I may not be as cranky as this man, but I do know bitter and hard. Without thinking, I step forward. “What about a former friend? Who did you used to call?”
The man jabs toward me with his cane. “That girl’s smarter than you.” He repositions his cane, then stands tall.
I step in closer. “What was his name?”
“Jerry DuBois. That son of a bitch.”
Esben drops his head to hide his smile. “Oh my.”
“You had a falling out?” I ask.
The professor’s voice is sharp. “Falling out? I cut that man out of my life.”
“Why?”
“I made a mistake. I got into business with DuBois. Went in on some real-estate deal he said would make us a fortune. I had my doubts, but Jerry was my good friend. I trusted him. And he screwed me over. Lost it all.” He shakes his cane. “Never do business with a friend, kid.”
“What happened? He took your money and never gave you your profit?”
“What? No, nothing like that.” The professor searches for words. “It was a bad deal. The market didn’t behave the way we thought it would. I was broke after. My fiancée left me.”
“But it was just a bad deal. It wasn’t intentional...,” I offer.
“I still lost everything,” he snaps.
“What about when things were good?” I want to know. “Why was he your best friend?”
“We played cards, went drinking. Jerry liked a strong whiskey sour, and I always had a martini. Straight up with a twist.” He makes a spinning motion with a finger. “Jerry was an English professor at the University of Maine, and he was always trying to get me to read Shakespeare and whatnot. I tried, for him...” The professor smiles a bit. “He made me go to seeAs You Like Itonce. Guess what? I actually liked it! Jerry told really bad jokes and had terrible taste in women, but he...he was my friend. When my brother died, Jerry was in Chicago, and he drove across the country to be with me. Stood next to me when we buried him.”
“So, Jerry wasn’t all bad,” I say.
Professor Gaylon looks at me. “No, he wasn’t all bad.”
“How long has it been since you’ve spoken?” I ask.
“Oh gosh... probably thirty-some years.” He thinks for a long minute. “Thirty-six this June.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Maybe I do. Maybe I do.” He speaks more softly now, thoughtfully.
“Can you forgive him?”
“We were young. Not smart with money. And he was right when he said my fiancée was a money-grubber. He said she should have stayed no matter what. That was true. So, maybe I could forgive that bastard.”
“Would you like to call him?” Esben asks.
“Kid, you are somethin’ else.” The professor clearly finds this idea amusing. “I wouldn’t know how to find him. He could be anywhere now.”
Esben can type on his phone faster than anyone I’ve seen, and it takes him all of ten seconds to hold up the screen to Professor Gaylon. “Jerry DuBois. Professor of English at Boston University. Phone number is 617—”
“He’s in Boston? Well, damn, he always wanted to teach in Boston.” The professor’s face lights up, and he touches his hand to the screen. “Look at that. He’s got more wrinkles than I do.”
“Should we try his office?”
Professor Gaylon nods.
Esben calls the number and hands the phone over, while we all wait anxiously.
