Red Leaves

‘You know, I don’t know if I agree with that,’ said Spencer. ‘Society didn’t give man free will. God did. Society just reins in the excesses of free will in those who can’t rein it in themselves.’

‘You may be right,’ said Kristina. ‘But Nietzsche doesn’t believe in God.’

‘Well, I,’ said Spencer quietly, ‘don’t believe in Nietzsche.’

Kristina was looking at him with an expression of great amusement.

‘What?’ he asked her.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Where are you from, Spencer?’

‘Born and bred on Long Island,’ Spencer said.

‘Oh, yeah? My best friend is from Cold Spring Harbor.’

‘Cold Spring Harbor? I’ve read about that place in books. I don’t think mere mortals like me are allowed there.’

‘Don’t be silly. Where are you from?’

‘Farmingville.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘No one has. Anyway, I’m from there’

‘So what brings you here, Spencer?’

‘I don’t know. Got tired of chasing after speeders on the Long Island Expressway. So I got into my car and drove north.’

‘And stopped in Hanover?’

‘And stopped in Hanover.

I liked Dartmouth Hall. I spent my first night here in the completely unaffordable Hanover Inn, and heard the clock tower out of my window playing songs. My first day they played a slow version of “Seasons in the Sun."’

Kristina laughed. ‘You stayed in Hanover because the Baker tower played “Seasons in the Sun"?’

‘I stayed in Hanover so I could give all you posh Dartmouth girls and boys parking tickets.’ Spencer said it seriously, but he was kidding, and Kristina laughed again. Spencer liked that Kristina could tell when he was kidding.

‘Now I live in Hanover so that I can feel like I’m going to Dartmouth without actually spending twenty-five thousand a year on my education.’

‘Without actually getting an education either.’

‘Touché,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Good. You think I don’t get an education watching all you people?’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘You like your job then?’

Spencer nodded. ‘Very much.’

‘What don’t you like about it?’

‘The worst part is every time there’s a big case, they bring on the gang from Concord -’ He saw her quizzical expression and explained. ‘The assistant district attorneys, their own investigators, and sometimes even the state police guys from Haverhill. It really pisses me off. Like I can’t do my job or something. I tell them, I can issue parking tickets with the best of them, give me a chance.’

Kristina laughed. ‘What was your biggest case?’

‘That Ethiopian premed student hacking his girlfriend and her roommate with an ax.’

Kristina widened her eyes. ‘Oh, that was horrible.’

‘Yes, it was. I was the first officer on the scene.’

Kristina made a disgusted face. ‘You found the bodies?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yuck. Was it awful?’

‘As awful as you can imagine.’

‘I can’t even imagine.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’ve never even seen a dead body.’

‘Really? Never?’ Spencer found that hard to believe. He’d been going to funerals of his parents’ relatives since he was two.

‘Never.’ She cleared her throat. ‘My grandmother - she died just a few months ago, but I didn’t go to the funeral.’

‘Why not?’

Shrugging, Kristina said, ‘I wasn’t invited.’

‘You weren’t invited to your grandmother’s funeral?’ It was Spencer’s turn to widen his eyes. ‘What kind of family do you have?’

‘Not a very close one,’ she admitted, changing the subject. ‘The Ethiopian, do you think that was power and intimidation?’

‘That’s all it was,’ said Spencer. ‘The girl didn’t want to marry him, and he wanted to let her know how he felt about it.’

‘I see. What’s happened to the guy now?’

‘He’s behind bars for life.’

‘Ahh. Just punishment.’

‘Just? I don’t know. He killed two people in cold blood. Maybe he should have died himself.’

‘Do you think he should have, Spencer?’

‘For premeditated murder? Yes.’

They were done drinking their hot cocoa and eating, but Spencer definitely did not want to get up and go.

Kristina asked him if he was the boss at work.

‘I wish. No, there’s the chief above me. Ken Gallagher.’

‘Irish, like you.’

He nodded.

She seemed thoughtful. ‘I didn’t know policemen made enough money to live in Hanover.’

‘I know - you kids drove the price of this town way up. Three-bedroom houses start at two hundred and sixty thousand. Two-bedroom apartments rent for nine hundred.’

‘You must be making good money.’

‘Nah - I gave up smoking.’

‘What, so you could afford a place in Hanover?’

‘That’s right.’

Smiling, Kristina said, ‘Didn’t give up taking girls out for coffee, though.’

‘Did.’ He paused. ‘But I just fell off the wagon.’

‘I see.’

‘What kind of a name is Kim?’ Spencer asked her.

‘An unusual one?’ she offered. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so he left it.

‘Go back much to visit your family?’

‘Not much,’ said Spencer. ‘You?’

‘Not much,’ said Kristina.

‘Your folks, they must be pretty proud of you, going to Dartmouth and all. Me, I just went to a state university for a year and then joined the force.’

‘Do you miss home at all?’

Spencer nodded. ‘I miss my brothers and sisters.’

‘Oh yeah?’ She smiled. ‘How many have you got?’

‘More than you’ve had dinners,’ replied Spencer, repeating

Kristina’s own expression. ‘Eight. Five brothers, three sisters.’

‘My God, I’ve never in my life met anyone with that many siblings. I barely read about that many siblings.’

‘Yeah, we had a big family.’

‘Are you guys Catholic or something?’

‘No, no, Protestant,’ said Spencer. ‘Of course we’re Catholic. With a last name like O’Malley?’

Kristina sat back. ‘Gosh, how did your mother do it?’

‘I don’t know. I think she was done by her fifth kid. I was pretty much looked after by my sisters.’

‘Still, though - nine kids.’

‘Eleven,’ Spencer corrected her. ‘Twin boys died of pneumonia when they were babies.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Yeah.’

They were silent for a while.

‘Eleven names your mom had to think of,’ Kristina said thoughtfully. ‘I had difficulty thinking of one.’

Spencer studied her face before he asked, ‘Did you have… reason to think of one?’

‘No, no,’ she said quickly. ‘But you know, people - boyfriends, girlfriends talk. I thought of Orlando. Or Oscar.’

‘These are not budgies, Kristina, these are babies. Oscar? Orlando?’

‘See what I mean?’

‘Don’t feel bad,’ Spencer said. ‘When I was born, my mother forgot she’d already named one of her sons Patrick O’Malley, so she named me Patrick O’Malley.’

Kristina laughed.

‘I didn’t think it was so funny. Finally one of the kids told her. Not my brother Patrick, mind you. So she renamed me Spencer. Spencer Patrick O’Malley.’

‘After the actor?’

‘Yeah, Mom really loved Spencer Tracy.’ He paused. ‘I would’ve preferred Patrick.’

Kristina, licking the tips of her fingers, stared at Spencer.

‘I like Spencer.’

Tilting his head, Spencer said softly, ‘Well, thank you.’

‘What’s your mom doing now?’

‘Being a grandma. Eight of the nine children are married.’

‘They have lots of kids?’

‘You could say that. Twenty-one already. You know, be fruitful and multiply.’

‘God almighty. You really took to heart the multiply part.

Are you…’ She paused. ‘… one of the married ones?’

Why had Spencer steered the conversation this way? But once steered, he wasn’t going to be rude to this beautiful, curious, fresh-faced girl with black pools for eyes.

‘I was one of the married ones,’ he said slowly and quietly.

‘Ahhh,’ she said with an understanding look. ‘Didn’t work out, huh?’

‘You could say that. She died in a car accident.’

Kristina put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

He waved her off. ‘It’s okay. It was tough at first. I’m learning to live with it now, you know. It’s been a few years.’

‘How many?’

‘Five.’

‘Is that why you left Long Island?’

‘Kind of,’ he replied.

They sat. The waitress had brought the check, but they still sat there. Kristina made no move to go.

‘So what was her name, your wife’s?’ asked Kristina.

‘Andrea. Andie.’

‘That’s a nice name. Was she pretty?’

Pausing for a few moments, Spencer reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out his wallet.

‘Aren’t you guys required to carry a weapon?’ Kristina asked, trying to look behind him.

‘Not off duty,’ Spencer said, showing her a picture of his Andie. ‘Here.’

Kristina stared at the picture. ‘She looks so young,’ she said. ‘She looks kind of like… me.’

‘Really?’ said Spencer. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ Was that just a coincidence that his Andie looked a little like this girl? Yes. Yes it was.

While Spencer was paying, Samantha, the owner of EBA, came over to Kristina, patted her on the head, and said, ‘Great game last week, Krissyface. How many points?’

‘Forty-seven,’ said Kristina. ‘Fifteen rebounds.’

‘It’s almost not fair, is it? Those poor girls at Cornell, they just never win.’

Smiling and getting up, Kristina said, ‘They’ll never win. As long as there is breath in my body.’

‘Atta girl!’ exclaimed Samantha.

On the way out, Spencer whispered to Kristina, ‘I gotta come and see you play.’

‘Please do. We’re playing -’ She stopped. ‘A week after Thanksgiving. Friday and Saturday. Come then.’

Sticking out her hand, Kristina said, ‘It was real nice to meet you, Spencer. Thanks for the muffin.’

Spencer shook her hand gently. ‘Anytime, Kristina.’

She looked at the clock outside Stinson’s. It read 3:45. Shaking her head, Kristina said, ‘Want you to know, I blew off basketball practice for you.’

‘Hmmm,’ Spencer said. ‘Was I worth it?’

She smiled, waving to him as she hurried away.

After she turned the corner, Spencer stayed put for a minute, and then walked and turned the corner himself, wanting to catch another glimpse of her.

Kristina’s heart was beating so fast she wanted to skip to its pounding along Main Street. Blew off basketball practice looking into the blue-eyed, full-lipped face of a man with no hair who looked at her in a way she hadn’t been looked at for a long time. Spencer Patrick O’Malley. ‘Spencer Patrick O’Malley,’ Kristina whispered his name to herself, and began running to Tuck Mall, her backpack in her hands.

When Kristina got back to Hinman Hall, where she lived, her room was unlocked and empty. Aristotle wasn’t there, nor was Jim. She dropped the backpack on the floor and picked up a hairbrush. But her hands were numb from the cold; they wouldn’t obey her. Kristina felt bad she had been such a mess for Spencer.

Some first impression. Spencer himself hadn’t shaved, true, but he was just so cute it didn’t matter.

Sitting down on the bed, Kristina waited for a few minutes. Her hands were tingling, and she put them between her knees to keep them warm. She knew she wouldn’t wait long.

There was a knock on the door. Albert peeked in.

‘There you are,’ he said, opening the door further and letting in the dog. Aristotle bounded in, jumped on the bed, and then on Kristina. She petted him without taking her eyes off Albert.

‘I walked him.’

‘Thanks. Where’s Conni?’

‘She is incommunicado this afternoon. Don’t tell me she’s baking me a cake?’

‘I won’t tell you,’ Kristina said absently. She was still thinking of Spencer.

Albert continued to stand in the doorway. She wanted to ask him to come in and close the door, but Jim was going to be coming by any minute.

‘Going with Conni to Long Island for the holiday?’ Kristina asked Albert.

‘Yup. Same as last year. Want to come with us? Or are you going with Jim?’

‘Oh, yeah, sure…’ Kristina trailed off.

He took a step toward her. ‘So come with us,’ he said.

Sitting on the bed, Kristina shook her head, never taking her eyes off him. Albert had wanted to be a gymnast when he was younger but had grown too fast, gotten at once too broad and too angular. Now he wanted to be a Zen Buddhist. His long, dark hair was slicked back in a ponytail. He had a small gold loop ring in the left ear.

‘Listen,’ Kristina said. ‘I gotta tell you some -’

‘How did it go?’ Albert interrupted her.

For a moment, Kristina didn’t know what he was referring to.

‘Howard,’ he said impatiently. ‘How did it go with Howard?’

‘Good.’ Kristina paused. ‘Everything’s done.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing,’ she said, rubbing her hands together to warm them up.

Albert came closer to her. ‘Was he okay with it?’

‘Yeah, he was okay with it,’ Kristina replied. ‘He did ask me if the divorce was my idea.’

Albert laughed loudly. Kristina for once thought his laugh sounded gaudy. ‘Did you tell him the truth?’ he asked.

‘The truth?’ said Kristina. ‘Exactly what is that?’

‘A conformity to fact or actuality,’ replied Albert.

‘Ahh, of course,’ said Kristina. ‘Well, I told him it was my idea. Is that a conformity to fact?’

‘It’s good enough, Rocky,’ Albert said, smiling and coming closer to the bed. ‘It’s good enough.’

Kristina loved it when he called her by the old familiar nickname, but she put out her arms to stop him from coming too close. She didn’t want to stop him, but it was broad daylight.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I have an idea for Thanksgiving. What would you think of -’

He stopped abruptly. Jim Shaw was standing in the doorway.

‘Jimbo,’ Kristina exclaimed weakly. ‘Hey. Ready?’

Albert nodded to Jim, who curtly nodded back.

‘I’m ready,’ said Jim, and then stood motionless and silent at the door.

Tense, Kristina petted Aristotle and then broke the awkward silence, ‘How’s your birthday been so far, Albert?’

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘It’ll get immediately worse once I taste Conni’s cooking.’

‘You call it cooking?’ asked Kristina, trying hard to lighten the mood.

‘At least she’s making you something,’ Jim said in a voice tinged with hostility, and then the three of them just stood there again.

‘Well, I’m sure it’ll be very nice,’ said Albert with an edge to his voice. Kristina was surprised to hear it. Albert never had an edge to his voice.

‘Krissy, let’s go,’ said Jim.

‘Yeah, Krissy,’ Albert said mockingly. ‘Run along now.’

Flustered, Kristina got up off the bed, picked up her books off the floor, and walked toward the two guys.

‘Don’t forget your coat,’ said Albert. ‘It’s freezing out.’

‘Where’s your coat?’ Jim asked, standing with his backpack swinging in his hands.

Kristina looked around her messy room. Though outwardly Kristina maintained that a clean room was a symptom of a diseased mind (for how could she, while studying the world’s greatest thinkers, be bothered with such mundane earthly issues as cleaning?), inwardly she hated untidiness and made a point of spending as little time in the room as possible. Once upon a time she had been the neatest girl in the world, but it had become clear to her even before Dartmouth that an untidy room made it easier to hide stuff from Howard. When everything was in its place, Howard found it.

Every once in a while, though, Kristina compulsively cleaned everything up before throwing it all around again.

She wished today had been a clean day, because today she couldn’t find her coat.

‘Wonder where my coat is.’

‘Sometimes it helps to put coats in the closet when you want to find them again.’

‘Thanks, Jim. Where’s my coat?’

‘You weren’t wearing it this afternoon,’ Jim said. Albert was quiet.

‘I usually don’t wear my winter coat when I play basketball,’ Kristina said. She didn’t mean to snap, but she had just remembered where her coat was.

It wasn’t at Red Leaves House, because Kristina hadn’t spent last night there. She had left her coat up at Fahrenbrae Hilltop Retreat.

It was her only coat. Her mother had bought it for her fifteenth birthday, and six years later, the red cashmere was faded and there were some permanent stains on it. It remained one of her favorite things. Next to whiskers on kittens and hot apple Strudel.

She didn’t look at Albert as she walked past him and said to Jim, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘Kristina, put something -’

‘Come on, Jim,’ she said, raising her voice.

She saw Jim widen his eyes at Albert, who shrugged his shoulders and smiled, folding his hands together in a prayerful Zen salute.

Jim followed her.

‘You should try locking your door once in a while,’ he said. ‘It’s the house rule, you know.’

‘Yeah, and what happens to the dog?’ she asked.

They walked down three flights of stairs and went out the side door closest to the woods and the steep hill. Nearby there was a long path with shallow wood steps that wound down to Tuck Drive far below and then to the Connecticut River. Between the wood steps and Feldberg Library was a fifty-foot-long concrete bridge that led to Feldberg’s service entrance. Three-foot-high walls made of crystalline stone flanked the bridge, which was suspended over a steep wooded gradient and a concrete driveway seventy-five feet below.

‘Hey,’ Jim said, pointing to the bridge. ‘You haven’t walked that thing yet.’

Kristina glanced at it and then at him. They continued to walk away from the bridge. ‘Haven’t been drunk enough,’ she said. ‘Hasn’t been cold enough.’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot. You don’t do it unless it’s subfreezing. Otherwise it’s not a challenge, right?’

‘Right,’ she replied, thinking, he is trying to bait me. Why?

‘They’re expecting a snowstorm tomorrow, you know,’ Jim said.

‘Well, maybe I’ll walk it tomorrow then,’ Kristina said mildly.

Jim didn’t reply, and they hurried on to Baker Library.

They studied in the Class of 1902 room. Kristina’s mind was far away from Aristotle, as she recalled earlier Thanksgivings. Soon it would be Wednesday and her friends would be gone. Were the mess halls even open during the holidays? She couldn’t recall her first year. She remembered eating a lot of soup at Lou’s Diner and Portuguese muffins at EBA.

And oranges in her room.

Jim kept reading and occasionally asking Kristina a question or two about the material, but she had just had enough. Let’s go, she wanted to say. Let’s go, let’s get out of here, let’s go back and eat Conni’s creation and sing happy birthday” to Albert.

Kristina stroked Jim’s hand. There was a time you used to like me so much, she thought, or was that just my imagination? You’re very smart, you’ve been all over the world, and you have a bright life ahead of you. But what’s happened to us? We’re getting so bad at this.

She stood up.

‘Jim, let’s go back.’

‘Krissy, I’m not done.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But Conni’s baked a cake. And I gotta walk my dog.’

‘Albert will walk him,’ said Jim.

She closed her books and picked them up off the dark cherry table. ‘I’m going to go. Please come.’

He looked back into Aristotle. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m going to stay here and finish my work.’

Aristotle wrote that piety required us to honor truth above our friends. Kristina shook her head. Nicomachean Ethics was always hardest on Kristina. And Kant’s Metaphysics of Morals. Kristina had fought most of her life against her own categorical imperative. People who didn’t always impressed her. Spencer impressed her.

Men are good in one way but bad in many, wrote Aristotle. Kristina wondered about that. To her badness had always meant lack or suppression of conscience.

Gently touching Jim on the neck, Kristina kissed the top of his head. ‘Jimbo, I’m sorry.’ And she was sorry for innumerable things. ‘I just don’t feel like studying right now. Come back soon, okay? We’re going to have cake.’

‘Yeah,’ he muttered without looking up.

* * *

They were gathered around the complex torte Conni had made for Albert. The cake had uneven puffs of mocha icing, ground nuts sprinkled over the top, some chocolate chips, and twenty-two candles.

Conni, though dressed up for the occasion, did not seem to want to celebrate. Underneath the perky pink lipstick, her lips were tense, and the blue eye shadow couldn’t hide the hardness around her eyes.

The five of them were looking at the cake as if it were a slaughtered lamb. Aristotle, however, gazed at the cake as if it were the last piece of food on earth.

Frankie Absalom arrived. Usually it was hard to get Frankie out of Epsilon House, but there was little that Frankie wouldn’t do for Albert, his old roommate.

Albert had moved out of the room he’d shared with Jim and in with Frankie during the last semester of the freshman year when Jim and Albert decided it would be best if they didn’t room together anymore. Now Albert had a single a couple of doors down from Kristina, and Frankie was an Epsilon brother.

Kristina glanced at Conni, who forced a happy smile and started to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ Everyone sang, including Albert, who sang loudest of all.

‘Albert!’ exclaimed Conni. ‘Make a wish, and blow out the candles. But make a really good wish,’ she said suggestively, standing close to him with her hand in his back pocket. Kristina thought Conni was trying too hard to act normal. What was bugging her, anyway?

Albert glanced at Conni to his left, and Kristina to his right, and Jim across the table from him, and said, ‘A really good wish, huh? Well, all right.’ He closed his eyes and blew out the candles, every one of them. Conni and Kristina clapped, Frankie hollered and began singing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,’ while Jim just stood and halfheartedly said, ‘Yeah.’ Aristotle barked twice.

Kristina stood stiffly as Conni fussed over the cake and plates and plastic forks. She did not want to be here. The high of this afternoon, first with Howard and then with Spencer, was replaced by depressing thoughts. Conni had told her a few days ago that Albert and she were thinking of getting engaged. Oh, that’s nice, said Kristina. How nice. Are you going to have a party? Engaged to be married? Gee, that’s swell.

And then Jim had been acting awful today. Never a particularly affectionate guy, Jim had been acting stranger and stranger. Tonight, he doesn’t even want to stand next to me, Kristina thought sadly. Some couple. Maybe we can become engaged to be married.

Frankie was talking heated nonsense to Jim, but then Frankie always talked in a heated nonsensical manner that reflected his eccentric attire - plaid shirts and striped pants, hot neon track suits, and jeans so big they had to be held up by rainbow-colored suspenders. Conni handed a piece of cake to Kristina, who ate it, nodded, and said, mmm, it’s good. The cake was dry and terrible. She watched Albert’s face when he put the cake in his mouth and chewed slowly. Oh, he said, this is not bad at all, not bad at all. And Conni stood beside him and beamed, her hand never detaching itself from his shirt. She laughed in delight.

Conni’s high-pitched, squeaky voice grated on Kristina, but her laugh was infectious, and Kristina liked that. Conni also made it a point to dress sexy. She wore black bras and black underwear, bustiers and too tight jeans, and occasionally stockings and garters under her skirts. Kristina felt that sometimes Conni dressed to upstage her, because Kristina never dressed up. She was a jock and dressing up was uncool. Track suits and spandex shorts, and leggings, and Dartmouth sweatshirts, were cool. Jeans were cool. Basketball players did not wear bustiers.