“What an exciting prospect,” he said. “You’re very impressive, Katharyn.”
Impressive. I can honestly say that never before in my life had anyone described me using that word. Smart, yes. Friendly, yes. Impressive? That was a tall order, one I’d never considered myself having the shoes to fill.
“I’m actually thinking of opening a business myself,” Lars told me. “But not nearly as thrilling as yours. Just an architectural firm.”
I laughed. “That sounds plenty thrilling to me,” I said. “How did you get into that line of work?”
“Oh, I’ve been at it for years,” he replied. “I’ve always loved building things. Back home in Sweden, my father was a carpenter, and I used to help him on his jobs. In a small town like ours, when you built someone’s house, you designed it, too. Over here, after my parents passed, I took odd jobs. Finally I saved enough dough to attend UC-Denver. I knew by then that I wanted an architectural degree. I graduated college late for my age—in ’forty-four, when I was an old man of twenty-four. I was hired by a small firm here in town, and the rest just came naturally.”
“’Forty-four.” I thought for a moment. “Didn’t you serve?” Everyone I knew, Kevin and every other boy I went to DU with, or knew from high school or church or my neighborhood, was serving in ’44.
He didn’t say anything for a few moments. I asked softly, “Lars? Are you still there?”
“I couldn’t serve,” he said quietly. “I was Four-F.”
“Why?”
I could hear him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I have a heart condition . . . arrhythmia,” he said, and then quickly added, “That’s not as terrible as it sounds. But it does mean . . . it means . . . my heartbeat is irregular.” He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “It means I have a bad heart.”
I didn’t reply. I thought of my father, easily the most patriotic man I’ve ever met. During the war his plant went on strike, and he was the only worker who broke the picket lines and went to work side by side with the scabs. The plant had ceased making home electric meters, and the workers at that time were assembling electronics for the war effort instead. My father said that anything he could do to help our soldiers was worth more than a few extra pennies in his pocket. I wondered what he would think of me going out with a man who’d been 4-F during the war.
“Katharyn?”
“Yes?”
“Is that all right? That I didn’t serve?”
I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. And then I replied, “Well, it hardly sounds like you could have done anything about it.” I laughed lightly. “Tell me more about being an architect.”
“I tend toward commercial projects,” he said. “Office buildings and the like. Not as glamorous as residential work, but there is more demand for it. So many houses are prefabricated these days, the same layout over and over. I’d love to design and build my own house someday, make it one of a kind.” He sighed, and I could hear the longing in his voice. He went on to tell me about the architectural firm he was thinking of starting on his own. “I know as much as the bosses at my current firm,” he explained. “The only difference between what they do and what I do is the name on the doorplate and the amount on the pay stub.”
“Well, good for you,” I replied, and I meant it. I admired him for wanting to branch out on his own. I knew from my own experience, mine and Frieda’s, that even thinking about going out on a limb like that is not the easiest thing to do.
The conversation went on for over an hour. Finally, I said it was getting late. “This has been truly wonderful,” Lars said. “I’d love to speak with you again, Katharyn.”
I hesitated a moment, and then I said, “Oughtn’t we just to meet? It seems silly to keep talking on the telephone. We ought to just meet in person and see how things go.”
“Really?” He seemed surprised.
“Of course.”
“Well, then, Katharyn, let’s make a date.” We made a date to have coffee two evenings hence.
“All right, then,” he said after our plans were finalized. “I guess this is good-bye for now.”
“I guess it is.”
“Katharyn . . .”
I paused, and then said, “Yes?”
His voice was soft. “Nothing . . . I just . . . I’m really looking forward to meeting you.”
“I’m looking forward to it, too.”
He didn’t answer. I could hear his breathing; it sounded a bit rapid. “Is there anything else?” I asked.
Slowly, he said, “No, I . . . no, I suppose not. Good night.”
“Good night,” I replied. And we both hung up.
I hold the letters, the papers, the file folder. I sit in my desk chair, staring out the window. My lips are pressed together. A little hot burst of anger forms under my skin.
Because that was it.
He never showed up for our date.
Chapter 3
Of course, it’s all just silly. I imagine things like that happen all the time. Dating through the personal ads was a bumpy business. I learned the hard way that there are a lot of strange birds out there—men who might sound perfectly normal in letters, even on the telephone, but get in the same room with them, and you realize that something is off. Maybe they have no notion of what it means to be a gentleman. Maybe they have a girl already. Maybe they think they want to be attached, but what they really want is to be able to tell their mother or sister or whoever that they are trying. But deep down, they just want to be left alone. The last thing they want is a steady gal—or, heaven forbid, a wife.
So I was disappointed, but not all that surprised, when I sat alone in that coffee shop eight years ago, dutifully drinking my coffee, waiting it out for fifteen minutes, twenty, thirty-five. Through the plate-glass window, I people-watched. Couples strolled by, old ladies with little dogs on rhinestone-studded leashes, mothers with chunky infants in prams. I wondered if Lars was sitting in his car across the street, hunched down, watching me. I guessed that he could be deciding based solely on my looks—which weren’t all that bad, I told myself rather contritely; just that afternoon I had gotten my hair done, and I’d spent extra time on my lipstick—that it wasn’t worth squandering an hour of his time to have coffee with me.
Finally, two refills later and my coffee cup again empty, I stood. I pulled on my coat and walked out the door with my head held high. I put a bright, brave smile on my face. If he was watching, I wanted to be sure he knew that I didn’t care.