The contents of Reed’s briefcase scattered across the cherry-wood floor. Papers flew, pens and markers rolled, and there was the bottle of pills staring at me; or maybe I was staring at the bottle. I scrambled to pick up everything and put it on the table.

The toilet flushed in the upstairs bathroom, and I heard Reed’s lumbering gait as he came down the stairs. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the mess around his work area.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“Ziggy took a flying leap onto the table to get to his food. He had a collision with your briefcase,” I explained.  I kept my head down and busied myself cleaning the black granite countertop that was already clean. Although I could see Reed from the kitchen and heard him rearranging his belongings, I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact. When I heard no sound, I took a peek without raising my head—just to check on the status of the situation.  He was looking at the bottle of Viagra standing upright on the table. He looked at them and then looked at me. Our eyes met, and I saw a smirk widen across Reed’s face. I raised my head.

“Did you need your little blue friends to help you through your deposition?” I asked sarcastically.

His smirk broadened into a grin. “Hey,” he responded. “You never know when you’ll get lucky.”

“Today’s not that lucky day, Reed.”

“Well, you know what they say…if you don’t use it,  you lose it.”  He was still smiling, and it pissed me off.

“Well, Reed, you may think every woman wants a shtup, but I’m not every woman. Let’s set this story straight now. You won’t be needing your little blue friends this morning or at any time during your visit here. “

Reed’s expression became dark. He slowly began replacing the items that fell, but he mostly kept his eyes on me. I wondered if I’d gone too far. My heart beat a little faster. What if I’d insulted him? Would he retaliate? 

“I’ll book a flight as soon as the deposition is over,” Reed said softly. “This visit was a mistake.”

After a minute or two, Reed spoke.  “Can I please ask you for one favor?”

I hesitated. Uh oh. What could this be?

“What?” I asked.

“I’d like to visit the naval base in Groton. They have submarines there, and I’d like to see them.”  

His request wasn’t outrageous. He’d told me he’d been a Navy pilot, so I understood his interest. Groton was only an hour away. I told him I’d call the base to make sure it wasn’t closed due to Covid-19. It wasn’t. We planned to go the following day. Then, he would leave.

I’ve lived in Connecticut my whole life and never visited the naval base. It’s amazing how a place so disconnected from my life could be so interesting. Reed was very knowledgeable regarding all of the vessels we saw. He spoke to some of the naval personnel working around the shipyard. It was impressive. Spending this kind of time made me see Reed differently. He was in his comfort zone and shared information enthusiastically. Still, we could never be romantically connected.

Driving back to Simsbury, he asked if we could stop for ice cream. He needed ice cream like I needed a hole in my head!

Of course, I agreed. There was a small, outdoor lunch spot on Route 11, so we pulled in. The line was long, and we took our place. 

“I’ll have a cup of New England clam chowder and a chocolate-chip ice cream cone,” Reed ordered. 

“How are you going to eat the chowder without the ice cream melting?” I asked.

“I don’t want to wait in line twice,” he responded.

Reed asked me to hold the ice cream while he ate the chowder. I extended my hand holding the cone as far away from me as possible and watched the sticky, melting liquid drip onto the sidewalk. I noticed Reed’s trembling hand attempt to guide each spoonful of chowder into his mouth, but a lot of it missed. Once it cooled down, he chugged back the thick, creamy, white soup directly from its cardboard cup. He then took what remained of the ice cream cone from me in his trembling grasp and aimed it toward his mouth.  It splattered his face and green tee-shirt.  He was a mess.  

Reed booked his flight to Colorado when we returned from Groton. There was a part of me that felt sorry. However, he’d created his hell. 

The following morning, I picked Reed up around 9 a.m. He told me he liked to be at the airport early. I was happy to oblige and send him on his way. I knew I didn’t have to drive him, but I felt it was the right thing to do. When I dropped him off, I got out of the car to wish him well.

“I’ll bet you’re happy to be getting rid of me,” he said. He looked sad.

“No, that’s not true,” I lied. I hugged him, and he disappeared into the terminal.

The following day, while driving up to Springfield, MA, my phone rang. It was Reed.

“Hello,” I greeted him cheerfully. “I guess you made it back home safely.”

“Yeah,” he replied. His reply seemed off.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to be friendly.

“Cathy trashed my house while I was away,” he responded.

“I thought you evicted her,” I said. “You said she no longer had keys.” I was annoyed. I didn’t give a hoot about Reed, but it bothered me that he was confirming another lie.

“Well, it’s complicated,” responded Reed.

“Here’s something not complicated, Reed,” I said. “Have a nice life, and don’t contact me again.”  

Last Thursday, an e-Card arrived wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving. It was from Reed. He’s the bad dream that never ends.

© Miriam Greenberg, and the blog Love In The Time Of Corona, beginning April 2022 to the Present. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Miriam Greenberg and Love In The Time Of Corona with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.