Part 13 (2/2)
As they drew near the table Jim glanced up, smiling. T. was smoothing a lock of his mother's hair behind her ear.
Family, thought Susan. She was surprised.
”Don't look now,” said Jim, a couple of days later. They were on the tennis court, whose clay surface was far too cracked for serious players. Luckily they were not serious. They had two old wooden racquets from a closet in the rec room and a bag of dull gray b.a.l.l.s with hardly any bounce.
”Don't look where now,” said Susan, walking up to the net.
”Outside the gate there's a guy with a camera, taking snapshots of us,” said Jim, and bent down to pocket a ball.
She turned to look.
”Well s.h.i.+t. What did I just say,” said Jim, shaking his head. But he didn't seem upset.
”Who is it? The cousins?”
Jim shook his head. ”Doubt it. They have no incentive to doc.u.ment us.”
”But then-who would?”
”I think maybe my wife,” said Jim. ”Apologies.”
Susan had been reaching down for her water bottle, at the end of the net, but stopped and glanced up.
”Your wife?”
”Someone who's working for her, anyway. They're gathering ammunition.”
”Ammunition?”
”For the divorce.”
She lifted the bottle to her lips and gazed at him steadily as she drank.
”I had no idea,” she said, after she wiped drops off her lips.
”It doesn't matter,” he said.
”Can't she-you mean for alimony, or something?”
”Ha. No. There was a prenup. She's wealthy, her family made me sign it. Evidence of infidelity means I won't get anything.”
”Oh,” said Susan. They stood opposite each other, wooden racquets in hand, with only the net between them. The top of the net was cracked, like the court, its white hem barely holding together across the top of the sagging green mesh.
”Sorry for the invasion of privacy,” he said, and gazed down at his shoes. They were Converse; Hal had owned a pair.
”I don't care,” she said. ”But are you-I mean we could call the cops or something, couldn't we? That's actually my property there, where he's standing. I think he might be trespa.s.sing.”
Jim shook his head and shrugged. ”I always knew it would happen. She's been waiting me out. Waiting for me to do this. For years. So now she's free to get rid of me. Even before, any settlement would have been minuscule. Fine with me. But she likes to win completely. She didn't want me to see a penny.”
”So why did you-I mean, why did you stay? If you weren't in it for the money . . .”
”Why do you think,” said Jim. ”Let's. .h.i.t the ball, OK?”
He backed up.
”You love her,” said Susan, nearly under her breath. ”You love her even though she doesn't love you.”
He stood and tossed a ball, waiting for her to move into position.
”I can't help it,” he said finally, as she walked to the service line.
The ball came early, while she was still turning toward him to receive. It bounced and hit the fence.
Vera was not coming back; a sick relative needed her in New Jersey. Angela was upset by the news and sequestered herself in her bedroom.
”She won't eat anything but candy,” reported Casey over the telephone. ”She refuses to have anyone else come and stay. Except for T. or me, but we can't go there every night. She drinks water from her bathroom tap, out of the toothbrush cup. She eats these little bags of red licorice. She had them left over from giving out to the kids at Halloween and she took them in there with her and now she won't eat anything else. If you try to give her real food she lets it sit there and rot.”
”Maybe,” ventured Susan, ”maybe it's time to consider-?”
”Not happening. We're not putting her in an inst.i.tution. First of all, she would hate it. And T. doesn't like the idea much either.”
”I don't know what to tell you,” said Susan. ”Taking care of her is kind of a full-time occupation.”
She was looking out the window at the backyard, where the guys who serviced the koi ponds were dipping tubes into the water to test it.
”Yeah. Yeah,” said Casey distractedly. ”No. It is. Plus T. wants to go to Borneo.”
”Borneo?”
”Saving-the-rainforest deal.”
”Huh. He's h.e.l.l-bent for leather on the nature stuff, isn't he.”
”What can I say. He's always been a workaholic.”
After they hung up Susan wandered out the back door, over to where a technician stood beside a pond with a small bridge arching above it. He was young, freckled and sported a crew cut. Once she might have seen him as a prospect.
”You don't happen to know anyone who could tear up a piece of concrete for me, do you?” she asked. ”Who has a jackhammer or something?”
”I could find out for you,” he said. ”Sure. How big of a job is it?”
”It's pretty small,” she said.
”So what's in it for me?”
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