Bernie, Silas Morgan. How ya doin’?”
“Silas … thanks for returning my call. Sorry we haven’t had a chance to sit down yet. I’m hoping we can chat soon … would love to hear how things are going. What does your afternoon look like? I’m happy to stop by.”
I can hear him chuckling on the other end.
“My afternoon looks good … actually, Ms. McMurtry and I have a few questions for you, as well, if you don’t mind? How about 3 o’clock here in my office?”
Cassie returns, presumably to take my new order.
“Sure,” I say into the phone, but looking at her. “3 it is. See you then.”
I hang up.
“Everything okay?” she says.
I nod. “Why would Silas want to talk to me?”
“Well, you are Paul’s friend. Isn’t that why he’s here?”
I nod again and close the menu.
“Tossed salad, garlic dressing, extra chicken, side of fries.”
Cassie laughs. “Well, it’s an attempt at nutrition, I suppose.”
She points to my glass. “Another?”
I nod yet again, then rethink.
“No, make it water. I better be good.”
Gunnar Olafsson