Abbey Burning Love. Donan Ph.D. Berg
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of footsteps.
“You know when you might be leaving?” Alice tugged Sarah’s arm.
“Overheard nurse say a week. Depends how lungs heal. I get really tired.”
“Time to adjourn,” Sarah whispered, leading Alice toward the door.
* * *
The basketball bounced high off the rim, snagged by six-foot, two-inch Rob Campbell. He stumbled into Bull, a nickname for Andrew Angus McCloud. Steve Roomer signaled timeout and wiped a sweaty brow with a red bandana complementing the red, orange, and yellow blazing rays of the soon-to-be-absent sun. “Got to go. Lisa will be upset.”
Rob forever praised Steve and Bull, graduating high school classmates who remained friends fifteen years thereafter. Both drove multiple times to the Chicago VA Hospital, where he recuperated for months from bullet wounds suffered in Iraq. Standing on a concrete driveway facing the alley, Rob waved farewell to Steve and then collapsed on his home’s rear yard grass.
“Store customers this morning couldn’t stop talking about The Abbey fire Friday night,” Bull said, sitting cross-legged next to Rob. “Noon TV news today continued to replay fire scenes and scroll the names of deceased and injured. Isn’t that where Nancy and you were married?”
“Yeah. It seems so long ago. Mayor sent me Saturday to The Abbey. Nothing left, absolutely nothing.” Rob smoothed an eye patch. “Let’s say you give me an hour to rest and shower and we can visit the Artist’s Plaza.”
“Fine by me.”
* * *
“Plaza’s sure dead tonight?” Rob’s city planning position made him privy to Boulder Isle’s grandiose plans to revitalize the six block downtown by creating a destination arts and entertainment venue. Named Artist’s Plaza, the major art from Rob’s observation continued to be the art of beer pouring. In Rob’s vision the city needed low-cost housing, not honky-tonks.
“Don’t know why I let you drag me to the CBC,” Bull complained using the initials of the Crystal Brewing Company. “The deep-dish pizza’s okay, but the ladies our age don’t do Mondays. They’re probably home washing their weekend party dresses.”
Rob watched a server lifting a tray a foot above her head to squeeze past the six-couple group seated between them and the bar.
“Hey, Rob,” Victoria’s voice echoed in the rafters. “Didn’t see you come in. Who’s your hunky table partner?”
Bull winked, holding it until Victoria smiled.
“Why do you embarrass Bull like that? He’ll just get a big head. Give you all his money as a tip and won’t be able to buy the next round.” She blushed.
“Hi, Victoria,” Bull said with a big grin. “Didn’t remember you worked Monday nights. Nice costume.”
“Got to pay the rent. What can I say?”
“We’ll take another pitcher and a bowl of popcorn,” Rob said. She grabbed the empty pitcher and left. Rob liked Victoria. He fully realized the absurdity of her silly rent comment. The only child of the most successful Boulder Isle retail store/mall operator, she worked in and, given time, would inherit the family’s three area malls. She graduated high school two years after him, but she’d been a high school basketball cheerleader while Rob and his buddies earned back-to-back varsity letters. And later, on birthday number eighteen; Rob couldn’t forget the fancy red Chrysler convertible Victoria's parents bought for her summer evening cruising.
When Victoria reappeared with a full beer pitcher and popcorn, he asked, “When will the band begin playing?” Her miniskirt hem tickled the right forearm as she placed the pitcher table center. He couldn’t see Bull’s reaction but didn’t think service required Victoria to bend forward as far as she did, especially considering the uniform’s low-cut bodice.
“Bad luck,” Victoria said as she straightened up and turned toward him. “Band cancelled at last minute and boss couldn’t find replacement. You’ll have to listen to CDs.” A second bend handed Bull a coaster. “Want to run a tab?”
“No, here’s a ten.” Bull shifted his eyes from Victoria to stare across the room as he quite often did. She hurried off with a two-dollar tip.
“What’s going on?”
“Steve just walked in,” Bull replied. “I don’t think he saw us with those swiveling eyes. He’s headed to the far table with the three women.”
“Lisa following?” Rob asked. His gaze told him Steve’s wife absent.
“Haven’t seen her.” Bull’s eyes flitted to and fro. He pressed lips together, which Rob interpreted as an indication of confusion.
Rob refilled his glass. “Let’s play it cool; drink your beer.”
Bull gulped a swig of beer. “You found Nancy. Think there’s still hope for me to find a nice woman in this town or should I go online?”
“Grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. Why ask?”
“Got a telephone call from my mother.” Bull reached into his top shirt pocket. “Excuse me, I must take this call.”
“Your mother?”
“Heavens no.”
Rob waited alone as Bull exited the CBC to answer his cellphone.
Steve approached. “You flying solo tonight?”
“No.” Rob wiped a beer spill with a napkin. “Thought Lisa had you hog-tied tonight. At least that’s the impression you gave at basketball earlier.”
“I lied. Pledged to secrecy. Lisa’s at her mother’s. These ladies drafted me to plan a surprise party to honor Lisa as Ann Circle volunteer of the year.”
“Oh. Great.”
“Gotta get back. Would you fill half my glass? My table pitchers all contain diet cola.”
Rob laughed, pouring a full glass for Steve. Bull returned.
“With no live music and no women, you want to head home?” Bull asked.
“You’re not off the hook for the next pitcher.” He saw Steve’s shoulders slump, head pointed away. “Must have been an important phone call.”
Bull glanced in all directions, and then lowered his voice, “Just talked with Neil. He said Alice broke an arm in The Abbey fire. Sarah survived okay. Melissa’s stuck in the hospital. Don’t know how bad.”
“You still planning to ask Sarah out?”
“Not my type. Too controlling. Heard she’s been married once.”
“What’s the problem with married?” Rob’s stomach suddenly queasy. He’d been married. With Nancy considered missing, what was his status? What if a woman hadn’t been married by age thirty? Should she be considered prime marriage material or not? Could the fact she hadn’t been married be evidence of her unsuitability? He’d read a theory of evolution article that the male monkey unsuitable for mating, labeled psycho, would be sent off to live in isolation. Maybe that would also apply to unmarried humans past age twenty-nine. “You should consider Victoria. She often allows you to peek at her best physical charms.”
“Stuff it.” Bull frowned. “I’m in sales. That’s what she’s in when she’s at work. If she flirts with you, she’s not personally interested, only as a tip source. I’d consider her more interested in me if she treated me as she does you.”
* * *
Melissa shivered as the nurse’s sponge started at a shoulder. When the nurse left, she thanked God the I.V. tube wasn’t reconnected and the frightening monitor screen remained blank with its dangling electrodes not stuck with itchy adhesive to sensitive skin.
“Hey, kiddo. How