368 Unfinished Business

It was true that Bailey Batt, my best friend, had ruined my life. He had seduced my fiancée whom I had been with for seven years. In less than three months they were married.

Bailey and Missy went on to have four children, two boys and two girls. All of their children got full-ride scholarships at Ivy League schools. Bailey became alumnus-of-the-year at our high school when we were both 70. He had a charmed life with Missy; fifty years of happiness with her.

I myself had married poorly, mostly rebound, and it only lasted for eight months of the most miserable time of my life. I never remarried. Missy was just too high a bar.

Bailey and I never spoke again after confronting him about his tryst with Missy. But despite my wrong life-choice with my rebound soon-to-be ex-wife, I moved on. I did just fine, even though I had two holes in my heart which would neither heal nor scar. One for a best friend who did the worst thing one could do to someone; the other for Missy, who did the second-worst thing one could do to someone.

I know there are many others with more heart holes than the two I suffer, and this has helped me put things into perspective. The heart holes don't even hurt anymore. They just kind of itch from time to time.

I know no amount or type of scratching could measure up to that itch, but itches fade if you don't scratch them. For a long time, thankfully. Sure, they come back occasionally, but they also fade as many times, too.

I had hoped to distract myself with a new life--a life without Missy--by the time they were married. But then they had invited me to their wedding--if you can believe that! But I got them a wedding present, anyway--my absence: a gift all three of us enjoyed.

Even till now.

Now into my eighth decade, imagine my surprise when the phone rang and I heard Bailey say, "How's it going, Louis?" Bailey had always started every conversation with, "How's it going?"

"I don't know," I told him, startled, somewhat panicky. And angry, all over again. My heart holes spewed bile. "You should ask me, 'How's it gone?' instead, don't you think?"

"Listen, Louis," he said, "I know this phone call's long overdue. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am about everything that happened with Missy."

After a pregnant pause, I responded. "How's it going with Missy?" I asked, half-interested and half-sarcastic.

"Missy's fine. I mean, some arthritis, but don't we all? But she's better than me."

"I was better than you, Bailey!" I shouted.

"Louis, that might be true. Who knows what draws people together? But you don't know how I suffered the seven years you were with her. For me, it was love at first sight. Can you imagine how I suffered from day one...then for seven years?"

"Can you imagine how much I suffered," I responded, "after seven years with her, engaged to be married, for God's sake."

"Seven years, Louis, and you still hadn't married her. That should have said something. I married her within months. That says something, too."

"Y'know, Bailey, it's been a long time. I suppose when we're dead and gone it won't matter, except for how I'll haunt you."

"Don't say that, Louis."

"No, the holes in my heart will be my unfinished business. Isn't that what ghosts are, dead people with unfinished business?"

"You believe in ghosts?"

I laughed but nothing was funny. "No, Bailey, I don't believe in ghosts. I mean...who needs ghosts when what you two did to me haunts me every day of my life?"

"Well, Louis," he concluded, "I hope we can all find peace. I just called to say I forgive you."

"You forgive me? For what! You're the one who stole Missy!"

"I forgive you for making me wait seven years."

"There you go again. Seven years this, seven years that. Really?"

"Can you forgive me?" he asked me.

I hung up the phone. What nerve!

With wounds reopened, it took me several hours and then overnight for me to process the whole conversation. Finally, the next morning, as sure about something as I'd ever been, I redialed the number that had shown up on caller ID.

Yeah, I had unfinished business, alright. He needed to hear some select things I wanted to get off my chest.

"Hello?"

It was Missy. My heart, holes and all, skipped a beat. Bile congealed.

"Hello, Missy," I said back. "How's it going?" I didn't mean to say that; it just slipped out.

"Well, you know, the whole business with Bailey, it's been hard. But it's good to hear from you, Louis."

"What 'whole business' with Bailey?" I asked. "His phone call?"

"What phone call?" she asked.

"He called me recently, you know."

"No, I didn't. Well, I'm glad he did and got that done before—" she trailed off.

"Before what?"

"He died four days ago. In fact, the service is today."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Yes, it was sudden. A stroke. He smoked, you know."

In an instant, my entire conversation with Bailey from the day before landed on me. In that same instant, all of my life's involvement with Bailey landed on me. All of the what-ifs over Missy piled on even further.

"I don't suppose," I said, with all of my life's bile flooding back through my heart holes, "I would be welcome at his funeral?"

"That'd be nice, Louis," she said. And she meant it. "I think it would have made him very happy."

"What time and where?"

"Eleven o'clock. At Shoen's on Canal St."

"I'll be there," I told her. "Nice to speak with you," I added.

"For me, too," Missy said. There was nothing more that needed to be said. But the conversation wasn't over.

Of course I would go to Bailey's funeral. It was time to settle unfinished business. I owed him an apology; an unreciprocated apology is a loose end too big for anyone. No one would be haunting anyone any time soon.