"Where would she go?"
parents' in New Mexico, her mother would likely send her right back."
"If I knew that," he yelled, "I'd go after her myself!" "What about her family?"
Harvey shrugged. "Doubtful. If she did go to her Harvey's suspicions proved correct. When I called her parents, I learned that Macy hadn't been in touch in several weeks. I explained who I was and said I loved Macy. Her mother had never heard of me. That was another big dent to my pride. By then, it had received so many dents I was beginning to feel like a car abandoned at the junkyard. I asked Mrs. Roth to contact me if she talked to her daughter. She didn't call and I could only assume Macy hadn't gone running to her family for solace.
"How's Sammy doing without Macy?" I asked Harvey the second week. She'd taken the three cats with her, wherever she might be.
"He misses her as much as you and I do," the old man said starkly.
The third week, Harvey called me after ten one evening, so excited I had difficulty understanding him. "Turn on channel thirteen," he finally said, enunciating slowly and clearly as if I were some backward pupil.
As it happened, I had my TV on and flipped to the proper channel just in time to catch the end of the grocery-store commercial that had caused Macy such trouble. Seeing her in that 1960s costume again set my heart racing.
"You see her?" Harvey demanded.
"Yes."
"Looks good, doesn't she?"
I nodded, knowing Harvey couldn't see my response. But that was okay because he knew how I felt. I was so hungry for the sight of Macy, I would've crawled inside the TV set if I could have.
"Miss her, don't you?" he said with surprising gentleness.
"More than I could ever have guessed. You?"
"She's a pest." He sighed. "Never thought I'd say this, but it's downright lonely around this place without her."
"At least you've got Sammy."
"If you want him, come and get him," Harvey retorted. "He's all yours."
That was an empty promise if I'd ever heard one. "No, you keep him," I said.
"Sammy's company, all right," Harvey said next. "But half the time he's over at Macy's door, whining because he misses her and those darn cats. I swear I've never seen anything like it."
I was whining myself.
"You coming by tomorrow?" Harvey asked.
I squared my shoulders and my resolve. "No."
"Why not?"
"She isn't there, is she?"
"Not yet."
"Then I can't see any point in coming by." My friendship with Harvey was a good reason, but I preferred to keep in touch with him by phone. It was just too painful to visit her house, her neighborhood.
"You want me to call when she comes back?"
I had to give that some consideration. "No, I don't think so." I didn't mean to have a defeatist attitude, but I'd done all I could. As far as I was concerned, it was Macy's turn.
"No?" Harvey echoed in disbelief. "What's the matter with you, boy?"
First, I don't like being referred to as a boy, and secondly, Macy had been clear about what she wanted. And what she didn't want. The way I saw it, if she couldn't love me enough to see past our differences, a relationship between us had no potential.
"I gave it my best shot, Harvey," I said. "Macy doesn't want to be part of my life, so I'd better live with her decision."
"She loves you," he argued. "But she's afraid. She's never been in love like this before."
"I have," I reminded him. I knew what it meant to love someone else, the way Hannah had loved me, and this wasn't it. Macy might think she was in love with me, but her actions certainly contradicted that.
"Let the girl have a second chance," Harvey said.
I smiled at his feeble attempt to patch things up. He could argue all he wanted, but his arguments were irrelevant, since Macy was nowhere to be found.
I insisted I was done with Macy; nevertheless, I sat up for several hours, staring at the TV, flipping channels, looking for a repeat of the Safeway commercial just to see her again.
That said, I do have my pride. To prove I was getting over her, I accepted a blind date and actually had a semienjoyable evening. The woman, Carrie, was a friend of Melanie's, Patrick's wife. Carrie was a perfectly nice person, but she wasn't Macy. She had an easy laugh but she didn't make me laugh, didn't make me think or challenge me. Nor did she try to feed me cat food or drag in a stray dog to love and protect.
One date was all it took. I realized I wasn't nearly as over Macy as I'd hoped.
What particularly disturbed me was the fact that Macy had never finished the mural. It remained three-quarters completed. Every time I walked past it, I looked at that jungle scene, those parrots and that baby giraffe, and thought of Macy.
Nearly everything in her life seemed to be like this unfinished painting. She had good intentions, but one thing or another kept her from following through with what she started. Apparently, this translated into relationships, as well. I was just another unfinished project discarded along with the mural on my wall.
My guess was that this inability to complete anything went back to her childhood. In one of those lengthy phone conversations, during which we chatted for three or four hours, I'd learned that Macy had always been considered a bit odd by her family. They had little patience with her often-roundabout approach to things and her idiosyncratic views. And they rarely showed much interest in any project she undertook. The only person who understood and appreciated her had been her grandmother. I'd come to love her quirky nature, but I couldn't get past her ability to walk away from people and projects.
Linda caught me staring at the mural the first week of August. "Do you want me to find someone to finish it?" she asked.
"No, thanks."
"It's funny, isn't it, how she simply vanished like that?"
Funny isn't the word I would've used. "Yeah," I said and headed for my next appointment.