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: : : IN THE MIDDLE OF THE day Fletcher called Clark at work and asked if she'd meet with him for dinner. —I have something I need to talk to you about, he said.
—What is it? she said.
—I'd rather talk to you about it in person, he said.
Feelings of dread rose in her. —Come on, Fletcher, she said, —you know I hate this suspense shit—
—Yeah, I'm sorry, I'd talk to you about it now but it's—it's nothing bad, it's just—convoluted. So tonight?
—Yeah, fine, she said, still annoyed. —I'll pick you up at your place around six; six-thirty.
It's evening now, and she's standing in the doorway of Fletcher's apartment, waiting while he laces up his shoes.
—So this thing you needed to talk to me about? she says.
Fletcher stops what he's doing. Only one shoe is tied. —Jeez, you just can't wait, can you?
—Look, she says, —I've just got done spending half my day worrying about you—trying to figure out if you're dying or whatever—
—I said it wasn't anything bad— he says.
—You said it was convoluted. So I'm spending half my day trying to figure out what that means—
—Alright, he says, —I'm ready; let's go.
As they're headed down the stairs he tells her. —Cassandra got a job.
—Hey, Clark says. —That's great.
—Well, Fletcher says, —it is and it isn't.
—How do you mean?
—I mean it's convoluted.
Clark sighs. They exit onto the street. She waits while Fletcher joggles the key into the lock.
Finally, as they're getting into Clark's car, he says —What I mean is the job's in Pennsylvania. In Lancaster. You know, like where the Amish are?
—Oh, Clark says. —Is it a museum job? I remember you saying that she was looking for a—
—Yeah, Fletcher says. —It's a quilt and textile museum.
—Oh. Wow. Intense.
—Yeah.
—Is she interested in that? I mean—
—Well, Fletcher says, —she hasn't decided yet, but she really wanted to find a job this summer—she wants to put Leander into a preschool in the fall and she's said like a bunch of times that once she starts him in a school system she wants to be able to stay in one place. She doesn't want to subject the kid to any more upheaval, you know, not after having gotten divorced and all that? So, yeah, she could probably find something better if she held out, but I think she's looking at Lancaster and going that seems like a place where you could raise a kid. Better than trying to raise one in the city, anyway.
—Yeah, Clark says, —I guess—but—is she really prepared to think about quilts for the next twelve years?
—Well, Fletcher says, —She wouldn't be doing quilts exactly—they already have a guy who does quilts. They're looking for an assistant curator to work on their contemporary holdings—they're hoping to expand in that area or something. And, yeah, one of the things Cassandra studied at SAIC was experimental fiber art; she's published a couple of articles on it. So—
—So—wow.
—Yeah, right?
—So what does this mean for you and her?
—I don't know, exactly. I mean—it basically means one of three things. One, I go with her.
—You go to Lancaster, Clark says, for clarification.
—I go to Lancaster, Fletcher confirms. —I move in with Cassandra, we probably get married, I become Leander's stepdad.
—Whoa, Clark says. She pounds the heel of her hand on the steering wheel. —Whoa!
—Yeah, I know, it's crazy. I mean—I'm not particularly interested in leaving Chicago, especially not to go to Amish country—but, I mean, ultimately it's only like an hour or two from Philadelphia. There's a big university in Lancaster; I could probably get a job adjuncting there. I'm done with my coursework; once I finish my exams all I have left is the dissertation, and that I could write anywhere—I just need to come back to defend.
—Yeah, but—
—I mean, my other option is to stay here when she goes, try it long-distance for a while. I've got at least one more year of funding at DuSable; I could ride that out, get my Ph.D. and then see where things stand—I mean, I still plan to go on the market which means that I might also have to move someplace weird. And for all I know she'll go out to Lancaster and totally hate it and she'll rethink the whole plan.
—So what's the third option?
—The third option is that we break up. Thanks for the year, it was great.
—You think you might do that?
—I don't know, Fletcher says. —I'm just trying to think realistically. I always sort of figured I'd spend my life in Chicago in love with you and that I'd die alone. It seems weird to think that that might not happen.
—Wait, says Clark. They're waiting at a red light. —Rewind for a second?
—What, Fletcher says.
—What was that part about in love with me?
—Oh, yeah, Fletcher says. He's staring straight ahead out at the intersection. —I've been in love with you for a long time. You knew that.
—I didn't know that, Clark says, even though as she's saying it she realizes that somewhere inside she did.
—Whatever, Fletcher says. —It doesn't matter.
Clark opens her mouth to say something and then closes it again.
Fletcher points through the windshield. —Green light, he says.
: : :
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