May We Be Forgiven

wants me. She says it’s not personal, it’s just the way it is.”
    In the middle of the mall there is a missing-persons kiosk shaped like a milk carton. The kiosk is plastered in posters of Heather Ryan, notices about the Safe Haven Baby Drop and a domestic Cool Out Zone. A large permanent sign reads: “Pregnant? For anonymous assistance pick up phone.” An orange receiver waits at the ready.
    “Was that always there?” I ask.
    “Yes,” she says, without looking.
    Coming out of one of the stores, I spot Don DeLillo. Our eyes meet; he looks at me as if to ask, What are you staring at?
    “I see you everywhere I go.”
    “I live here,” he says.
    “My apologies, I’m a big fan.” He nods but says nothing. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” He doesn’t say yes, he doesn’t say no. “Do you think Nixon was in on the JFK assassination?” DeLillo looks at me with a grim snakelike grin. “Interesting question,” he says, and walks away.
    “You should dump her,” Cheryl says, having entirely missed the preceding exchange. “Keep things simple.”
    I change the subject. “Are we looking for something in particular?”
    “I already told you, sofa and nonstick pan. Oh, and here’s what I want: we’ll go to Macy’s, I’ll pick out some lingerie, and then you come into the dressing-room area and ask, ‘What room are you in?’ and …”
    “And what?”
    “You come in and do me—down on your knees, with your tongue—while I watch in the three-way mirror, and maybe I even shoot a little video with my phone. It would be the back of your head, so no one would recognize you.”
    “Clearly you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
    She shrugs.
    “We’ll get arrested.”
    “For what?”
    My cell phone rings—Amanda. At first I don’t answer, but when it rings again, Cheryl urges me to pick up. “Don’t be rude on my account,” she says.
    “Hello?”
    “They caught the guy—Heather Ryan’s murderer. He was someone her parents had sold her old twin bed to—online. Turned out she’d sewn her diary into the mattress and the guy found it and got obsessed and had been stalking her. Her boyfriend, the one she’d recently broken up with, actually met the guy, who claimed that he was her new boyfriend and told him all kinds of personal stuff about her that he knew from the diary. And when the former boyfriend confronted Heather and she wouldn’t admit that she was seeing someone new, the boyfriend said, ‘He knows everything about you, he knows more than I know. And I’ve seen you with him, crossing campus. He’s always right there next to you, and when I get close he walks away. …’ Anyway, Heather and Adam broke up, and then the creep made his move, and let’s just say it didn’t work out. …” Her voice is so loud, its pitch so specific, that even though she’s not on speaker, every word seeps out.
    “Wow,” I say. “Well, thank you for calling.”
    “Wow? That’s all you have to say? You are so weird.”
    I look at Cheryl, who is clearly listening to the whole thing. “Well, I’m very relieved, and I look forward to hearing more. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I want to check some other sources.”
    “Whatever,” she says, hanging up.
    “Well, that’s a giant relief,” Cheryl says. “I feel much better now.”
    “Why?” I ask.
    “Because you’re not the guy who did it,” she says, smirking.
    “Did you think I was?”
    “No, but you thought you were.”
    “What makes you think that?” I ask, oddly exposed.
    Cheryl rolls her eyes. “That’s what I love about men—see-through,” she says. “And by the way, you are so dating her,” Cheryl says. “She may not think so and you may not think so, but I know so.”
    “You still want to go to Macy’s?” I ask.
    She shakes her head. “I’ll take a rain check.”

    F or his birthday, I buy George an iPad and load it with photos of the kids and music from home before sending it off, along with a solar charger, to the address on Walter Penny’s card.
    “Happy Birthday Brother.”
    I sign up for Spanish lessons at the local Casa Española. The other people in my class are a McDonald’s manager, a guy who runs a landscape company, and a woman who “married well” and wants to communicate better with the “help.”
    The nurse from Ashley’s school phones to say, “Nothing to worry about but … Ashley has a skin infection, and we’ve talked with Dr. Faustus and want to get your permission