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Chapter 23
Wednesday evening was another Group meeting at Timothy’s house. One of the women had a friend named Amber visiting from San Francisco. Amber was going to give a slideshow presentation and had shown up early to set up.
“I’m thinking of projecting against that wall over there,” Amber said, pointing to the only wall that didn’t have a tall bookcase or a window.
“That would work,” Cathryn said.
“Can we perhaps...move the television?” Amber suggested.
“Sure,” Cathryn said. “Timothy!”
Timothy was in the kitchen watching his TV dinner cook through the window in the oven door. The egg timer still had five minutes on it, which left him enough time to disconnect the Cablevision wire so he and Cathryn could wheel the set into the dining room.
Amber then asked Timothy if he felt like helping her set up the slide projector, which he actually did. Getting to run the projector at school was considered an honor, and anything roughly equivalent seemed a.o.k. to Timothy.
Leaving his piping hot TV dinner to cool on a flower-shaped trivet in the kitchen, Timothy returned to the living room and got to work.
Step one: Remove useless Victorian vase from end table. Hide vase in basement and hope Mom and Cathryn forget about it and leave it there permanently.
Step two: Pile glossy coffee table art books onto end table in place of useless Victorian vase. Continue adding books until improvised pedestal appears appropriate height for slideshow projection.
Step three: Borrow extension cord from stereo system for slideshow projector because Amber forgot to bring one.
Step four: Plug in slideshow projector, insert circular slide tray, turn on projector, adjust manual focusing knob.
Step five: Play with remote control for several minutes until Amber says Thank you Timothy, and asks you to stop.
Timothy returned to his TV dinner, which had gotten cold, but he ate it anyway, particularly the baked brownie in the middle which was obviously the best part.
The rest of the women began arriving at the usual time.
“Hi Timothy,” Cara said, waving across the room.
“Hi,” he waved back.
Many of the other women now made a point of saying hello to him by name as well, including Sarah, the female cop with the lethal fighting capabilities, and Anne, who had once upon a time been unfriendly to him.
As the women were half finished with the hugs and started to find their seating pillows, Timothy’s mom made a general announcement.
“So, as most of you know, we have a special guest tonight, Amber from San Francisco...”
Some light applause.
“Amber’s going to be sharing a slideshow presentation with us put together by the Alice B. Toklas Society, it’s about getting involved politically, helping women in the community, and empowerment in general...did I get that right Amber?”
“That’s about right,” said Amber, standing up from her pillow and transitioning into her public speaking mode.
Giving Amber the floor, Timothy’s mom inched her way over to Timothy, who was still standing at the edge of the room.
“You heading upstairs?” she asked him.
“Actually, I think I’ll just go outside and sit on the front porch,” he said.
It was a beautiful spring evening, seemed a waste to sit upstairs in his room.
“That’s fine,” she said, “by the time the slide show starts, just decide whether you want to be inside or out, okay?” his mom said.
“Yeah, sure,” Timothy said, and went out front.
At first, he let himself sink into the old sofa next to Oscar who was already sleeping there. Oscar barely opened his eyes when Timothy stroked his head, he had his own way of making it through Group nights.
Timothy decided a different vantage point might be better to watch the world go by, so he got up and repositioned himself on the front steps.
Mrs. O’Connor was out in front of her house across the street, watering her lawn.
“Hi Timothy,” she called over to him.
“Hi Mrs. O’Connor,” Timothy called back, “have you heard from Mr. O’Connor?”
“I was just talking to him last night,” she said. “He’s on a layover in Nevada. Should be back home in about two weeks.”
“Tell him I was asking for him.”
“Will do, thanks Timothy.”
Mrs. O’Connor turned off the spigot and headed inside.
Timothy turned around to check the front window of his house just in time to see the lights going out for the slideshow. Looked like he’d be sitting out here for a while.
The leaves in the trees seemed a darker shade of green than just yesterday, they were definitely inching toward summer. Perfect weather, really.
Looking up the street, he noticed a familiar figure. It was Lynda, walking down the middle of the road, which was typical for Kingstonians, the bluestone sidewalks being the tripping hazard they were.
Usually, Lynda walked facing straight ahead, not looking at anyone. But tonight he could see that she was holding her head down with one hand over her face. Timothy didn’t know what to make of this at first. Then he realized she was crying.
Timothy thought hard about this. Lynda would be out of earshot in less than 30 seconds, and gone in little more than a minute. It would be so easy to just let her keep walking and not deal with this.
But it occurred to him, while he remained sitting here, she would still be off crying in her little apartment. Alone. Or worse.
Before he could deliberate further on the subject, he propelled himself off the front steps and into action.
“Lynda?” he asked, approaching her.
Lynda just kept crying softly, changing course just enough to get around him.
“Lynda, are you okay?”
“Just leave me alone,” she said, moving her hand from her face just enough so Timothy could see she had a fresh black eye.
He almost let her keep walking, it would have been so much easier. But when he looked back at his house, he knew there was a roomful of women in there watching a slideshow about helping women in the community.
He knew what he had to do.
“Lynda,” he called, running after her, trying to get her to stop yet again. “Lynda, come with me, I can help you.”
“No one can help me,” she sobbed.
“I know who can,” Timothy said and reached out his hand. “Please...”
Lynda stopped. She looked down at Timothy’s outstretched hand.
There seemed to be something so defeated about her that any kind of hope was out of the question.
But maybe it was this same sense of nothing left to lose that allowed her, slowly, to extend the hand that wasn’t concealing her face and place it inside Timothy’s.
“Come with me,” he said, “it will be alright.”
Timothy led Lynda up onto his porch and straight inside his house.
“Timothy,” his mom said in a stage whisper, “I told you not until after the slideshow...”
But Timothy cleared his throat and made an announcement.
“Everybody, this is Lynda,” he said. “She needs your help.”
Someone turned the living room light on and suddenly everyone saw Lynda standing there, crying, with a black eye.
“Oh my God...” someone said.
Instantly, the roomful of women rose to their feet and seemed to envelop her in a collective embrace. At that moment, Lynda allowed herself to weep openly in a way she’d not done once in her entire adult life.
As Timothy slipped alone back out onto the front porch, even though the sounds of Lynda wailing were painful to hear, he knew she was in the right place.
He sat back down on the sofa next to Oscar, listening to a distant siren, and the sounds of his own breathing.
Inside the house, water was being offered, icy compresses were being applied, phone calls were being made. The slideshow was obviously over.
The meeting broke up earlier than planned. As Timothy’s mom escorted Lynda, wrapped in an old raincoat, out to their car, Cathryn stopped briefly by the sofa.
“Timothy, we’re taking Lynda to the women’s shelter, she’ll be safe there,” she said. “You wait here, don’t go anywhere, okay?”
The other women were filtering past on their way to their own cars, but Cara stopped on the porch.
“I can stay with Timothy,” she offered.
“That’s okay, Cara, Timothy’ll be alright,” Cathryn said.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Cara said, “I wasn’t planning on being home this early anyway...”
“Well, okay...thanks Cara, much appreciated...”
One by one, the cars all pulled away, including their own beater car with Lynda on board, being whisked to safety at an undisclosed location.
“You hungry?” Cara asked.
“A little.”
“C’mon, let’s get a snack.”
Cara and Timothy went back inside long enough to load up two paper plates with assorted chips and cookies. They returned out to the porch and plopped down on the sofa, somewhat close to each other because Oscar refused to budge.
Cara waited until she’d finished crunching on a handful of corn chips, then turned to Timothy.
“You did the right thing,” she told him.
Timothy didn’t say anything, but he nodded his head as he ate another Mallomar.
Cara set down her snack plate and lit up a cigarette. The sound of the match striking made Timothy look over to her.
He watched carefully as she inhaled. He’d watched several people smoking recently. But this time he wasn’t watching the cigarette. He was watching her lips.
“Can I have one?” he asked.
“What?”
Maybe he should make like she’d misheard him. But this felt like another moment to say Yes and double it.
“Can I have a cigarette?” he said, clearly.
Cara laughed at the sheer audacity.
“Your mom would kill me if I gave you a cigarette,” she said, still laughing.
Timothy thought about asking her simply to fib, but came up with another idea.
“Can I have a puff of yours?” he asked.
Cara continued looking at him like this was a terrible idea. But the night had taken a wild turn, and Timothy had shown remarkable maturity by doing what he’d done.
Almost impetuously, she handed him the cigarette.
Timothy took it awkwardly at first, examining the filter, already slightly brown from tobacco smoke being sucked through it, slightly compacted where it had been lightly clutched between Cara’s lips.
He then placed the cigarette with an almost practiced hand into his own lips. He inhaled slowly this time, taking in only as much smoke as he could handle without coughing. He tilted his head back, exhaled with somewhat exaggerated satisfaction, and handed the cigarette back to Cara, who’d been marveling at the whole display.
“Did that satisfy your curiosity?” she asked.
“Yes,” Timothy answered, but this was only partially true, because he was still curious, although about things other than Cara’s cigarette.
He continued to watch as she resumed smoking.
“Do you have...a partner?” he finally found the courage to ask her.
She smiled, happy to see Timothy seemed to be exploring territory he’d refused to consider the first night she’d visited him in his room.
“No,” she said, “I don’t have a partner.”
“Then why do you come to Group?” he asked.
“Group is...not just for people with partners,” she said.
“Then what’s it for?”
How to put this?
“Group is also for people with...questions,” she said. “People who are processing stuff.”
Timothy wasn’t exactly sure what this meant, but it seemed like whatever question he was trying to formulate had still not been answered.
“Do you want...a partner?” he asked.
Cara made sure not to laugh, because for the life of her, she couldn’t tell if he were trying to figure out his home situation, or presenting himself as an option. His curiosity was charming, at any rate.
“Someday...” she said.
Her cigarette was almost finished. When she offered him another drag, he took a baby puff before handing it back to her. She took one last small puff herself.
The ashtray was on the floor and she’d been tapping the ashes off casually, but she needed to lean over in order to snuff it out properly. As she did so, her head came close to Timothy. Timothy surprised even himself by using the opportunity to lean in quickly and give a quick, clumsy kiss on her forehead.
Cara was clearly surprised, but made sure to keep her response light, and did not appear to take offense.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s clean this place up so your mom and Cathryn won’t have to do it when they get home.”
She rose from the sofa and held the screen door open until Timothy followed her.
Oscar decided to come inside, too.
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I can’t call him ‘Timmy’ any longer; he’s earned his ‘Timothy’!
Timothy has earned that drag. This chapter moved me in a different way than the others. Lovely stuff.