agonize over, so I ask Edna to have a messenger bring copies of the documents to my
house.
“So I have to copy them?” she asks. I can feel her cringing through the phone. It’s standard procedure for her to have copied
them when they arrived, but Edna evidently is trying a new approach.
“Not by hand,” I say. “You can use the copying machine.”
She reluctantly agrees to perform this heroic task, and I head home. When I get there, Laurie is cooking dinner, Tara is lying
on the living room couch, and Waggy is jumping on her head. Laurie tells me that this particular head-jumping exercise has
been going on for about an hour and a half, and if anything it has gained in intensity.
“It’s amazing how much patience Tara has with him,” I say.
Laurie smiles. “Saint Tara of Paterson.”
“Waggy,” I say, “give it a rest.”
“He’s just excited that they were talking about him on television today.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It was on the news. They were talking about the Timmerman case, and they mentioned that you had custody of him. His father
was apparently a legend in the dog show world.”
I’m surprised and a little annoyed that the word has gotten out; I hope people don’t start coming around trying to get a look
at him. I glance over at Waggy, who has jumped off Tara and is now smacking a tennis ball with his paw and then chasing it
around the room. “I’m not so sure he’d be proud of his son.”
We have dinner and then settle down to drink wine and watch a movie. It’s nights like these that give me a weird, certainly
unwarranted feeling of continuity. As soon as Laurie arrives it’s as if she never left, and my remembering that she’ll soon
be leaving again is both surprising and jarring.
The movie we watch is called
Peggy Sue Got Married,
a Francis Ford Coppola film made in the 1980s about Kathleen Turner magically going back to high school and reliving those
difficult years, with the benefit of knowing what life has in store for her.
It’s something I occasionally think about. What would I do if I could start over, knowing everything that has happened since?
I don’t really know, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t involve law school. And I’d make a fortune betting on sporting events
of which I already know the outcome.
When it’s over I ask Laurie what she would do differently now that she knows how things have worked out. My hope is that maybe
she’ll say she wouldn’t have moved to Wisconsin.
“Nothing,” she says. “Because I don’t want to know how things will work out. That’s not what the real world is about.”
“I understand that. I’m just presenting a fake-world hypothetical. What if you could go back, knowing what was going to happen
in your life? How would you change it? What would you do differently?”
“I’d eat less chocolate.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” I say.
She nods. “Correct. Because if I knew what was going to happen in my life, it wouldn’t be living. I take each day as it comes.”
I shake my head in frustration, though I’m not sure why I keep pushing this. “Of course you take each day as it comes. Everybody
does; there’s no choice. What I’m trying to do is get you to imagine knowing about the days before they come.”
“Andy, would you like to know what is going to happen before it does?”
“Of course.”
“And it would change your behavior?” she asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, let’s try it. If you keep talking about this, we’re not going to make love tonight, and I’m going to sleep in the guest
bedroom.”
“Can we drop this whole thing?” I ask. “I mean, it’s just a stupid movie.”
“Maybe it works after all,” she says.
I SET AN EARLY MEETING with Sam Willis to bring him on board.
Sam has been my accountant for as long as I can remember, and has an office down the hall. In the last couple of years he
has also taken on assignments
house.
“So I have to copy them?” she asks. I can feel her cringing through the phone. It’s standard procedure for her to have copied
them when they arrived, but Edna evidently is trying a new approach.
“Not by hand,” I say. “You can use the copying machine.”
She reluctantly agrees to perform this heroic task, and I head home. When I get there, Laurie is cooking dinner, Tara is lying
on the living room couch, and Waggy is jumping on her head. Laurie tells me that this particular head-jumping exercise has
been going on for about an hour and a half, and if anything it has gained in intensity.
“It’s amazing how much patience Tara has with him,” I say.
Laurie smiles. “Saint Tara of Paterson.”
“Waggy,” I say, “give it a rest.”
“He’s just excited that they were talking about him on television today.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It was on the news. They were talking about the Timmerman case, and they mentioned that you had custody of him. His father
was apparently a legend in the dog show world.”
I’m surprised and a little annoyed that the word has gotten out; I hope people don’t start coming around trying to get a look
at him. I glance over at Waggy, who has jumped off Tara and is now smacking a tennis ball with his paw and then chasing it
around the room. “I’m not so sure he’d be proud of his son.”
We have dinner and then settle down to drink wine and watch a movie. It’s nights like these that give me a weird, certainly
unwarranted feeling of continuity. As soon as Laurie arrives it’s as if she never left, and my remembering that she’ll soon
be leaving again is both surprising and jarring.
The movie we watch is called
Peggy Sue Got Married,
a Francis Ford Coppola film made in the 1980s about Kathleen Turner magically going back to high school and reliving those
difficult years, with the benefit of knowing what life has in store for her.
It’s something I occasionally think about. What would I do if I could start over, knowing everything that has happened since?
I don’t really know, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t involve law school. And I’d make a fortune betting on sporting events
of which I already know the outcome.
When it’s over I ask Laurie what she would do differently now that she knows how things have worked out. My hope is that maybe
she’ll say she wouldn’t have moved to Wisconsin.
“Nothing,” she says. “Because I don’t want to know how things will work out. That’s not what the real world is about.”
“I understand that. I’m just presenting a fake-world hypothetical. What if you could go back, knowing what was going to happen
in your life? How would you change it? What would you do differently?”
“I’d eat less chocolate.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” I say.
She nods. “Correct. Because if I knew what was going to happen in my life, it wouldn’t be living. I take each day as it comes.”
I shake my head in frustration, though I’m not sure why I keep pushing this. “Of course you take each day as it comes. Everybody
does; there’s no choice. What I’m trying to do is get you to imagine knowing about the days before they come.”
“Andy, would you like to know what is going to happen before it does?”
“Of course.”
“And it would change your behavior?” she asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, let’s try it. If you keep talking about this, we’re not going to make love tonight, and I’m going to sleep in the guest
bedroom.”
“Can we drop this whole thing?” I ask. “I mean, it’s just a stupid movie.”
“Maybe it works after all,” she says.
I SET AN EARLY MEETING with Sam Willis to bring him on board.
Sam has been my accountant for as long as I can remember, and has an office down the hall. In the last couple of years he
has also taken on assignments
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