Page 11 of Nobody's Fool

“Lenny,” I say, “can I see you in the hallway for a second?”

The class “ooo”s like this is third grade and I’m sending Lenny to the principal’s office. Lenny actually looks nervous, so I add, “You’re not in any trouble.”

When we are clear of the door, I unlock my mobile phone with my face and hand it to him. “I need a favor.”

Lenny looks down at my phone. “What?”

“Download the GPS app,” I tell him.

When I grabbed Maybe Anna’s coat at the door, I dropped one of Lenny’s trackers into the pocket.

“What’s that?”

“I need the app,” I say.

“Why?”

“I’m on my way to a meet-cute.”

CHAPTER THREE

Maybe Anna is already on the FDR Drive.

That means she is either a world-class sprinter or she drove here. That surprises me. No one drives here. You take the F or M train. There is no nearby parking. Very few taxis pass this way. She could have called an Uber, I guess, but judging by where she is now, the Uber would have arrived in seconds, something again that doesn’t happen often in this part of the Lower East Side.

But maybe.

I, of course, don’t have my car. Garages are too expensive, so I mostly leave the decrepit 2002 Ford Taurus I bought off a sports agent ten years ago in my friend Craig’s driveway in Queens. He charges me fifty bucks a month. You may say, “Some friend,” but if you live around here, you know this is a bargain among bargains. I debate grabbing a taxi and telling the driver vaguely where to go as I watch the tracker, but that would be both suspicious and costly. Lenny’s GPS tracker is in her pocket. It’s working. I can afford a little patience.

I take the M line north into Queens and walk three blocks to Craig’s house. The lights are off. No one home. Craig keeps a car key in his kitchen. I have mine on me at all times. I get in the car, back out onto the road, and check the tracker app. Maybe Anna is stuck in traffic around 125th Street, not far from where the FDR Drive becomes the Harlem River Drive. I don’t know why they change the name ofthe road there. It’s the same road. It just confuses everyone, even locals, but heavy traffic on the FDR/Harlem River is the norm not the exception. The road’s main feature is a lot of nighttime closures for construction. I switch over to a navigation app to figure out how to get to her. Crossing at the RFK Bridge would be the best way to get close if she stays in Manhattan, but odds are, her car will keep heading farther north. With this much traffic, if Maybe Anna wanted to stay in Manhattan, she would have pulled off the FDR and taken local roads.

Still. I have zero idea where she is going, so I have to keep a steady eye on my smartphone screen. As I do, the phone rings. My wife Molly’s beautiful face lights up over my tracker app.

I hesitate, consider ignoring the call, but no, that won’t do. I hit the answer button, slide my thumb to bring the tracker map back up, and try to keep my voice neutral. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey, handsome. How was class?”

“Good,” I say.

I’ve kept a lot of secrets in my life. You do that when you drink too much. That’s not exactly a news flash. I’ve had a past of telling lies too often in relationships, and Molly’s had a past of being on the receiving end of them. When we got married last year, I promised her that was over for both of us, that no matter how bad or how big, there would be no lies or secrets between us. I have kept that promise, though I never told her about Anna or that summer in Spain. That might be a lie of omission, I don’t know. The only person in the world I’ve told the full story about that night is my father. His response was short: “Get the next plane home.”

He and I haven’t talked about it since. Not once.

“Are you on your way home?” Molly asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “I have to follow up on something.”

“Oh?”

I hear something I don’t like in her voice. I want to comfort her, but I am not going to lie. I am going to keep my promise.

“It will be impossible to explain on the phone,” I tell her.

“I see.”

“But it’s okay. I’ll tell you everything when I get home.”

I check the tracker. Maybe Anna is on the Cross Bronx Expressway heading east.

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