Windmill

CHAPTER ONE Olivia I am still not exactly certain what compelled me to go to Carl's office that Friday morning last November. Looking back, I believe it was instinct or intuition. He was troubled at breakfast that morning, more deeply immersed in thought than usual'even for Carl. We sat with our mugs of coffee, read the newspaper, planned the weekend when we would rake the leaves and sweep away the last of autumn's debris from the gutters.He pushed back his chair, carried his mug to the sink, and, when typically he would grab his overcoat from the rack by the door and call ?See you later? as he walked out, he came over and kissed my cheek. ?See you,? he said, lingering for a moment. ?See you,? I said in a puzzled echo. It wasn't until later, once I knew he was gone, that the inherent finality in his voice resonated within me. Carl was saying good-bye. I arrived early to teach my eleven o'clock class as I often do. Since Daniel and Sophie are away at school, morning chores are far less demanding. Usually, I go to the deli across the street from campus and have a second cup of coffee. I call my sister Nina or my parents from the cell phone but, instead, I went to Carl's office in the science building on the other side of campus. It is an older building, darkened stone and ivy-covered. The door is frosted glass in a dark wood frame; DEPARTMENT OF PHYSICS stenciled in muddy brown. As I tried the knob, Ginny, Carl's secretary, pulled open the door. ?He's not here. Where is he? she asked, almost as though I'd stolen him. She startled me. ?What are you talking about? ?I didn't mean to alarm you, Ms. Hughes. But he's not here. Dr. Larkin. He's not here,? she said breathlessly. ?I don't understand,? I said, truly not getting the impact of what she said even though she kept repeating herself. ?Dr. Larkin didn't show up for work this morning,? she said, enunciating each syllable as though we didn't speak the same language. ?I thought maybe you'd know why.' I have mastered the art of transporting myself to another place in time when I feel cornered. Nina says it is the essence of protective animal instinct. And so I thought of garbage soup. I stood with my lips parted slightly and stared at Ginny, my mind back in the kitchen with my mother when Nina and I were girls. She was making a stew and Nina and I were dumping all the scrapings'potato peel, brown celery tips, the fat she'd trimmed off meat, chips of bone and gristle'into a giant pot of water. It was something you'd never want to look at, let alone taste. I suppose that Carl's absence was just like that crazy concoction. Thoughts raced through my mind the way they do in a dream. Rapid, all jumbled together, and barely discernible. Part of me wondered if I had willed this to happen. Certainly there had been times when I wished Carl would just go away. No harm, no drama, no major scenes. I can't imagine there isn't a wife on Earth who hasn't felt that way at one time or another. Or a husband, for that matter. But Carl was far too practical to simply disappear, let alone deviate from his routine. That he was not where he was supposed to be was unsettling. It was the antithesis of Carl. My grandmother always said, ?Be careful what you wish for.' Poor Ginny. She'd been there for nearly a year and had the patience of a saint, unlike the string of temps who preceded her. There she was, her stringy brown hair tied back with a limp chiffon kerchief, her navy skirt dotted with lint, her eyes wide and clearly panic-stricken beneath thick-lensed glasses. She was probably in her mid-forties although she could have just as easily been sixty. ?Ms. Hughes? I'm looking to see if I missed something,? Ginny said, scanning Carl's appointment book, running her index finger up and down the columns, flipping pages back and forth, as though she might find the Perfectly Reasonable ExplanatioGertler, Stephanie is the author of 'Windmill', published 2004 under ISBN 9780525948001 and ISBN 0525948007.