The Book of Joe

this.”
    “Come on,” I say, trying to keep it light. “I plan on being especially witty today.”
    “Stop that.”
    “Stop what?”
    “Stop trying to be charming.”
    “I’m not trying; I just am.” Between us, a single pear-shaped droplet of rain lands on the soft roof of the Mercedes like a plump teardrop, and we both look at it, considering its potential for symbolism.
    “Go easy on me,” she says, opening the car door. “I don’t exactly have my shit together these days.”
    “Who does?”
    She climbs into the car, leaving me there to contemplate the lone raindrop on my own. I sigh deeply as it begins to drizzle, get into the car, and hope like hell that I know what I’m doing.

    The staccato percussion of the rain on the roof of the Mercedes fills the awkward silence in the car, and the daylight has dimmed to a gloomy gray by the time we pull into the Duchess’s parking lot. We run from the car to the restaurant, heads bent and shoulders hunched, our feet splashing through the mini rivers that flow down the flooded sidewalk.
    Once inside, I shake my wet hair and wipe my face with my hands, while Carly fusses with her blouse, which now clings provocatively to her chest in small, transparent sections that I will devoutly pretend not to notice. Sheila, the waitress who served Brad that strangely personal look a few days earlier, says a familiar hello to Carly and tells us to sit anywhere.
    Carly selects a window booth, and Sheila takes our orders immediately and disappears into the kitchen. We’re the only diners there, which is fine with me, since it greatly reduces the odds of another unfortunate milk shake incident.
    Carly moves her salad around with her fork, flipping, sorting, and rearranging the assorted vegetables into recondite patterns only she can discern. Every so often, when the leaves of her lettuce are properly aligned, she stabs at a particular section with her fork and brings it to her mouth. Eaten this way, a Caesar salad can last over an hour. It doesn’t take nearly that long for us to run out of small talk. So for a while we sit in silence, watching through the window as the rain comes down in angry torrents. Finally, I look across the table at her and say, “So, ask me a question.”
    She raises her eyebrows, unsure of how to react. It was a game we played back in high school, usually after sex as we lay together basking in the afterglow. We wanted to know each other so thoroughly, and sometimes things didn’t come up in general conversation, so Carly developed the habit of challenging me to ask her revealing questions designed to open up secret compartments in each other. She stares at me for a few more seconds before flashing a forced grin and putting her fork back down. “Okay,” she says. “When are you leaving?”
    “I don’t know, but way to make me feel welcome.”
    “Come on, Joe. Why are you still here?”
    “It’s complicated.”
    “Why don’t you give me the Reader’s Digest version?”
    I think about it for a minute. “My father’s death has unexpectedly fucked me up. It only recently occurred to me that all those years I was hating him for not being there for me, he was grieving for my mother, and really, I should have been there for him. I let him down. I should have been there for Wayne and Sammy too - ”
    “You were,” Carly interrupts me. “You were the only one who was.”
    “Physically, maybe,” I said. “But what good did I do either one of them? I just kept hoping that the whole thing would go away on its own, that Wayne would wake up liking girls again, and most of the time I was too hot for you to care very much one way or the other.”
    “So it’s my fault?”
    “Of course not.” I shake my head. “You were, by far, the greatest thing that ever happened to me, and now, seventeen years later, you still are, and that’s either pathetic or wonderful, depending on how you look at it.” I look away and clear my throat. “Um, how do you look at it?”
    “As sad,” Carly says neutrally, looking out the window. Not quite the reaction I’d been hoping for.
    “Whatever,” I say, feeling somewhat deflated. “I guess it’s that too. But the point is, I feel like I’ve been angry for so long, and maybe I was because there was nothing I could do about it. But now it’s like I’ve been given this chance, to be there for Wayne when he needs me, to help him see this through to the end. To become part of my family again, if