Chapter 6

"Did you really come back to Knoxville just to go on another date?" Erica asked as they pulled out of the driveway.

"I suppose I did," Will admitted. "I was going to make something up about some college speech, just so your dad wouldn't be able to make fun of me, but then I figured he'd want to come and listen to it."

He glanced at Erica and saw that she regarded him with a cryptic little smile.

"Why do you ask? Is that such a weird thing?"

"No, no. Not at all. It's just totally not Uncle Will, that's all. It's pretty sweet, actually."

"Hey now," Will protested. "Are you suggesting that I'm usually not sweet?"

"No, that's not what I mean. It's just that I've never heard about you having a girlfriend or something. It's cool, though."

"Is it now?" Will smiled. "Well, I'm glad you approve. Now spill the beans about your talk with Claire, or I'll turn around at the convenience store on the corner there."

"Alright, alright." Erica grinned and raised her hands briefly in mock capitulation. "Just keep going back to the interstate and go south. I'll talk when you're on the exit ramp to the mall."

Erica held her ground despite Will's prodding, enjoying his helpless impatience. He pretended that it didn't matter to him all that much anyway, but her impish little grin told him that she wasn't buying it. She finally relented when they climbed out of the Navigator in the parking lot of the mall.

"She said you're 'really nice'."

"That's it? Just 'really nice'?"

"Yeah, but she was saying it with feeling, you know? 'Really nice'", Erica said again, this time with heavy emphasis on the 'really' in approximation of Claire's tone of voice. "Oh, and she was really impressed that you're not stuck up at all."

"Fooled her, didn't I?" Will grinned.

It was the middle of the week, and the mall wasn't particularly crowded, which suited Will just fine. They stopped at Abercrombie & Fitch, where Erica picked out an armful of pants and shirts to try on. Will continued his interrogation while he waited for Erica in front of the changing room.

"Did she say anything else? About the date, maybe?"

"Come on, Uncle Will. You know she likes you. She's going out on another date with you, right?"

"Yeah," Will conceded. "But maybe she's just trying to be nice." He glanced around to see one of the salesgirls looking at him. She averted her gaze when she saw that he noticed.

"And will you hurry up, please? I look like a pervert, hanging out in front of the changing room like that. The girl behind the counter is probably calling mall security on me as we speak."

Erica giggled.

"Oh, don't worry about the mall cops. They're all either eighty years old, or a hundred pounds overweight. We can take 'em."

"That would make for fantastic headlines. 'Famous author a Peeping Tom; beats up octogenarian rent-a-cop'."

After what seemed like the better part of an hour, Erica had finally worked through the stack of clothes, and Will was glad when the changing room door finally opened again so it didn't look like he was talking to himself.

At the register, he raised an eyebrow when the cashier rang up Erica's selections.

"A hundred and twenty bucks for a pair of pants and two tops? Good God. I can buy enough jeans for that kind of money to last me two years."

"Yeah, girl clothes are always more expensive," Erica replied as she pulled a small stack of twenties from her pocket and counted them out. "They know who's shopping for clothes, and who isn't."

"Did your dad give you all that cash?"

"No, grandma did. She always gives me money when she comes to visit. Dad only takes me clothes shopping once a year, just before school starts. I do talk him out of a twenty on occasion, though."

"I've seen your closet, kiddo. You're not likely to run out of clothes any time soon."

They walked back through the mall, exchanging comments about the people passing them in either direction. To Will, it seemed that the girls in Erica's age group wore far more make-up than the ones he saw up in New England. Every other female teenager was dolled up like something out of a youth magazine, and when he asked Erica about them, she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, that's the thing around here," she said glumly. "You take a look at the girls in my grade, it's like they all want to make the cover of Cosmo or something. They wouldn't be caught dead at the supermarket without war paint. You might run into some cute boy from school, you know." She spoke the last sentence with an exaggerated accent that was a perfect blend of Southern drawl and Valley Girl. Will grinned and wrapped his arm around Erica's shoulder.

"Don't you ever turn into one of them," he said. "Any guy with half a brain would climb over a pile of those cheerleaders to go out on a date with you."

"Well, then there aren't any guys around here with even half a brain," she countered with a wry smile. "I'll let you know when I find one, though."

Will was just about ready to steer Erica back towards the car when he saw a storefront sporting a familiar logo.

"Hey, what do you know? They have an Apple store in this mall. It's almost like civilization."

"Yeah, it opened last year. I usually go in there and drool over the computers."

"You owe me some time now. Come along--I need to pick up a new laptop to replace the one I gave to you."

"Dragging me in there? Oh, twist my arm," Erica grinned.

The Apple store was clad entirely in white and stainless, to match the white and stainless computers that were lovingly arranged on custom wood display tables. The place clearly drew the hip-and-trendy crowd; Will looked around to find that he was the only person above the age of thirty in the store.

He started looking over the lineup of laptops parked in neat rows on the display tables, and he had barely touched a key on one of the machines when one of the sales people approached him.

"Shopping for a new computer today?"

The sales guy was maybe in his early twenties, and the rings in his lip and nose clashed with the relatively conservative Apple polo shirt. Will suppressed a sudden urge to reply with a smart-ass comment.

No, I'm looking for a pound of Oolong tea. Where can I find that?

"Yeah, I gave up my old one to my niece here." He nodded his head towards Erica, who was busy playing with one of the iPods on display. "What's the latest and greatest in Powerbooks?"

"Well, they're not called Powerbooks anymore. They're MacBooks now. We have the regular models, and the Pro line."

The Pro models were the closest thing to his old Powerbook, wide and flat slabs of brushed metal with large screens and comfortable keyboards. Will half-listened to the sales pitch while trying out a few of the floor models. When the sales kid gave him an opening, Will pointed to the model with the biggest screen.

"I'll take that one, and a copy of whatever software package includes Word."

The sales guy all but clicked his heels and disappeared to get the indicated model out of the stock room in the back, and Will walked over to Erica.

"Don't you have one of those iPod thingies already?"

"I wish I did," she replied, putting the one she had been holding back into its cradle with a wistful look. "On the new ones, you can even watch videos and stuff."

Will didn't understand the allure of watching videos on a screen the size of a matchbook, but the little devices looked undeniably cool, and the look of longing in Erica's eyes was genuine.

"Well, I've been trying to come up with ideas for your Christmas present," he said. "You think you can wait a few weeks for one of those? Your parents would kill me if I gave you one right now just for the hell of it. I need a good occasion."

He almost laughed at the sudden shift in Erica's expression, which went from wistfulness to hopeful excitement in the blink of an eye.

"Really? Oh, man. That would be totally awesome."

"Not just partially awesome, huh? Well, don't save your meager allowance for one. You may just have one waiting for you when you guys come up for Christmas."

"Thanks, Uncle Will." Erica hugged him fiercely. "You spoil me rotten, you know?"

"Yeah, whatever." He returned her hug. "Just come and visit me a lot in the retirement home when I'm old and cranky."

Will handed over his credit card to pay for the computer, and the sales guy asked for his ID. When Will showed him the Maine driving license, the kid nodded and swiped the card. He handed the sales slip to Will for a signature, and there was no evidence that the kid recognized Will's name.

Visual Arts major, he thought, recalling his conversation with Laura a few weeks ago. Probably hasn't touched a work of fiction since he made a C minus in his freshman English Lit class.

When they left the store, Will carrying his new laptop in a box under his arm, he looked at the sales slip.

"Holy crap. Nine and a quarter percent sales tax? I could have saved myself a few hundred bucks if I had bought this thing in New Hampshire instead."

"Why don't you just return it while we're still here?" Erica asked.

Will thought about it and then shook his head.

"More hassle than it's worth. Besides, I need to get some work done, and I don't know how long I'll be here. Just remind me to not buy any expensive stuff again when I come to visit."

Back in the parking lot, he suddenly remembered his old writing files.

"Hey, kiddo, have you deleted any stuff from that laptop I gave you? I left some work on the desktop, and I don't have another copy of it anywhere."

Erica shook her head.

"I haven't deleted anything. I've just browsed the Internet and stuff."

She hesitated for a moment, and then looked up at him.

"Um, Uncle Will? I sort of read some of your stuff."

"You did?" Will raised an eyebrow. "I don't usually show it to anyone before it's finished. I trust you didn't run off and submit it to a publisher or anything."

"No way," she laughed, relief in her voice. "I just read around in it a little bit."

"And? What did you think?"

"It's good," she said. "You're an awesome writer. It's just... some of it is a bit wordy. You know, long-winded? Like you were writing for pages."

His initial impulse was to defend his work and brush her criticism aside. Then he reminded himself that this was Erica, not some blowhard newspaper critic or snot-nosed creative writing student.

"Wordy, huh? Yeah, I guess I go off on tangents on occasion. To tell you the truth, I don't like it much myself."

"Oh, no, it's good," Erica protested. "Your descriptions are awesome. I couldn't write like that in a hundred years. It's just that you could cut about half of it without hurting the rest."

"My niece, the literature critic," he laughed. "Maybe you can pick up the torch after I quit this stuff. It looks like it's sort of the family business anyway."

"I don't think I could ever get as good as you or dad."

"Nobody starts out writing like a pro, kiddo. You have to read and write a lot before you can crank out anything that's worth a damn. I could show you the kind of junk I wrote when I was in college, but it would make you flinch."

"That bad, huh?" Erica grinned. "That's kind of hard to believe."

"Believe it. We're talking the most rotten attempt at epic fantasy anyone's ever written. Think 'lousy Tolkien rip-off.' Orcs and elves and all. And dragonriders," he finished with fake enthusiasm.

"I can't even get anything lousy finished," Erica said glumly. "I have good ideas for stories all the time, but they all seem to go nowhere after a while."

"Page forty disease," Will laughed. "Every aspiring writer has a drawer full of stories that fizzle out right around page forty. Welcome to the writing world."

When they returned to the house, Christa's car was in the driveway, so Will parked the Navigator behind Bob's ratty truck.

"Thanks for taking me to the mall," Erica said as they walked up to the front door. "I know you hate the place."

"No sweat. I needed to get that laptop anyway. Just remind me to come and copy my files off your machine before I leave, okay?"

Erica unlatched the front door with her key and stealthily tucked the Abercrombie & Fitch bags behind the door to the garage before heading over to the kitchen.

"Hey, mom. We're back."

"I see that." Christa stepped out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. "Hey there, Will. Didn't think I'd see you again this soon."

"Yeah, I'm sure Bob's already spilled the beans," Will grimaced as he hugged his sister-in-law. "Can't keep anything secret in this family."

"Well, you coming back to Knoxville just for a date is a pretty momentous occasion," Christa said. "Kate says you must have it bad, because Normal Will won't even drive the hundred-odd miles to Augusta to see his mother unless there's a major holiday."

"He talked to mom about this already?" Will shook his head. "I might as well take out a whole-page announcement in the paper whenever I go out with someone."

"Dinner will be ready in ten. Hope you're up for vegetable lasagna. I don't cook anything fancy during the week."

"You mean it's possible to make lasagna without any meat?"

"It is if you want to keep Little Miss Choosy Eater there fed and nourished," Christa said, nodding into Erica's direction. "She eats poultry, but only free-range. Eats fish, but only stuff that wasn't caught with a trawler net. Forget about meat and pork."

"Hey, at least you don't have to worry about her running out to McDonald's every other evening," Will said, winking at Erica.

"Oh, I wish she would. That way I wouldn't constantly have to look for new vegetarian cookbooks. Even then, half the recipes I try out of those, she's like, 'This is so bland, mom.'"

"That's because there's no meat in there," Will said in Erica's direction. "Dead critter is what gives food its flavor, you know."

Erica stuck both fingers into her ears and silently mouthed "la la la" in response before disappearing around the corner, undoubtedly seeking to secure her clandestine clothes purchases before Christa or Bob could find the bags.

"Kids," Christa said, rolling her eyes. "You think you're done with the worst when they're out of diapers and finally in school, and then they turn into teenagers."

The vegetable lasagna was surprisingly good, and Christa looked pleased when Will helped himself to seconds. Bob opened a long-hoarded bottle of aged single malt Scotch, and before long, Will was pleasantly buzzed.

After dinner, he excused himself to call Claire. He had to step out to the driveway to fetch his cell phone from the rental, and he welcomed the opportunity for a walk up the street, away from the three sets of curious ears in the house.

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A Bettered Life

Michael Lindgren

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