Cooking French fries during rush periods left time for nothing else, but between rushes Jason observed and asked questions about other aspects of the operation, which he categorized as the cooking and sandwich assembly in the back; the front for drinks, shakes, ice cream cones, and other sides; the register; and the drive-through.

Each area had layers of complexity. Whoever operated the register had to know how to handle special requests on sandwiches in order to communicate to the people in sandwich assembly, who in turn had to know how to read the screens to fill the orders without mistakes. The whole process during peak times impressed Jason as a form of controlled chaos.

“The powers that be have devised an ingenious methodology,” he said to Cari. “For the most part, the system quickly delivers exactly what people order through employees who are very young or old and aren’t exactly rocket scientists.”

“Just PhDs?”

“So I’m overqualified?”

“You tell me. How many batches of fries did you ruin today?”

“Not as many as yesterday.”

She threw her arms around his neck. “You’re trainable!”

He couldn’t help laughing.

After three weeks, Curt tapped Jason on the shoulder during a slack period. “Grab a Coke and come with me.” In the empty playground area, Curt gave him as severe a look as he was capable of. “Man, you drive everybody up a wall with your questions. ‘How do you do this?’ ‘Why do you do that?’ The kids are asking what’s up with the old guy. Meaning you.”

“Am I disruptive?”

“Yeah, and it’s okay. You are one curious dude who learns quick. I know you could be gone in a week, but I’m going to take a chance and give you time on everything we do over the next month or two.”

“Why?”

“If you can handle it, I’m going to turn you into a crew chief. You okay with that? More money.”

“More than okay. I appreciate it, but I’m spending every minute of my off time looking for another job.”

“I need a good crew chief in the meantime. If you find something else, that’s how the milk shakes.”

The month became a flurry of working, learning the geography of the Twin Cities while looking for a job, buying new clothing, and meeting many of Cari’s friends. The parties to celebrate, or mourn, the beginning of the new semester at Saint Catherine began in earnest.

Finding a permanent job took hard work and concentration. Because he was new at McDonald’s, he worked Saturdays, Sundays and some nights, so he had two and sometimes three days a week to submit applications in person. A slow economy didn’t help. Scant few companies were hiring. Those that were demanded very specific skills and experience. They wanted new employees to hit the ground running.

He was forthcoming with every prospective employer: He’d been a priest for over ten years and taught at Saint Victor College before his stint teaching prisoners. None of that information seemed on the surface to trigger a negative reaction on the part of interviewers, but he had no idea what they actually thought. They were trained to avoid any hint of discrimination in the hiring process. A PhD in theology scored zero points.

Cari had the energy of two people and was supportive. Most of the time upbeat, she jacked up his attitude every time he saw or thought of her. In the face of repeated rejections by prospective employers, she had a standard line: “You should feel sorry for them. They’re all missing the best hire of their lives.” He doubted he had enough pity to go around.

He insisted on paying for half their monthly and household expenses from his wages and, when necessary, from his savings.

“Did you rob a bank?” she said. “Were you a student at that prison? How could you possibly have any savings?”

Unapologetic and irreverent, she was the perfect woman for him. Until the lights went out.

Jason called Rhonda.

“This is Jason. How are you?”

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Let’s have lunch. A confidential one.”

“Meaning you don’t want Cari to know about it.”

“For now.”

“I don’t make a habit of going behind a friend’s back.”

“It’s important. Maybe over a cup of coffee?”

“What’s this about?”

“I have to tell you in person.”

“If you’re hitting on me, this conversation is finito.”

“I’m not. I might if I didn’t love Cari.”

“This makes me uneasy, but okay. Where?”

They met at a Steak and Shake near her office.

“Let me come to the point, Rhonda. Why does she carry a gun?”

Her instantly stern demeanor told him he’d hit a nerve.

“Ask her.”

“I have.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“She won’t tell me, and I think you know.”

“Why would I tell you if I did? I don’t like this conversation.”

“I’ve been in love with Cari for over twenty-five years, even while I was a priest. Now I’ve moved in and, well…”

“Well what?”

“Let’s say our relationship is…less than I’d hoped for.”

“None of my business. You are crossing the line with this personal stuff.”

“I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

“I repeat: Ask her. I have to get back to work. See you at my party?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

He picked up the check and they headed for the cashier. After he paid and they were outside, she said, “‘La verdad a medias es mentira completa.’ Half the truth is a whole lie.”

Rhonda hosted her party in her modern eighth-floor condo near the Mississippi River not far from the University of Minnesota. Streams of headlights flickered through the late September dusk beyond the dark void where the river flowed far below. Party sounds and bright lights in the condo, along with the aroma of numerous hot hors d’oeuvres, served as counterpoints to the encroaching darkness. Rhonda moved from group to group in a manner so natural and amiable that she left no one with the impression she was carrying out hostess duties.

She caught Jason’s eye several times. So often that it made him uneasy, especially when her gaze darted from him to Cari. Was she sizing him up? Wondering what Cari saw in him? Worried about her friend’s welfare? Or was it competitive surveillance?

He tried to stay with Cari, who also seemed in demand, but when Rhonda whisked her away to help with something in the kitchen, Jason found himself standing alone by a window. He swallowed the last of his wine and headed for the BYOB table. As he approached the table, a tall man in a blue blazer turned abruptly and bumped into him, his newly refilled glass of red wine splattering across the lapels and sleeve of Jason’s camel hair sport coat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the man said. He set his drink down and grabbed a napkin.

“You can’t hurt this jacket. Ha! Might do it some good.”

The man would have none of it. He dabbed at Jason’s jacket with the napkin, all the while apologizing. “Oh my,” he said, looking at the floor. “That will never come out.”

Following the man’s gaze downward, Jason saw the red splotch of wine on the off-white carpeting. He reached for a bottle of white wine on the table, poured a small amount onto the stain, worked it in with his fingers, and blotted it with a dry white napkin. The red spot disappeared. The white wine also worked on his sport coat.

Clearly relieved, the man extended his hand. “Thanks a million. My name’s Cam Harper. What’s yours?”

“Jason Ferris. Glad to meet you.”

Harper was about sixty, wore black-framed glasses, and had huge hands. He also had the good fortune to possess a genuinely friendly yet commanding face that should have been in movies.

“Where did you learn that trick with the wine?”

“I read it a long time ago and always wondered if it would work. We got lucky.”

“Aside from the embarrassment, I was facing a hefty cleaning bill. Here’s my card. Give me a call. I’ll spring for lunch.”

“Not necessary, but thank you.” Jason slipped the card into his shirt pocket.

The man smiled, poured himself a fresh glass of wine, and sauntered off into the crowded room. Jason filled his wine glass, aware that another man, a huge bear of a man, had taken over the space vacated by Cam Harper.

“You must be Ferris,” the man said without proffering his hand.

Jason nodded and smiled. “And you are?”

“Walter Boatman. I understand you recently emerged from obscurity.”

“You could say that.” Who is this?

“Not only could I say it, I did say it. People don’t disappear for no reason. In my experience, they’re running from something, or they just can’t cope with life. What’s your story?”

Jason sipped his wine while returning Boatman’s hostile stare and wondering if this was the man’s idea of a joke. “I don’t have a story.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone does. Utter hypocrisy to say you don’t.”

“Let me clarify. I don’t have a story I wish to share with you. In fact, I don’t want to continue this conversation. Excuse me.” Jason turned away and nearly collided with Cari.

“Hi. Me again,” she said. “Having a good time? Hello, Walter.”

Boatman sneered, turned on his heel, and stalked off.

“Better, now that you’re back. Who’s that?”

“Walter? He’s in the foreign language department at the U. Thinks he has right of first refusal on every woman he wants. On top of that little character flaw, he’s half-crazy. But tenured.”

“And you and he were once an item.”

“Oh, please. We went to an art-in-the-park thing two years ago and were supposed to have dinner afterwards, but I claimed a migraine and begged off. He’s so disgusting and self-centered. Called me for three months afterwards.”

“He still has designs on you. Let’s go home and kick back with a quiet glass of wine.”

“Give me a sec to say goodnight to Rhonda.”

On their way out, Cam Harper waved to him. “Don’t forget to call me.”

The rain began before they were halfway home. Jason parked his car on the driveway apron next to the tenant garage. Cari made a dash for the back door with Jason right behind. He noticed a movement at the corner of the house and hesitated. Cari had the door open.

“You’re going to get soaked, Ferris.”

“Be right there.”

A small white dog stood twenty feet away watching him. Jason squatted and held out his hand, making smooching sounds with his lips. The dog took a step toward him and backed away. The animal looked like a mixed breed, perhaps cocker spaniel and poodle.

“Jason, what are you doing?”

“There’s a lost dog out here. Bring me a slice of that pizza we ate last night.”

A few moments later, pizza in hand, he coaxed the frightened dog close to feed him small bites of pizza until he was able to grab the dog’s collar. The dog struggled for a few seconds before submitting and allowing Jason to scoop him up and hold him.

Once inside, Cari took charge.

“I’ll dry him—well, her—off while you get out of those clothes. You’re sopping wet, and I bet that sport coat is ruined. Better jump into the shower to warm up.”

By the time Jason finished showering and putting on dry clothes, Cari had towel dried the dog, given it milk, and called the number on its collar tag.

“Her name’s Pepper. She’s been missing three days. Her owners live a couple miles away and will be here in a few minutes. You okay?”

“Never better.”

The dog and her owners, an elderly couple, were equally happy to be reunited. When the couple insisted on giving Jason and Cari something, Cari satisfied their wishes with, “Buy us a bottle of your favorite wine and drink it with us when we can get together.”  

Later, Jason and Cari settled on the sofa.

“Well, Ferris, you’ve done your good deed for the day. It’s in your DNA, right?”

“Some animals need help, just like some people.”

Cari smiled and gave him a shoulder bump. “Just kidding, Jason. You did the right thing. Those people and the pup were as happy as I’ve seen anyone in a long time.”

“Let’s have a Tullamore instead of wine.”

“Twist my arm.”

They were halfway through their drinks and in a mellow mood when Jason set his glass down and took a deep breath. “Honey, let’s talk about a few things, okay?”

Cari tensed ever so slightly and said, “Fire away.”

“Let me bundle everything. One, why exactly do you carry a gun? Two, why won’t you let me love you? And three, are the two related?”

“You sure know how to ruin a nice evening.”

“I’m trying to save a relationship.”

“Is sex the only ingredient in a relationship?”

“Invalid question.”

“If you’re going to badger me, I’m going to bed.”

Flushing, she pulled her hand away when he tried to hold it.

“Let me hold your hand, Cari.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because we can’t go on like this.” He laid his arm across her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing you could ever tell me would make me think less of you.”

She placed her drink on the coffee table and folded her arms across her chest.

“Are you and Rhonda more than close friends?”

She twisted to face him. “What are you implying? Why would you even think that?”

“Rhonda seems jealous, or at least ultra-protective. My question stands.”

“You bastard! You stupid bastard!”

“Tell me the truth. I’ve had it up to here.”

“I—was—raped!” She lunged from the sofa. Her bedroom door slammed a moment later.

Dear God!

Setting his drink next to hers, he went to her bedroom. She was lying face down on the bed. He lay beside her and put his arm around her. “Cari, I’m so sorry that happened to you and I’m sorry for what I said, but I’m glad it’s out in the open. Maybe now we can move ahead.”

They lay side by side, neither of them saying anything for several minutes until Jason rolled off the bed and draped an afghan over her. “I’ll never bring it up. If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen. But I will never bring it up.”

He slipped out the back door. The rain had stopped. The fresh night air poured into his lungs.

Was he a jerk for the things he’d said to her? Beyond doubt. But with the ugly truth known perhaps they could deal with it.