A Visit From Robin

About every three months, Robin visited Mack. He lived halfway between Pittsburgh and her home just outside St Louis. It was too far for one day’s drive and not enough for two. Mack was happy to put her up for the night. 

Robin was the daughter of Mack’s best friend, Sammy. He died right after Robin graduated from high school. Mack sort of filled in the space.

She showed up about supper time. Mack had a meal prepared and her room ready. He figured ole Sammy would do the same for him if the roles were reversed. However, they weren’t. 

Mack’s wife left him twenty years ago for a used car salesman from Cincinnati. Their marriage didn’t even last as long as the thirty-day guarantee on one of his used cars. She tried on several occasions to ease her way back, but Mack stood firm. He had the locks changed. 

Mack liked having Robin come around. Every three months was fine. If for nothing else, just a female smile seems to lift the dullness from the rooms she walked into. It was a cure for loneliness. And like all medicines, it is best in moderation. 

There was no other female in his life. His nieces lived on the West Coast. His mother had passed. The “old birds,” as he called them, seemed to pop up everywhere. They had been divorced several times or driven at least one, or more, of their husbands to an early grave. 

He had lived alone for a long time. And become very satisfied with his bachelor arrangement—no women, no problems.

Yet, He looked forward to Robin’s visits. He was thirty years older and viewed her as a daughter or niece. That arrangement removed any sort of tension. Two friends talking and enjoying the company with boundaries of decency—perfect.

Mack awaited her visit by tidying the house. He enjoyed it because it had as its purpose pleasing someone besides himself. 

Robin would always say, “Are you sure you didn’t hire someone to come in and clean. This place is mama-clean.”

And that’s exactly what she said when Mack opened the door and she walked in.

After supper, they sat in the living room. They talked as always.

“So how is your company’s branch in Pittsburgh doing?”

“I had to fire the branch manager this time. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was long overdue.”

Mack clicked his cheek. “Hard to keep good help these days.”

“One of those things, he was a good manager for three years, and all of a sudden, who knows? I tried to get to the bottom of it and help him out.”

“You're a caring person, Robin. I’m sure you went above and beyond.”

“I did, and my boss told me not to leave Pittsburgh without a scalp.”

“How long did it take you?”

“I walked into his office at 3:35, and he was starting his car at 3:45. Sometimes it’s good to just rip off the bandaid.”

“Sometimes, that’s the best.”

“What about you, Mack? What have you been up to?”

“You know me, I got plenty to do, and when I get it all done, I start all over again. I have my little projects. I’ve been making ballpoint pins and candlesticks on my lathe. That reminds me, I made a pin for you and a set of candlesticks—walnut.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

Mack smiled. It pleased him to see her so gracious for the gift he labored to produce. He thought to himself, ‘That’s the best kind of gift someone can give. Anybody can buy a pin or candlesticks, but making them is a whole other thing.’

“They’re out in the workshop. I’ll get them before you leave.”

They talked for a while. Mack turned his head and looked at the clock on the mantle. “It’s my bedtime.” He yawned.

“This is such a good evening, and I’d really like to talk,” Robins smiled

Mack couldn’t resist the smile. He nodded and pressed his lips. “Sure, I can do that. But mind you, I’m no night owl.”

Robin curled her legs up on the couch and leaned on its arm.

Mack assumed she had some things she wanted to talk to somebody detached from her social and business life. He willingly relaxed into his chair and listened. 

“I had this dream. It keeps coming back. I’m in a house with a large picture window. I look outside, and a forest full of identical trees keeps swaying back and forth. What do you think it means?”

“It’s windy?”

“So it would seem, but there’s no wind. I don’t feel the wind.”

“It’s because you’re inside.”

“Oh, that’s right, but it still has to mean something.”

“Well, I don’t know. Why does it?”

After that, she talked at length about an open jar of strawberry preserves she left in the pantry. It grew mold. “Why do they call them preserves when they don’t preserve?”

Then there was the car wash cheating her out of 45 seconds, and the attendant couldn’t refund her quarter without the permission of the owner.

Her neighbor’s dog barked all night long. She discovered in the morning that she had failed to turn off the television. Reruns of Lassie aired all night long. 

She called a maintenance company for a dripping faucet. They sent an electrician. Her light switch is repaired, but she lost two nights' sleep from a dripping faucet. She’s suing the maintenance company for the lost sleep. The company agreed not to charge her for the light switch. 

This took half an hour to unpack all the nuances and maneuvering. As did all the other events, not taking a half hour each, but just as mind-mumblingly void and superfluous.  

There had to be dozens of events, maybe thousands, of such ramblings. Combined with sleep desperation, almost leaving Mack in a comatose fetal position. During one of his slumbers, he was awakened by, “What do you think of that?” Drool slid from the side of his mouth. 

Under such circumstances, but for the memory of Robin’s dear father and old loyal friend, Sammy, he would have dashed his hand long ago into a running garbage disposal. And either called 911 or bled out—anything to relieve the torment. ‘She would ride along in the ambulance,’ he thought. ‘I know she would. There’s only one way out. It’s me or her.’

Inside, he gnashed his teeth and growled like a beast. Just before dropping off into a deep sleep, he thought, ‘I do not wish to kill her, but I do wish her dead.’

The piercing glint of the morning’s sun slivered through a crack in the kitchen window blind and cast its ray on Mack’s eyelid. He woke. In his folded hands was a note.

“I’m so glad we had that little chat last night. Dad said you would always be there for me, and he was right. I’ll be back through town in a few months. Love you, Robin.”

Mack smiled and tenderly placed the note on the stand next to his chair. ‘Things always look better in the morning. Thoughts are clear. I should have negotiated a time limit beforehand. Nevertheless, I may consider moving, and not tell anyone.’