Craig Lancaster - Edward Adrift

It’s a practical impossibility not to think of Sheila Renfro when I’m awake. When I was speaking with Dr. Bryan Thomsen yesterday, my favorite part was when I got to talk about Sheila Renfro.

I have to deal with things as they are. I’m here and she’s there, and so I have to build the best life I can. This shitburger of a year has taken so much from me, and it took Sheila Renfro, too. I have to accept that. I’m not the special man to recognize her specialness. She said that herself, and she should know.

I hate that she said it, but she did, and I must get on with things.

From the logbook of Edward Stanton:

Time I woke up today: 3:06 a.m. from my terrible dream. After I calmed down, I set an alarm for 8:45 a.m. so I could attend to my data and make my appointment with Dr. Rex Helton.

High temperature for Wednesday, December 21, 2011, Day 355: 35, a seven-degree drop from the high the day before. It’s still a very reasonable late-December temperature.

Low temperature for Wednesday, December 21, 2011: 28, the same as the day before.

Precipitation for Wednesday, December 21, 2011: a trace amount.

Precipitation for 2011: 19.48 inches

New entries:

Exercise for Tuesday, December 21, 2011: I took a 45-minute walk around my neighborhood, my longest walk since the accident. I stuck to the sidewalks of Lewis, Clark, and Yellowstone avenues. I really enjoyed the route and the scenery. I think I will do it again today.

Miles driven Wednesday, December 21, 2011: It will be a while before I take another long driving trip. Let’s retire this category.

Total miles driven: Let’s retire this one, too.

Gas usage Wednesday, December 21, 2011: Let’s retire this one, too.

Addendum: I’m nervous about a lot of things today. I’m nervous about seeing Dr. Rex Helton. I’m nervous about going to see Jay L. Lamb about a job. I don’t like Jay L. Lamb very much, which may be unfair of me now that he is treating me well, but I can’t help it. I don’t like the idea of his finding a job for me, but I have to balance that against the certainty that I need something to occupy my time if this new program of mine is going to work. I will stifle my concerns and see what Jay L. Lamb has to say.

My mother called this morning and told me to come by her condo at 5:00 p.m., that we would have dinner and talk. I’m ready for this discussion now. My destructive anger is gone. I still wish to make her acknowledge what she did to me, but I can do so in a constructive way, thanks to Dr. Bryan Thomsen.

I can barely believe I wrote those last five words, but there they are, right above these words. Nobody else did that.

Astoundingly—adverbs are not my favorite things, but “astoundingly” is a good one—Dr. Rex Helton says I’m on the right track.

“Blood pressure is down. You’re at two hundred and eighty-four pounds, so you’re losing it steadily but not too quickly. And, of course, the car wreck probably has something to do with that. As for the diabetes, it’s too early to do the full blood work again, but let’s see what a test strip says.”

He puts on rubber gloves and brings out a glucose reader. I set my hand palm up on the counter, and he says, “Little prick,” which I assume is in reference to the needle and not my character.

I just made a joke. I’m pretty funny sometimes.

“It’s a hundred and twenty-three. Not bad, Edward. Not bad at all. Keep up the fine work.”

The delightfulness of Dr. Rex Helton’s office is offset by the intimidation of Jay L. Lamb’s. For the first time since just after my father died, I’m made to sit in this uncomfortable modern furniture that Jay L. Lamb insists on buying. I’m sitting in front of the desk of his impossibly beautiful secretary, who has now just said, for the fourth time, “He’ll be with you shortly.”

Jay L. Lamb also has a magazine problem. In Dr. Buckley’s office, now Dr. Bryan Thomsen’s office, there are women’s magazines, sports magazines, car magazines, outdoor magazines—in other words, pretty much every kind of magazine you can imagine, except pornography. It speaks to Dr. Buckley and Dr. Bryan Thomsen’s willingness to make a range of clients feel welcome and at ease.

Jay L. Lamb has only investor magazines. I’m his client, and yet I feel neither welcome nor at ease. Excuse me for saying so, but that’s pretty shitty of Jay L. Lamb.

“He’ll be with you shortly,” the impossibly beautiful secretary says.

I look at my watch. It’s 1:17 p.m., seventeen minutes past our appointed meeting time. We passed “shortly” a long time ago.

At 1:21 p.m., I’m finally shown into Jay L. Lamb’s office. He directs me to sit in a chair in front of his desk, one only slightly more comfortable than the seat I just extricated (I love the word “extricated”) myself from.

“Edward, how have you been?”

“Well, Mr. Lamb, I’ve been in a car wreck and forcibly removed from Colorado. Things have been better.”

Jay L. Lamb smiles uncomfortably, which is the only sort of smile he’s ever given me.

“Yes, well, your mother has filled me in on things, which is why we’re here today. I have found you a job, if you want it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a courier position.”

“You mean, a delivery boy?”

“No, not quite. This is actually a very trustworthy position. This law office—there are three partners, plus six associates—generates a lot of paperwork, and that paperwork needs to find its way to various places, be it the courthouse or a regulatory agency or a client or another law office. We need someone who is highly organized, who knows the city and the region, and who is reliable. It’s actually the perfect position for you, because you’re all of those things. In fact, I’m a little stumped that I didn’t think of it before.”

“Would I report to you?”

The position sounds pretty good, but his answer to this question could be a deal breaker for me.

“Ordinarily, you would, yes. Me and the other two partners. But this is a different kind of situation, for two reasons. First, I’m your lawyer and a family friend, so it wouldn’t be right for me to be your supervisor. Second, I’m retiring early next year.”

“You are?”

“I’m sixty-three years old, Edward. It’s time. I’ve been working nonstop since Clea died two years ago. It’s time to relax and enjoy the time I have left. So, anyway, I’ve talked it over with Mr. Slaughter and Mr. Lambert, and one of those men will be designated as your supervisor. You and I will be coworkers, for a few weeks anyway. If we have to discuss your employment as partners, I will recuse myself from that discussion. Does that sound fair?”

It sounds more than fair. I think now that perhaps I have not given Jay L. Lamb enough credit.

“Yes, it does,” I say. “I have two more questions.”

“I figured you would.”

“Who will be our lawyer now?”

Jay L. Lamb laughs, and he stands up and sits on the edge of his glass desk.

“I’m becoming something called ‘partner emeritus.’ That means I’ll still have a role here. I’ll keep an office. And I’m taking two clients with me into retirement—your mother and you. So in that regard, nothing changes. Now, you had a second question?”

“Yes. What does the position pay?”

“It pays thirteen dollars an hour to start. I know that’s less than you were making at the Herald-Gleaner , but on the plus side, your health benefits will be entirely paid for, you’ll get three weeks of paid vacation to start, which I believe is better than you were getting at the newspaper, and we also do a 401(k) match. It’s a good package, and I think we both know that in your financial condition, this paycheck isn’t going to make much of a difference.”