The Lovely Chocolate Mob by Richard J. Bennett Page A

message.
    “Helen, the restaurant is closing soon. I have to work tomorrow. Can we meet again, later, and can you share more information? Mindy, are you computer savvy?”
    Helen said, “She knows more about computers than I do.”
    Speaking to both, I said, “If you’d like, you can e-mail me your findings. Can you do this on a separate computer, one your father doesn’t have access to? Let me give you my e-mail address.”
    Helen opened up her purse again and handed me a piece of paper. I wrote my e-mail down and slid the paper back across the table to Mindy. I held it to the table before she picked it up, which got her attention as she tugged on it. She looked into my eyes.
    “I’m not asking you to betray your father. He may be an innocent man. I’d like to find out more about this woman, Susan Lovely. This picture really doesn’t tell the whole story. If he is innocent of any affair, we need to find out.” I released my e-mail address and Mindy picked it up, put it into her purse, and snapped it shut. “I understand,” said Mindy.
    “You two contact me first and I’ll write back, if you want. Let’s find out about this ‘other woman.’ What can you tell me about her? Find out all you can, without raising any suspicions, of course.”
    “Of course. Yes,” said Helen. “I know a few things, but not as much as I should. Mindy is good at research, especially on the internet. We’ll find out what we can, and get back in touch with you, hopefully soon.”
    Mindy got up and left without saying a word. I guessed she was emotionally overwrought, but she’s the one who alerted her mother. After a few moments, Helen and I left the booth and walked outside, and I accompanied Helen to her car. It was dark by then, with most of the parking lot empty, and it wasn’t good to let her walk alone, even if the car wasn’t far from the building. Of course this put me in an awkward situation; in the old days, she’d expect me to kiss her goodbye. I held back so as to not crowd her, to not be too close. She got her keys out to open her car door, but before she did, she looked up at me and said, “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Randall.”
    Well, I guess that took 25 years to say. What am I supposed to say in return?
    “There was no ‘if,’ Helen.”
    She took this well. “Then… I’m sorry I hurt you.”
    I stopped for a moment, searching for sincerity in her eyes. Helen didn’t say anything more, but got in her car and drove off, leaving me standing in the parking lot.
    Maybe I revealed too much. Perhaps I let my anger take over.
    I got into my car and drove home, still wondering about Helen’s latter-day acknowledgement of my feelings. The more I thought the angrier I got. “Sorry?” I said out loud. “Sorry? Sorry is good, Helen, sorry is a good start, a good beginning.” I could feel my blood pressure go up and my pulse quicken as I continued, now yelling, “But ‘sorry’ doesn’t FIX things. FIXING things fixes things! If you wanna be SORRY about something, try FIXING it. How? I don’t KNOW how; that’s your problem, not mine!” By now I had changed into a driving Incredible Hulk.
    I found myself yelling as I drove down the street into the neighborhood and into my driveway. I hoped none of the neighbors heard me, since my car windows had been down.

Work Day
    When I woke up, the first words to come out of my mouth were “Oh, no.” I had to go in to work in an hour.
    People sometimes asked me, “Do you like your job?” to which I always replied, “I like getting paid.” This got me some strange looks, but hey, I’m used to that, and have learned to expect it. I’ve learned when I don’t get an unusual stare, something’s wrong, as though I’ve gone against the flow of the crowd; sometimes I’ve enjoyed that, and other times I have been caught by surprise to see that stare from other people.
    My job, as I told Miss Planter, is being a civil engineer at Root and Bonham, a private