Bob at the Plaza by R. Murphy Read Free Book Online Page B

in ice water without them.” I shivered at the mere thought of it. “I’ll come over and help you whenever I can,” Stan continued, resuming his icy stroll back toward me. “You let me dig out the biggest rocks. You don’t want to hurt your back lifting them, not if you’re going to sing in New York in a few weeks.”
    “You’re the best, Stan!” I yelled. “I’ll figure out a nice way to say thank you, I promise.”
    “Stop carrying on like that, now,” Stan gently reprimanded me. “This is what neighbors do for each other out here. Now get yourself to the hardware store and buy some rubber boots, like mine.” He sloshed one foot in the air for me to glance at the details on it. “Then we’ll see what we can do.”
    “Okay. Do you need anything in town as long as I’m going that way?”
    “Nope, I’m all set.” I waved goodbye and left Stan wandering in the waves, pausing occasionally to bend and heave a rock onto the shore.
    As I bustled into the house, I scolded myself all the way. “You see, Roz, there you go complaining to Katie about how bored you are with just cooking and cleaning, so the Universe decides to spice up your life by flooding your house. When are you just going to learn to take life as it comes and keep your whining to yourself? Honestly . . .” I thought of the wet, cold, weeks ahead. “When are you going to learn, Roz, that whenever you complain about having a headache, the Universe decides to take your mind off that pain by dropping a five-pound frozen chicken on your foot.”
    (Now that I think about it, I realize that one day I’ll probably start worrying about the nagging nature of my rich inner life. Today, though, was not that day.)
    The hardware store offered a selection of rubber waders: I could choose black or army surplus green. I guess not a lot of fashion-forward women spend their time heaving rocks in spring floods. Begrudgingly, I shelled out the bucks for the black boots. Might as well invest in the classics, I figured. Maybe Coco Chanel got started with her little black dress this way.
    Late-afternoon sun slanted through the naked trees as I drove home from Avondale. Only an hour or two remained before dark. Stan, ever sensible, had wrapped up for the day.  Normally I’d spend those hours showering and primping for my date with David. Tonight, though, I planned a soggy rendezvous with the lake first.
    My new waders were large enough that I could stuff two pair of socks inside them, and I did. Then I donned my oversized puffy jacket and rubber gloves. Sporting my huge black boots, dark-green hooded jacket, and bright-yellow rubber gloves, I waved at myself as I stomped past the mirror. “I look like a fricking glandular daffodil,” I muttered, shaking my head as I went down the stairs to my lakefront-level cellar.
    Now here’s the thing about wearing waders and rubber gloves when you walk into a lake churning with snow melt-off: you may think you’re going to keep warm, but you’re just deluding yourself. All you’re doing is postponing the inevitable. Imagine sticking your foot into the freezer. It might stay dry for a bit, but it’s still going to get wicked cold eventually. That’s just what happens in a lake. Only much quicker.
    For about thirty minutes I imitated Stan and sauntered through the shallow waters surrounding my beach. I hunted for good-sized stones—maybe a little bigger than my head—pried them out of the muck, and hoisted them onto the shore. After digging out a dozen rocks I clambered out of the frothy water and piled my rocks into a pitifully tiny cairn. Hands and feet numb, filthy from the chin down, my only thought when I hiked upstairs was, This is going to be a verrrry long spring .
    A steamy shower restored me. Mascara, lipstick, black slacks, a lighter-than-normal-weight sweater, and I was dressed for my celebratory dinner. For a change, I unearthed a pair of pearl earrings from the bottom of my jewelry box. While I rummaged