Missed Call

Don’t think you can judge a person based on a name. Like my ex-husband. His name is Oak. I’m not kidding you. His parents were hippies back in the day. Now they’re porch sitters who shout out weird proverbs at the mailman, but they named their kids for the places they were conceived. So my ex-husband is Oak Florida Lee, because his folks got it on at some campground in North Florida. His sister’s name is Garden. I just can’t imagine. Okay, I can. Because getting down and dirty is what’s got me into this mess.

Anyhow, Oak. You’d think someone with that name would be sturdy, dependable. But no. Oak’s a fool. More fernish or lilylike. Poetic. Which is why I loved him once. For three years. Still do, I guess, though I can’t really let that on to anyone, and not to my boyfriend Johnny, who actually is as sensible as his name.

Sensible. Not me. I’m Angela. But no angel. Might as well call me Lucinda. Lucifer. Devil woman. Then again, some might say I’m just human. But at least I’m confessing. Maybe this doesn’t count—this note I’m writing on the back of a receipt from Home Depot. I don’t plan to show the note to anyone, but it’s better than keeping it all bottled up inside. That’ll make you crazy, which is what happened to my friend Ginger, whose name really does fit her. She’s a redhead. Ginger held this secret for six years about a child she gave up for adoption and the secret ate at her until she had lost twenty pounds and two jobs and realized she needed help. She confessed to me one night at Rusty’s Pub. Honestly, I don’t know what I said. I was worn down on Wild Turkey. But whatever I said made Ginger feel a whole lot better and now she’s fat as a rain-swollen barn but she smiles and works full-time at Gem’s Bakery.

So Oak isn’t sturdy and I’m no Angel. But we did manage to find each other again, just two days ago, and we did manage to give each other the right amount of attention so that I did remember what I liked about him. And when he said he had ended it with Catherine, no saint for sure, well, we took it upon ourselves to get a room at the Low Tide Inn, right near the gulf. Rekindled our old love. Devil really did get a hold of me, I swear. Believing that man. A man who lied to begin with which is why our marriage ended.

His cell phone rang right in the middle of things and he said, “Ignore that,” and I did because Oak’s a good lover. But later while he was showering, I looked and it said “missed call” and a phone number, which I know was Oak’s home phone. Which means Catherine had called. Which means Oak had lied.

Which means I was a fool. I’ve lost two pounds in two days but not my job. I’d go confess to anyone at Rusty’s Pub, but it’s closed. It’s only 9 a.m. and Johnny’s singing in the shower in his bluesy voice. I think it’s “Come On In My Kitchen” but I can’t tell. The phone’s rang twice already this morning. I just pick up and hang up. I know who’s on the other end, and I’m not ready for that right now.