JAN. 27, 2006
COFFEE WITH THE CAPTAIN, PART II

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be," Stottlemeyer said. "I'm lucky I stayed married as long as I did, given my profession. I see the worst side of humanity every day. I thought I was protecting her from it. Do you think if I told her everything, if I came home and vomited up my day, she'd still be with me?"

I shrugged.

He stared into his coffee. "The thing is, Natalie, I don't know how to be alone."

"You aren't," I said. "You still have your family and your friends."

"Is that what people told you when your husband died?"

"Your wife isn't dead."

"She might as well be," he said. "And each time I see her and she walks away, I die a little, too."

"Have you told her that?"

"She knows," Stottlemeyer said.

I wasn't going to argue the point. I didn't know him or his wife well enough to know if he was right.

"So you're afraid you're going to turn into Adrian Monk?" I asked.

"Natalie, you know what I did last night? I shined my shoes. I never shine my shoes."

"Did you measure the laces to be sure they were even? Did you place them in their original, mint-condition shoeboxes and arrange them by color?"

"No," he said.

"Then you aren't Monk," I said.

"It sure felt Monk-ish to me," Stottlemeyer said. "I took one look at my shoes this morning, went outside, and rubbed mud all over them."

Okay, now that was strange. But I kept that to myself. What I said instead was:

"Shining your shoes, cleaning your pantry, whatever. It's the little things, the mundane rituals and responsibilities of life, that get you through the worst of it. You're functioning even if you feel like you're not. I think it's part of healing. And then one day, you wake up and the sadness isn't so heavy and your garage is organized. It's like a bonus."

He seemed to mull that over for awhile, then he sighed and rose from his seat.

"Thanks, Natalie. I appreciate this."

"Any time, Captain," I said, purposely keeping it formal. I didn't want him rebounding in my direction. "What are you going to do now?"

He shrugged. "Start cleaning my garage, I guess."

And with that he walked out.

Past Entries:

• (1/20) Shaking the St. Francis Hotel
• (1/13) No 'Need' For Scooter
• (1/6) Baker's Dozen Drives Monk Do-Nuts
• (1/2) Taking Mr. Monk to the Theater