The Lemon Thief's Ex-Wife's Third Cousin Page 6

  "My mother made me take it back and apologize," he continued. "It was embarrassing. My friend Ricky was there with me when it happened. He saw the whole thing, beginning to end. He never lets me forget it. I had to promise my mother I'd be a good boy and never do anything like that again. Every time he sees me, Ricky still asks me if I've been a good boy. That's it. That's all there is to it."

  So saying, he finished closing the door, and left me standing alone in the hallway. I thought he was right. It was not an interesting story, but I couldn't help but wonder if my own Hernan had done the same thing at the same age, and what had happened if he had.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I did not want to spend another minute in Misterlittleton. I'd had more than enough of the runarounds and the complications and the perpetual re-beautifications and the re-locations and the cops and the lawyers and the lemonade gang. I'd lost track of my senses and lost track of my life those few days in that crazy town and its people who never seemed to have recovered from the emotional damage done by that super-mega-storm way back when. I went straight back to my hotel and checked out as quickly as I could, then I climbed into my car and ordered the navigational system to figure out how to get me home to sensible rational Wetford in the most direct route possible.

  After a few canceled detours and emergency re-routings, my car and I finally made it to a freeway which promised to deliver me home in approximately six hours of driving. I did not stop along the way, not once, and did not even bother to look around at the scenery. All I wanted was to get back home, park the damn car and leave it in the driveway for the rest of eternity. I kept my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel, even though I had to fight back stupid tears most of the way there, tears of frustration and confusion more than anything else. I am a person who likes things to make sense. I do not enjoy mysteries. I like to make fun of things and laugh. I want everything to be proper and normal and move along nicely from point A to point B with no imaginary points in between. I am not fond of fractions. I do not like partial explanations. I don't mind if someone throws me an occasional curve ball as long I can watch it sail comfortably into a catcher's mitt. I demand happy endings and I was not getting one, not this time.

  I was tired and tense when I finally arrived home, and in a pretty foul mood. I slammed the car door even though the car had only been good to me and didn't deserve such treatment. I stomped up the pavement to the front stairs though the concrete certainly did nothing to merit such stamping. I started up the stairs and then I stopped. Someone was there, on the front porch, standing by the door. I could not tell who it was at first glance in the early dusk. I was only annoyed there was anyone at all, since my plan was to yank open that door, slam it shut behind me, march right upstairs to my bedroom and throw myself onto my bed, possibly slugging the pillow a time or two before collapsing into a perfectly dreamless sleep.

  I must have said something, or made a noise, because the person turned around, and the first thing I noticed was that he was holding something in his hand, something flat and white, and then I looked up and saw his face, his pale and startled and very confused face.

  "I'm very sorry," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing here. It's just that this address is written down, here, on the back of this postcard."

  I took the card from him and briefly glanced at it. Yes, it had my address on the back. Turning it over, I saw on the front a picture of an old house with only a number on it - 477 - and nothing else to indicate where it might be. I had to laugh, which confused my guest even more.

  "It's okay," I said. "Don't you worry about anything. It's all going to make sense in a day or two, I promise."

  "I really don't know," he began to say, but I reached out and gave him a pat on the back.

  "Come inside, Hernan," I said, "and I'll make you a nice cup of peppermint tea."

  THE END