Jan Burke - Goodnight, Irene

“Nobody’s done that since I was nine,” he said, watching her go.

We boarded the plane. I fell asleep before Pete had his first stick of gum, and slept all the way to Las Piernas.

YO, RIP VAN WINKLE! They’re gonna want to clean this plane. Come on, wake up, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” Pete was nudging me. Drowsily, I sat up and followed him off into the terminal. He led me into the airport coffee shop, sat me down and ordered two cups of coffee. I looked out the window into the dark until the waitress brought it. He watched me take a few sips, then said, “Are you ever going to speak to me again?”

“Sure I will. I’m sorry. I’m just…I don’t know, Pete. I don’t even know how to describe it anymore.”

“Then don’t try. Just drink your coffee. You up for a visit to Frank? Or do you want me to take you straight home?”

I thought about it. “I’m tired, but I’d like to see Frank.”

He smiled at this, so I thought I’d do a little prying of my own.

“So what’s with you and Rachel?” I asked.

“Ah, she is gorgeous, isn’t she? I admit it, I like her. But she’s in Phoenix and I’m in Las Piernas.”

“At least for now.”

“You done with that coffee?”

“Hey, don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

“All right, all right, I get you. How ’bout we make a pact-we’ll avoid the subject of-for want of a better term, I’ll say ‘romantic interests’?”

“Sounds good to me.”

We left for Frank’s place. I realized that I had no idea where he lived. He had looked me up when he first moved down this way, but I had never been to his house. Pete drove us down near the beach, along a crowded row of little bungalows. He parked in front of one that was about a block from the water. I couldn’t see much of it in the dark, but it looked fairly typical of the small wood-frame houses that were built along the beaches in the late 1930s.

It was about eight-thirty by the time we got there, and I wondered if Frank would still be awake. The lights were on, but that could be Sorenson, the officer who would be guarding Frank while he recovered. We pushed open the gate of a low white picket fence and walked up to the front porch. We knocked and waited. The porch light came on. A shadow covered the peephole in the door, as Sorenson peered out at us. He let us in, and told me that Frank was in the living room, which was toward the back of the house. Pete and Sorenson stayed behind to trade insults with one another in a manner that made it seem to be a long-standing tradition between them; I was anxious to see Frank, and made my way down the hallway.

I was surprised to see him sitting up on the couch, dressed in a gray sweat suit and white running shoes. “Don’t tell me you’ve been out jogging,” I said, “I wasn’t expecting to see you up and around.”

He grinned. “Good to see you. No, I haven’t been jogging. These were just the most comfortable things I could find to wear.” As I got closer I could see that the swelling had gone down from his lip, and his face was less puffy, though he still had the two black eyes and plenty of other bruises. He was pale, but all in all he looked a thousand times better than the day before. He started to stand up, and winced in pain.

“Don’t push yourself,” I said. “Go ahead, sit down, you almost had me convinced you’d been to Lourdes before you tried to stand up.” He didn’t argue and I took a seat on the other end of the couch.

“Ribs and head are still sore, and I look like I lost a fight, but at least I don’t feel like I’m in a fog.”

“I’m glad to see you looking so much better,” I said, and smiled.

Pete and Sorenson came noisily into the room. “Hey, will you look at this guy?” Pete said, seeing Frank. “Hercules, I tell you. Why, he has the strength of ten men!”

“Shut up, Baird,” Frank said, grinning up at Pete.

“Goddamn, Frank, I can’t believe it. And here I was, all set to inherit,” he said, looking around. The room was simply furnished, but felt very livable, not Spartan in any sense. The house had lots of windows, woodwork and built-in cabinets and shelves of the type so common in houses built in its time. In that way, it was not very different from my own.

Mike Sorenson turned to me and said, “Would you like something to drink, Miss Kelly? How about a beer or a Coke?”

“I’ll opt for the caffeine, thanks.”

He turned to Frank. “You doin’ okay there, buddy?”

“Fine, Mike, thanks.”

He started to walk off when Pete said, “Aren’t you forgetting somebody?”

Sorenson stopped at the kitchen door and turned around, saying, “Why, yes, I believe I am.” He flipped Pete the bird. Pete returned the favor with a gesture of his own.

Pete turned to Frank. “You supposed to watch him, or is he supposed to watch you?”

“Baird, you are a professional pain in his ass and you know it.”

Pete laughed. “He makes it so easy.”

Sorenson came out with a glass of Coke and ice, and sat down in a chair next to my end of the couch. Pete, giving up on being waited upon, went in to get a beer. He came back out and sat in a chair opposite Sorenson, near Frank. He lifted the beer toward Sorenson and said, “Thanks, pal.”

“It was nothing,” Sorenson said.

“So bring me up-to-date,” Frank said. “I read about what happened in front of the bank yesterday.” He looked over at me. “You didn’t tell me, Irene,” he chided.

“Sorry, Frank. You weren’t feeling so hot and I was tired of thinking about it all.”

“What happened in Gila Bend?”

Pete jumped in and told the story of our day in Arizona. As I was reminded of it, I could feel myself getting depressed, ebbing away from the excitement of seeing Frank doing so well and back into a sense of numbness. Pete was quite animated in his telling; but I felt myself becoming more withdrawn as he went on. By the time he got to the Tannehill part of the story, all I could see before me was Elaine Tannehill’s last moments replayed again and again.

“Irene?” I vaguely heard Frank next to me and turned toward him. I tried a smile, but couldn’t manage it.

“Mike,” Frank said to Sorenson, “why don’t you and Pete take a walk on the beach?”

I thought we were in for more banter, but he just said, “Sure. Let’s go, Pete.” And the two of them left without another word.

When they were gone, Frank patted the place next to him on the couch. “Scoot over here,” he said.

I moved over.

He put an arm around me and I gingerly put my head on his shoulder, trying to avoid his ribs.

“The ribs aren’t so bad,” he said, reading my intentions. “It’s the other side anyway.”

I relaxed a little. He didn’t say anything for a long while, just stroked my hair and held me.

“You must feel like your whole life has been turned upside down,” he said quietly. “But it won’t stay like this. Just keep telling yourself that. You’ve got to keep being a fighter, Irene. Don’t let it beat you.”

“I feel like it already has, Frank.”

He reached over and took my hand. He ran his thumb gently along the backs of my fingers, not saying anything more

I looked up at him. “I’ll be okay,” I said, and put my head back down on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Right now,” he said with a grin, “I feel pretty damn good.”

This mood was broken when we heard the front door open and Pete and Mike Sorenson came trooping back in.

“Uh-oh,” Pete said, looking at us, “I told you we would interrupt something.”

“Sorry, Frank,” Sorenson said, “but I was freezing my nuts off out there.”