Double Concerto - 29. Contrapunto

Rick glanced out the kitchen window as he poured the last of the coffee from the machine into a careworn, grey travel mug. Sunday’s rain was a memory. Early Monday sunshine washed across the grass like a wave racing up the beach. It lit up the pines and hedge and glittered on the lake beyond the trees. Rick hadn’t stopped smiling since he woke up. He’d had an unforgettable weekend.

Once again, he looked at the last photo Gus had taken on his phone before the boat had capsized. Gus smiled back at him from a perfect day, relaxed and happy. He missed the man already. They hadn’t made any plans for the evening, but the man promised he would find a way to call. Rick smiled and felt a warmth that had nothing to do with July.

He checked his ever-present notepad: only a couple of routine items to take care of. It promised to be a nice, quiet start to the week. Rick wanted to start his day early, so he could knock off work sooner. There were more important things to think about.

Maybe Gus will be free before supper.

He grabbed his keys from the counter and stuffed the pad into his shirt pocket.

A sharp rapping at the kitchen door from the garage startled him. Who would be knocking at his door, and this hour? The noise repeated itself; whoever awaited him wasn’t very patient.

He opened the door to find the diminutive form of his neighbor smiling up at him, holding a rectangular foil-covered item in both hands.

“Morning, Mrs. Lee.” Rick couldn’t help but return her smile. “What gets you up so bright and early?”

“Hello, Rick. I get up this early every morning.” The old woman bustled into the kitchen without further invitation. “I don’t sleep like I used to. You just don’t see me in my nightclothes.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, there isn’t anything wrong.”

“Are the chickens okay?”

“They’re fine, why?”

“I just wasn’t expecting a visit this morning.”

“Oh, well, I wanted to thank you and your friend, Gus for helping me round up the birds yesterday. I baked a surprise for you two last night.” She peered around the kitchen, searching for the other man. “Where is he?”

“I’m sorry, but Gus left yesterday evening. I had to drive him home.”

Caroline Lee tried to hide her disappointment. “You did? That’s such a shame. I thought he was staying over.”

Rick felt his neck begin to flush. He hadn’t wanted Gus to leave.

“No, he needed to get back to the lodge. The old Kohler place, where he’s staying.”

“Yes, of course. I remember.”

“I had to get him back before Joey and Marta’s parents returned.”

“Were those children all by themselves?”

“No, no. I think they went away with their mother this weekend.”

“And she would have minded if he stayed over another day?”

Rick shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Anyway, you both were so nice to take pity on a thoughtless old woman.”

“Don’t mention it. We were glad to help.”

“I just don’t know how those birds keep getting out.” The old woman smiled an apology.

“I could replace the latch on their run, if you like.”

“No, no, you don’t have to go through that kind of trouble. I’ll be more careful next time.”

He stifled the impulse to raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “I don’t think we much minded going on a neighborhood safari.” Rick smiled, remembering how Gus laughed at the whole situation, making fun at his own attempts at stealth.

For a moment, scenes from the previous day replayed themselves in his mind – Gus making a game of chasing stray fowl down the street, arms flapping; watching him duck into a hedge and coming out wet from the morning’s rain, only to shake the moisture from his black hair like a shaggy dog emerging from the lake; lowering the landing net over his head and pulling Gus in to steal a kiss behind a neighbor’s fence – Sunday might have been grey, but memories shone like gold in his mind.

“Gus is such a nice man.” Mrs. Lee broke into his reverie.

“Yes. He is.” Rick seemed to blush a little more.

“And so funny! I liked his story about chasing chickens when he was a little boy.”

He scratched his head. “Gus told me he was born in a tiny little village.”

“I remember him saying something about that.” The old woman placed her offering on the counter. “But he was a good friend to join our chicken catching crew.”

He smiled wider. “A very good friend.”

“A very, very special friend.” She fixed him with a penetrating eye and held his gaze.

“Um, uh …” The air seemed to disappear from the room and Rick suddenly felt himself grow uncomfortably warm. His vocal cords refused to function. His ability to deflect a conversation deserted him. The kitchen clock ticked steadily into the quiet.

Caroline Lee’s eyes narrowed. “You remember what I said a while ago? About how I thought something was going on with you this summer? Now I think I know.”

“You do?” His voice cracked. A sweat broke out on his brow and neck.

“I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before. You’ve been seeing someone.”

“Well, everyone knows Rita –”

“Stop that. I may be old, but I’m not blind.” The old woman spoke sharply. “At least, not anymore,” she muttered.

Rick stared like a startled deer.

“Let’s be honest. You don’t much like Rita do you?”

“No. Not really.”

“And certainly not like that.”

He shook his head.

“But you like Gus, am I right?”

Rick could only nod.

Caroline smiled and patted his arm. “It’s all right, dear. I really don’t care who you choose. You’re a grown man, for heaven’s sake; it shouldn’t matter to me. But it makes my heart glad that you seem happy. Both of you.”

Rick seemed stunned. His heart felt as if it was slipping, stumbling, trying to regain its balance. Years of hiding, decades of pretense, all gone. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I’m still your old friend, and that’s not going to change.”

Rick managed to nod. “Thank you.”

“But I’m wondering what you’re going to tell Rita.”

A bitter bark of laughter escaped his lips. He looked away. “Jeez Louise, what a mess. You think I have to?”

The grey head nodded. “It seems only fair.”

He made a face. “I’ll figure something out. I doubt she’ll care much. She’s in love with her big project, whatever it is. I don’t think I can compete; I’m not sure anyone could.”

“You may be right.”

“She seems to have half the Chamber of Commerce falling all over her, anyway.”

“Heinrich Senior will be disappointed.”

Rick blanched. “Oh, God. You’re not going to say anything to Dad, are you?”

She shook her head, smirking a little. “Not me. That’s definitely not my business. I can keep my mouth shut.”

Rick knew this to be true. Caroline Lee could make small talk with anyone, but didn’t trade gossip.

The old woman shrugged and continued. “Anyway, your father’s your problem. I’ll let you be the one to tell him. But if you take the advice of an old woman, you won’t put it off too long.”

“Thanks.”

Now it was Caroline’s turn to laugh. “You’re welcome. I don’t want to be within a hundred miles of that phone call.”

The corner of Rick’s mouth twitched. “You’ll probably hear him yelling anyway.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“I doubt it.”

“If he doesn’t, Heinrich will give himself an ulcer or burst a blood vessel. It’s such a pity he’s never taken the time to see how good a man you grew up to be. Isn’t that all a parent really should hope for?”

Rick blinked; his vision seemed clouded. “You’ve been the best neighbor, Mrs. Lee; now and for all these years. I just can’t believe you figured me out.”

The old woman laughed; the tension seemed to ease. “After spending time with you and Gus yesterday? It wasn’t hard at all once I thought about it. I’m surprised it took me so long.”

“Oh. So, what did you bring over?” His pulse appeared to have stabilized. It seemed okay to change the subject.

“It’s a lemon crumb coffee cake. I thought maybe you and Gus would like it.”

“That’s incredibly thoughtful of you.”

“The recipe was one of your mother’s. We used to trade them now and then. Anyway, you’ll have to save him some, for the next time he comes over.”

Rick swallowed, then smiled. “Yeah. For the next time.”

 

His drive over to the shop saw Rick’s smile begin to return. Caroline Lee isn’t going to blab all over town about you and Gus. She’s not Irene Inksater.

He’d hated having tongues wagging over him and Rita all summer. Rick didn’t want to imagine the gossip he and Gus would endure if everyone in town knew. However, as he wheeled into his parking spot at the shop, it seemed almost natural to wonder if the chatter really mattered, as long as the pair of them could be together.

But what would Dad think?

Rick shuddered, his smile vanishing. The plan had been to arrive at the shop early, grab the necessary tools, and get the jobs on his list done before noon.

He started to push open the shop’s front door, only to discover it was still locked. A quick look around the lot revealed that Irene’s burgundy Malibu wasn’t in its usual spot. Rick frowned.

That’s odd. Irene’s usually here by now.

Fingers rummaged in his left pocket for keys. They jangled as he inserted the shop one in the door and spun it. Rick walked inside, flicking on lights. When he peered into the office, Irene’s phone flashed angrily, indicating a voicemail.

He sighed while punching the numbers on the keypad. But the message was not some frantic emergency call, pleading for assistance. It was Irene.

Her voice blared from the speaker. “I’m not coming in today. I’m taking some mental health time. You can handle things yourself for a day, maybe two. That’s if I decide to come back at all.”

Rick blinked. Irene’s tone sounded seriously pissed off. True, she could be grumpy, just like his father, but this message seemed harsher, more significant.

His fingers flew as he called Irene’s home number.

I hope she and Harold haven’t been fighting. Or maybe Dad called and said something stupid.

Her phone at the other end of the line sang its monotonous song in his ear as it rang on and on until her voicemail picked up.

Rick spoke into the phone: “Irene, it’s Rick. I got your message at the shop. I’m worried. What’s going on? Call me back on my cell, okay?”

He’d barely replaced the handset when the instrument rang.

“Hello, Irene?” Rick answered immediately.

“Um, no. Is this Ernst Plumbing?” A male voice asked uncertainly.

“Yes, it is. Sorry, I thought you might be someone else.”

“I’m calling about a pipe that’s broken in my basement. It’s spraying water all over the place.”

Rick took a deep breath. The day just got longer.

 

“Everything okay?” The bespectacled, unshaven homeowner asked for the hundredth time.

“It will be,” Rick replied, trying to smile through his exasperation.

“I just wish I knew what caused this.” For the past several hours, this was the alternate bit of anxious conversation the man had tried to make when he hadn’t been inquiring about the progress of the job.

“Like I said earlier, it’s nothing you can predict. This kind of pipe was popular back in the eighties. It’s easy to cut and glue together, but it can crack and split open without any warning; no rhyme or reason, it just fails.”

Rick stepped back and rolled his head from side to side, trying to relax the muscles in his neck. He smiled to himself, remembering long, brown fingers working magic on his back and spine the day before.

“But it’s going to be okay?”

“Yes.” Rick sighed. “I’m replacing this whole section, plus all the section running from the T-junction back there to the upstairs feed. I’m also putting in a new shutoff here and back there, so if there’s ever a problem with some other pipe you can cut the water supply to those places without stopping the supply to the rest of the house.”

This was not the first time he’d gone over what he’d planned to do.

“I wonder what made it decide to crack open.”

It seemed wise to disregard this. He went back to work on a pipe joint that ran overhead.

“If I knew who installed this cheap stuff, I’d give him a piece of my mind.”

Rick suppressed a wry smile and continued fitting in a new section. He recognized the failed plumbing as the handiwork of Heinrich Senior; neat, spare applications of glue were the dead giveaway. He didn’t really blame the old man. From what he could tell, everyone jumped at using the new plastics. It was easy to work with, didn’t accumulate deposits, and above all, it was cheap. The elder Ernst must have been swayed by that last argument.

It wasn’t until later that the drawbacks became evident.

“How long is this new pipe is going to last?”

It was easier to ignore the man by thinking on his other problems as he worked.

What was Irene’s problem? Did I say something wrong? Why didn’t she call to say something? Maybe she tried to over the weekend and I missed it. That must be it. She thought I was ignoring her.

The phone in his pocket pinged. If he’d had a hand free, he’d have looked at the message right away. He still had a more than a few minutes on this part of the job, and then the new valves to install. Whoever was pinging him would have to wait.

“Damn.” Rick muttered a curse as a tiny grain of dust fell from the dull brown floorboards overhead and into his eye. “Happens every time.”

He blinked furiously to clear the eye while his hands were engaged.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, fine,” Rick said with teeth clenched. “Just fine.”

 

By the time Rick had finished up with the emergency repair, the sun had already passed its zenith. He emerged from that damp basement into the warm blast of a July afternoon. He pulled his phone out, expecting a message from Irene.

Instead, he found a text from Jerry Guttmacher:

Congrats Rico! I think.

Rick frowned. What the heck was Jerry talking about? His blood ran cold in the summer heat. Had Caroline Lee been talking? It seemed impossible, but he still felt unsettled.

The message was over an hour old. He paused for thought, then typed back:

You think? Since when did you start thinking?

That would deflect Jerry until they could talk at Jahnke’s over breakfast in the morning. For the moment, he had lunch to grab and jobs to finish for the afternoon.

 

Much later, as he drove along West Forest Road to his final job on the list, the muffler on the old van decided to part company with the main body. One moment the vehicle was the picture of solid, if faded, reliability; the next, it was a bellowing, blaring heap of metal, with a trail of scrap that screeched as it dragged beneath. By the time Rick had pulled over, cut the rusted exhaust assemblies free, and tossed the remains into the back, he was hot, frustrated, and well behind schedule.

The company van now announced its presence in a way that anyone could hear for miles.

Worse still, it attracted the attention of the State Patrol on his way back into town. Rick only realized he was being pulled over by glancing in his side mirror and noticing the lights flashing behind. He’d never heard the siren.

He released a long, unhappy sigh as he watched in his mirror while the dark-uniformed Trooper emerged from the black, late model Charger, adjusted her holster, and approached.

“Evening, Rick.” The greeting was affable.

“Hiya, Lisa. How are you and Greg doing?” At least the woman in the uniform was someone he knew; he recognized her despite the wraparound shades and campaign hat she wore. Still, he kept his hands in plain view.

“We’re good. Haven’t seen you around town much.”

“It’s been a busy summer.”

“With work or romance? My sources tell me that things are getting hot and heavy with that real estate lady.”

Rick shook his head. “Sorry, Lisa. I think your informants are gonna be wrong on this one.”

“That’s not what Greg says.”

“And he’s always right?”

“I never said that.” The corners of her mouth turned up. “License and registration?”

“Sure thing. You mind if I grab the papers from the glove box?” It was always important to ask first, even if one knew the person carrying the gun. At least he and Lisa Kruger had stayed friends.

“No problem.”

“Here you go.” He handed over the items requested.

“You’re making one hell of a racket, you know that?”

“Sorry.” He shrugged apologetically. “The muffler fell off on the way to a job. I threw it in the back; you can look if you want.”

The Trooper walked around back of the truck but did not open the back. She appeared to be examining the license plate. Returning, the woman pulled out her official citation book with a wry smile.

“I hate to do it, Rick, but I have to write you a ticket and a fine.” She scribbled on her pad.

“How much is it?”

“With the noise you’re making, I ought to make it a couple of hundred.” She flashed a grin. “Seeing as it’s you, I’ll suggest fifty.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, what are high school pals for? We had a couple of dates, remember?”

“Yeah, I do.” Rick tried to smile. “Those were the days, huh?”

“I don’t know. Life’s pretty good right now. Might even be in line for promotion.”

“Wow. Congratulations.”

“Don’t shake my hand yet,” she laughed. “Anyway, about that ticket: get the muffler fixed in ten days, and bring the receipt for the repair to court. They’ll dismiss it and cancel the fine.”

“Oh, right. Thanks, Lisa.”

“Glad to help an old friend. You take care and drive safely.” She turned to go. “And get that muffler fixed!”

 

The sun was making its way westward when Rick finally returned to the shop. He felt plain worn out, and not just because his ears were ringing. There was no evidence that Irene had been back to the shop in his absence. The flashing message light was lit up, however.

He sighed and got a pencil and writing pad out.

The first couple of items were from customers asking for help with one problem or another. He’d phone and arrange visits later.

The third was missed call was different: “Rick, it’s Walter Heinemann. Can you call me back? I’ll try you at home, too.” His longtime mentor’s voice sounded agitated, unsettled. Rick wondered what the problem could be. He’d return the call after he’d finished going through the rest of the recordings.

Another work request from one of Rita’s renters was noted on his pad. He skipped past a junk robo-call as quickly as he could. The last message made him jump.

“Boy! It’s your father.”

Rick winced. It was possible Heinrich Senior’s voice was louder than the old van.

“All I have to say is it’s about damn time. There’s a lot to discuss. Call me when you get in.”

He frowned. The elder Ernst’s message was similar to so many he’d heard. But this time, there was something different in the old man’s voice. Some of the crotchety irascibility was missing; perhaps his doctor had finally insisted on heart medication.

Whatever the cause for the call, Rick had no reason to look forward to returning it. What he really wanted to do was go home, shower, and maybe canoe around the point after dark. He bit his lower lip. Ignoring his father would just set up a bigger argument later. Rick sighed and reached for the handset.

In that same instant, the phone rang, startling him.

He lifted it with apprehension. “Hello? Ernst and Son Plumbing and Heating.”

“Rick? It’s Gus.”

Rick relaxed; all other thoughts fled his mind. “Hi. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

The other man chuckled. “Great minds think alike.”

“Why did you call me here?”

“I found this number in the phone book. This house actually has one, though it’s ten or twelve years old.”

“Golly, I don’t know if I still have one at home.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have much time. I’m on the house landline. Is there some way I can see you tonight? I’ve missed you.”

Gus’ question made his heart beat faster.

“Yes. Sure. No problem. Can I come pick you up for supper?”

“I’d love that.”

Rick smiled, and in that instant imagined a pleasant dinner together while they talked about everything and nothing.

“But you’d better not.” Gus continued.

He noticed for the first time that Gus was speaking in a hushed tone.

“Magda is still annoyed with me about this last weekend, and she tells me Zoltan is too. He’s coming home tomorrow.”

“So going out on a date would put their noses out of joint?” Rick tried to hide his disappointment.

“Probably. I’m sorry.”

“No, I get it.”

“But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t slip out of the house for a little stargazing.” Gus suggested.

“What time do you want me at the end of the dock?”