Free Bygones by Lavyrle Spencer Page A

and that’s why you found another woman. Is that true?”
    “I’m not going to answer. I don’t see any point at this late date.” He handed her the check. “Thanks for coming, Bess. I really should get down to my once now.”
    Her cheeks were hot as she accepted his check and said, “I’m sorry, Michael. I shouldn’t have brought it up today. It’s not the appropriate time.”
    “Why did you bring it up at all, Bess?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t understand myself lately. It seems as if there were so many things between us that were never settled, and all these ugly emotions that kept roiling around inside me. I guess I just need to deal with them once and for all and put them behind me. That’s what apologies are all about, right?”
    His eyes, hard as chips of resin, lit on hers. He nodded stiffly. “All right, fair enough. Apology accepted.”
    He found her a carpet sample, ushered her out, and pushed the elevator button. The door opened, and she stepped in. When she turned to offer a conciliatory smile, she found him already stalking back into his condo. She rode downstairs wondering if by her apology, she’d made things better or worse between them.
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    Randy Curran dropped into a lopsided upholstered rocker and reached into his pocket for his bag of pot. It was
eleven p.m.
, and Bernie’s mom was out, as usual. She was a cocktail waitress, so most nights they had the place to themselves. The radio was tuned to Cities 97, and they were waiting for
midnight
, the Grateful Dead hour. Randy had known Bernie Bertelli since the eighth grade, when Bernie had moved to town right after his parents got divorced, too. The friends had done a lot of dope together since then.
    Bernie’s place was a dump. The floors were crooked, and the walls had a lot of plastic knickknacks hanging on them. Skipper and Bean, two old dogs, were presently stretched out on the davenport. Against one wall stood a pyramid of beer cans, the top can wedged against the ceiling. Bernie’s mom had put the top one there herself.
    Randy struck a match and lit up. After a while he said, “I met this girl. Did I say that already?”
    “What girl?”
    “Maryann Padgett. Lisa is marrying her brother . . . . She scares the hell out of me.”
    “Why?”
    “Cause she’s a good girl. We don’t mess with good girls, do we, Bern ?”
    “No way, man. Why should we?”
    Minutes later Randy said, “You can’t get serious about girls - you know what I mean, man? I mean, hell, next thing you know, you’re marryin ” “ em and you got kids, and then you’re walkin ” out with somebody else’s old lady and your kids are bawlin ’.”
    Bernie digested that a long time before he asked, “You bawl when your old man left?”
    “Sometimes. Not where anybody could see me, though.”
    “Yeah, me, too.”
    A while later Randy felt the lethargy lifting.
    He had to be up at six. Actually, he was getting pretty tired of that stinking job at the warehouse. And of this pigsty of Bernie’s. And of Bernie. What the hell was he doing here? Who was he getting even with?
    His father, that’s who .
    Problem was , the old man didn’t really give a damn.
     
    RANDY hadn’t thought about his dad’s being there. He walked into Gingiss Formal Wear at
two o’clock
Saturday afternoon to pick out his tuxedo for the wedding, and there stood Michael, talking with Mark and Jake Padgett. Randy came up short. Mark spied him and came forward, extending his hand. “Here’s our last guy. Hey, Randy, thanks for coming.”
    “Sure, no problem.”
    Jake shook his hand, and that left only Michael, who offered his hand, too. “Randy.”
    Randy looked into his father’s somber eyes and felt a sick longing to hug him and say, “Hi, Dad.” But he had not called Michael Dad in a long time. The word seemed to fill his throat, needing to be spoken, needing to be repressed. His father’s hand waited.
    At last he put his hand in Michael’s and