Rapture

Jeff was touched. How strange to learn now what his father had felt about him! Was it all true? Maybe if Jeff had been around more often over the years, or if he'd paid closer attention, he would have gotten the message.

But did George Lisker ever know how his son felt about him? Probably not, Jeff thought. I did love you, but you made me feel I could never measure up, and that still hurts.

A few minutes after nine, as Jeff and his relatives were about to leave the funeral home, a fat, sweaty man rushed up to them.

"Jeff! Boy, am I glad I caught you. I tried to get here earlier, but I was stuck in a meeting. I feel real bad about it. Hey, I'm sorry about your dad."

He was shaking Jeffs hand vigorously while he talked. It was Mike Rollins, Jeff finally realized.

"Mike. That's all right. Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it. It's good to see you again."

He had to remind himself that twenty years had passed since they were last out on double dates together. Mike must have gained fifty or sixty pounds. He was virtually unrecognizable. Jeff introduced Mike to his relatives before they left. Then he and Mike stood talking under the awning in front of Butler's.

"You look great, buddy," Mike was saying.

"So do you."

"Yeah, like a house." Mike laughed, evidently not bothered by his weight. "What're you doing now?"

"Just going back to the house."

"How about a drink?"

"Okay, sure."

"You got a car? You still remember how to get to Ike's? I'll see you there in five minutes."

Ike's, one of Millville's many bars, had opened in 1956 and was named after President Eisenhower, who was re-elected in a landslide that year. Older townspeople still told each other that Ike's should have been called "Mamie's."

Jeff caught up with Mike at the back of the bar. After they found an empty booth, Jeff lit a cigarette. He noticed that Mike was still sweating.

"So what've you been doing all this time?" Mike asked as they clinked glasses.

"Oh, I've got my own little business, outside L.A., and I live nearby. Otherwise, not much."

"The land of movie stars and beach bunnies, eh? That's great. What is it-computers, did I hear?"

"Sort of," Jeff said. "We design special systems. We have one foot in theory and the other in application."

"Nice." Mike shook his hand loosely. "You always did have a brain for that kind of stuff. I bet there's a lot of money in it, right?"

"How about you?"

"I'm superintendent of the Street Department. How do you like that?" Mike grinned proudly.

"No shit? Superintendent?"

"Head honcho," Mike confirmed.

"You've got it made," Jeff said. "That's a job for life."

Mike didn't dispute this, contenting himself with a smile. "Hey, Millville isn't the liveliest place in the world," he said. "But it's home, you know. And somebody's got to stay here and look after it; otherwise it'll fall apart."

Jeff wasn't sure that was such a bad idea, but he didn't say so. They talked for more than an hour, shuttling back and forth between the good old days and the present. Jeff caught up on a great deal of gossip he really didn't care about and good-naturedly indulged several of Mike's fantasies about life in Southern California.

"Tell me," he said eventually, "what happened with you and Georgianne? You were a steady pair, but I lost touch after that last summer. The summer after graduation."

"Yeah. Georgianne. Right." Mike had a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. He was on his third gin-andtonic, the glass all but lost in his meaty grip. "That was a great summer, wasn't it? Best damn time in a person's life, as far as I'm concerned. After that it's just ... shit and more shit....*

"So what happened?" Jeff sipped a tall glass of tap beer.

'Yeah, well. Let's see. Georgianne went to college in Boston, I went to UConn, and we stayed in touch. We talked on the phone, we saw each other when we were home for holidays and breaks. I think I went up to Boston to see her a couple of times. But ... well, you know me, Jeff. I wanted to screw everything in sight, and the big difference in college is there you can almost do it. So ... uh ... Georgianne and I kind of drifted apart. No big breakup, no heavy scenes, but ... you know how it is.*

"I thought sure you two would get married."

'Ha. I was a cowboy, man,' Mike said. "1 got married, all right, but not until I was twenty-eight. And even then I couldn't tell you how it happened. Everybody slips up sooner or later. You're married, aren't you?"

"Married, then divorced two years later," Jeff said. "Too much time working and not enough time home with my wife. She took up with her flying instructor, and for all I know they're still getting their rocks off at ten thousand feet."

"That's what I mean about California," Mike said obscurely. "Lemme buy a free man a drink.'

"So what happened to Georgianne after that?" Jeff asked when Mike had returned with a fresh round. "I drove up the New Haven Road on my way into town and I saw that the house is for sale."