Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

“Now, Journeymen may approach the buffet.”

The senior Companions did so. Only when they had filled their plates and sat down was permission granted to the Apprentices. Finally the Novices.

Control...

The food was what Shaw had expected: steam table chicken, hamburgers, vegetarian lasagna, salads and side dishes. Parker House rolls, butter. He was hungry from the effort of the trip here and his quick-march surveillance of the camp, so he piled the plate high.

As he ate, Shaw would glance at Victoria. Her brunette hair was in double braids, disappearing down her back. The ends were bound in thin red ribbons, the bows carelessly tied. Her face oval in shape. Over her blue uniform blouse she wore a blue vest. No wedding ring or other jewelry. Shaw scanned the room; no one wore any, it seemed, none that he could see. Surely some of these people were married. Maybe they’d had to check their rings, like the cell phones. Getting rid of reminders of the outside world. He couldn’t tell if Victoria was wearing makeup. Her face had the slightly ruddy shade he recalled from the other day. Maybe a tan.

Shaw looked away just as she lifted her head and started to glance his way, as if she’d felt she was being observed. He struck up a conversation with his tablemates. He and Henry were the only Novices at this table to start today. Abby had been here for ten days. John, Sally, Walter and Todd had been studying the Process for a week. Shaw noted that Walter did the talking for the couple; Sally was retiring and uncertain. Abby was constantly in fidgety motion, Todd was suspicious, John was rueful.

When they had finished the main courses and were toying with substance-less devil’s food cake for dessert, Quinn wiped his mouth and set down the napkin.

He looked over everyone with his cool lizard eyes. Finally, he said, “Now it’s time to share.”

“I’m Walter and this is Sally.”

Quinn tilted his head, a corrective tap.

“Ah, I meant to say, Novice Walter and Novice Sally. My apologies.”

With thin white hair and slim build and only a faint swelling of belly, Walter had the mannerisms and serenity of a successful businessman transitioned to retirement. He now explained as much: “We’re from Chicago. I owned a manufacturing company that made parts that went to Detroit and disappeared into cars. I wouldn’t’ve made ’em if the government didn’t say they had to be in your horseless carriages, so I did, and that put the kids through college, thank you very much.”

The sharing, the Inner Circle Quinn had told them, was about letting the others know why you’d come to the Foundation, what you hoped to get out of the experience. This helped “facilitate the Process.”

Walter continued, “Now, I do some consulting, which means, gettin’ paid to shoot my mouth off. And Sally’s such a good gardener that she’s got green fingers in addition to thumbs.”

Sally smiled at the mention of her name. Gray haired, a heart-shaped face, the woman was trim too, with wattles at the chin. Maybe a recent weight loss. Shaw wondered about cancer, but her skin had a healthy pallor.

Walter continued his narrative, to make sure she didn’t have to chime in. “I’d say she’s got green toes, but that’s an unfortunate image, so we’ll let it go. We’ve been married forty-two years and have three children and four grandchildren.”

A frown crossed Sally’s face as she looked down at her left hand, resting on her husband’s. She was gazing at her naked ring finger, and her eyes darted about, panic filling her face. She’d be thinking the piece had gone missing. Walter didn’t notice.

Shaw understood why they were here.

Walter confirmed this with: “We’ve had a few health issues that’re making life a little tricky and we read about the Foundation when we were doing some research about getting ourselves a little better. We heard how people said the Process makes them happier. Who doesn’t need more happier in their life? So here we are.”

Sally whispered to her husband, lifting her left hand. He smiled and told her something in return. She grew calm again, comforted that her missing engagement and wedding rings were accounted for.

Alzheimer’s...

Quinn said, “Thank you, Novice Walter. And, Novice Todd?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man ran his hand over his short hair. His eyes brown, his complexion dark — Latinx, maybe, and definitely military, Shaw decided.

“I’m from San Diego. Encinitas. Did a couple of tours. Was all right, no big shit. But I lost a couple of buddies overseas. Kind of, everything kind of went to hell when I got back.” He unbuttoned his cuff and exposed his skin. It wasn’t a sleeve tat, it was a knife and the words EVER FORWARD. A gothic typeface. “Did some VA shit. Some private docs. Nothing helped.” He shrugged. “Heard about this thing in a bereavement group. Thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Very good, Novice Todd. But remember...”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Not ‘thing.’ The Foundation.”

“You’ll learn.”

“Medicine didn’t work, doctors didn’t work. I hope the Process will.”

“Is it, Novice Todd?” Quinn asked, head back, eyes down, looking at him closely over his half-rimmed glasses. “Do you think it’s working?”

“I think so, yes.”

There was a hesitation in his voice. If Shaw noticed it, so did Quinn.

“Thank you for that. Now.” Quinn turned to the slim, bald man beside Shaw. “Share.”

“I’m Henry. Novice Henry.” He was embarrassed. “This is my first day.”

“Welcome, Novice Henry.”

“I’m a researcher for a drug company in RTP — Research Triangle Park, outside of Raleigh, North Carolina.” A deep breath. “I... uhm, I lost my wife eight months ago.” His voice trembled. He brought it under control. Flustered for a moment, he gave a hollow laugh. “I work on oncological drugs. You know, chemotherapy drugs. Karen had cancer. A different kind from what I specialize in. But it’s kind of ironic, I guess, so I thought I’d mention it.” A look toward Quinn.

The IC encouraged, offering that smile that everyone on the staff here was so good at — partly embracing, partly distant.

Henry swallowed and said, “It’s kind of hard to cope. Every day is hard. So. That’s what I’m hoping to fix. I’ve tried bereavement groups, therapy, drugs. They’re not working all that great. Maybe this’ll be better. Tomorrow will be better. That’s what they said.”

“Very good, Novice Henry. Now, you, Novice Abby.”

“That’s me. Uhm... This is my second week. You know, same old. You’ve heard it.” She seemed edgy, upset. She played with her food. Hadn’t eaten much.

“Our new Novices haven’t,” Quinn said evenly. “Please enlighten them with your tale, Novice Abby.”

Eyes down, she was digging one fingernail into a cuticle. “Just, stuff, you know.”

“Go ahead. Remember: don’t shy from the Minuses. You can do it. Master Eli says you’ve made good progress.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she seemed moved that the leader of the Foundation had commented about her.

“Go on.” Quinn nudged.

“Okay, like, I’m in college, studying communications.” She didn’t make eye contact with anyone. “So. The thing is, at home, it’s kind of sucky. I stay away as much as I can. I got in with this crowd. I mean, they’re okay. Sort of okay. But there was some Oxy action, you know. Other shit.” She stopped abruptly.

Quinn pulled a smile, fast as a gunslinger. “It’s all right. Say what you feel.”

“They got me into all kinds of stuff. Like, finally I got clean. It’s not so easy. And I’m pretty freaked that I’ll lapse. You know, go back. I’ve got this friend and her mother came here and it was, like, it helped her. So I kind of sent my application in and I got accepted.” She shrugged, then slouched back in her chair. “And it’s pretty cool. Master Eli is, like, the best.”