Blue Raja: Your boy’s a limey fork-flinger, Mother. What will the bridge club say?
Blue Raja’s Mother: You need more forks?
– MYSTERY MEN
My cell rang the moment the door closed. The caller ID said, Veronica Gale, 27, grad student at the University of Iowa, a bit anal-retentive about anthropology. I didn’t know how Missi did that.
“Hello.” I didn’t really know what to say. Me! The man who always had something pithy to say.
“Why did you leave?”
“You weren’t speaking.” To me that seemed like a demand to get out of her life forever. But maybe that was just me.
“Where are you now?” She sounded a little frantic. Was she worried I had left the state? That would be nice.
I gave her directions and, to my surprise, she hung up on me. Ten minutes later I was not so surprised when she knocked on my door.
“So this is where you live?” She wandered around, opening cupboards and poking into things. “It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
“And you look awful. Like you were crying or got punched in the face.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Well, which was it?” she demanded.
“Crying.” I was man enough to admit that. Or was I? I wasn’t really sure what kind of man I was anymore. And that came as a shock.
Veronica plucked Sartre from my bed and sat down holding her. “Why did you say you’d help me?”
“What?” I missed something.
“Why did you say you would help me find Anderson’s killer if you knew it was you?”
That was a fair question. “You were so passionate about it. I wanted to help you.”
“Did you think you would ever tell me the truth?”
“I have no idea.”
“Really?”
“Really. I had no idea where this would lead. I guess I just thought I’d see where the wind took me.”
Veronica thought about that for a moment. “Kind of like your life, huh?”
I nodded. She was right.
“I like your RV. Is this where we will live?”
I sat down out of shock. “What are you saying?”
She shook her head like I was clueless. “It’s either this or my asbestos-infested apartment. That professor is coming back from Paraguay soon.”
“You…you want to live with me?” I actually stuttered. That had to be a first.
“Yes, Coney Bombay. I want to live with you. I want to make an honest man out of you and be a mother to your guinea pig.”
“Wow. That’s a good offer.” I smiled. “Okay. You can live here.”
Ronnie closed the gap between us, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me in a way that made my hair stand on end.
“Okay. I’ll get my stuff. Just one thing.”
I kissed her again. It felt like home. “And what is that?”
She smiled. “I really hate the nickname Ronnie.”