The number 4 blinked at Dan from the answering machine as he walked into his apartment. He increased the speaker volume, punched play, then went into the kitchen for a Coke.
Beep!
"Dan, this is Darlene. I've been calling our sponsors. A lot of them are holding back on a commitment, but I've got some names for the ones who want to participate in the Makeover. Bernie says this is your baby and your vision, so you'll have to talk to them on your day off. He wants you to handle it personally. Sorry. Bye."
My day off, Dan thought. Well, it was my idea.
Beep!
"Hello, machine. I have a son who winds your tape on occasion. Please tell him I love him and would appreciate hearing from him before summer's end. Thank you, Mr. Machine."
Dan grinned. "All right, Mom," he told the empty room, "I'll drop by this afternoon."
Beep!
"Hi baby! It's Janna. I heard your show, and your Great Devil Makeover idea sounds wonderful! In fact, I'd like to volunteer my expertise. I can teach him how to walk and speak and use proper etiquette and be charming at boring functions and wear a suit and tie a tie . . ." She laughed. "And I won't even charge him for all this valuable wisdom. I'd love to see you, and I'm available this evening, so if you want to bring your devil by for his first lesson, give me a call and confirm. Thinking of you! Bye!"
Beep!
"Dan, it's Meg. Listen, I think you're onto something here. I have an idea about this makeover thing of yours that I'd like to bounce off you. Call me. Bye."
Dan leaned against the wall, thoughtful. He liked both women a lot. Meg seemed a little more real, but Janna reminded him so much of Francie sometimes that it made his breath catch in the back of his throat. Both of them hinted from time to time that they would like to spend more time with him. They didn't know about each other, and he doubted either would be thrilled to discover he was dating the other. Not that any commitments had been asked for or given. Still, he probably ought to choose one and break off with the other.
Easy to say. But which one?
Dan turned on the stereo and settled on the couch. He stared at the ceiling.
What should he do? Was there a right thing? Did he need to do anything? After all, it wasn't as though any of them had made any demands. And if he broke up with either, it would mean he was ready to get more serious about the other. He wasn't.
He wondered briefly if either woman was seeing anyone else. He didn't think so. Janna teased him about her "stable." She didn't sound serious, so she was probably just kidding. But maybe not . . .
And Meg made the sign of the cross at issues of Modern Bride and said she carried a silver bullet to ward off bridesmaids. But was she really so anti-marriage? Or was she just testing his reactions?
He took a swallow of Coke.
Neither one of them was Francie.
He looked at the Coke, wishing for just an instant that it was something harder . . . but he didn't do that anymore. He'd giving up trying to drown his sorrows. He'd discovered his sorrows swam a hell of a lot better than he did. This time he managed to keep himself from digging out the old photo albums, though, or pulling out the wedding picture that until he'd moved back to North Carolina had sat atop his desk. He was, he thought, getting stronger.
Cancer had not been kind to Francie, and he had a hard time remembering her as the girl he loved in high school, the young woman who married him when he had nothing in the world to offer her, the friend who played roller hockey in the driveway with him and didn't mind getting hit by the ball. All of that got lost in the memories of that last year, with Francie pale and bald from radiation, thin and frail and waif-eyed and bruised from the chemo and the IVs. In the end, little of Francie remained. Pain ate the laughter and devoured the joy and left her crumpled in the hospital bed, broken and defeated. He loved her—he offered God anything to take the cancer away from her, to let her be herself again—but in the end, Dan had been helpless to do anything but watch as she slipped away.
He sipped the Coke.
Francie had been his gift from Heaven. He'd had her. He'd loved her. He'd lost her. He'd learned that every love had a beginning and an ending, and the more love there was in the beginning, the more the ending hurt.
So he had devised a simple expedient for preventing any more of that anguish. He wouldn't fall in love ever again.