Part 24 (1/2)
”You shouldn't be going out with my brother,” he heard himself saying. ”It's not right. He's got a wife, a very nice wife. And his children . . . I mean, he's a happily married man. A father. Doesn't that matter? Don't you care? Don't you think that's important?”
”Well, I . . . I . . .” She turned and then hurried, almost running, back toward the parking lot.
The front door was locked. Delores had already left. She must not have needed him. She had already left. He felt agitated, yet strangely, euphorically, relieved. He had finally done something, the words having come so swiftly and from so deep within that only energy surged through him, a sense of expansiveness, as if there were nothing he could not do right now. He knocked again, then through the door gla.s.s saw Delores hurry from the back room.
”I didn't think you were coming!” she said, letting him in. She wore black pants and a black sweats.h.i.+rt. Her hair was pulled back from her face. Without makeup she looked younger, the way he remembered her in high school, freshly pleasant. ”I was just starting to bring some things out to the car. The rest Albert can deal with.” She gestured at the stacked boxes. ”Most of it's all packed and marked.” She sighed. ”I don't know what else to do. I'm not calling him anymore, I know that. I keep leaving messages, but I guess this is the way he wants it.” Covering her mouth, she seemed to take a deep breath. ”Eleven years. It's hard to believe. Excuse me, Gordon, I'll be right back.” She hurried into the office.
He waited a minute, then stepped into the storeroom. The bathroom door was closed. Water was running. She came out carrying a small round mirror framed in seash.e.l.ls. Her red eyes glistened. ”I made this.” She tried to smile.
”You did?”
She nodded. ”I found all these sh.e.l.ls. Me and my sister and her husband, we used to rent this cottage two weeks in July, and every morning early I'd go for these long walks with my nieces and we'd pick up sh.e.l.ls, then on rainy days we'd make things.”
”It's very nice.”
”Here, then. You take it.” She held it out.
”Oh no, I-”
”Please. Just take it. Please?” She looked ready to burst into tears if he didn't. He thanked her.
After they had put her possessions into the car, a rug and a small table and a few boxes, she locked the store, then jumped behind the wheel and backed quickly down the alley. ”Boy, it's a good thing you're here,” she said at the red light. ”Because if you weren't, I'd pull right in there”-she pointed to the drugstore-”and buy a pack of cigarettes. That's what always happens, every time I quit the sky starts to fall, and next thing I know I'm lighting up.”
”It's better than having to drink, though, right?”
She looked over and laughed. ”I don't know. One kinda goes with the other when you're feeling like that.”
He was surprised when she turned onto Clover Street. ”Don't you want me to help you carry all this up to your apartment?”
She shook her head. ”That's okay.”
”I don't mind. In fact, that's what I thought we were going to do.” He patted the musty rolled rug jutting out over the seat between them. ”I mean, you can't carry this up all by yourself.”
”I don't even want it. I don't want any of it. I just don't want to give him him the satisfaction of throwing it all out.” She pulled up in front of his house. ”I'm sorry. I guess I'm not my usual sparkling self tonight.” Her forced smile dissolved in weariness. the satisfaction of throwing it all out.” She pulled up in front of his house. ”I'm sorry. I guess I'm not my usual sparkling self tonight.” Her forced smile dissolved in weariness.
”That's okay. I understand. When you feel like this you just want to be alone, that's all.”
”No. I hate being alone. I hate that more than anything. Sometimes I get scared and I think, What if I fall down and break my leg or pa.s.s out or something? No one would know. Or care, probably. Except the paperboy or the mailman.” She tried to laugh, then quickly covered her face, struggling not to cry.
He didn't know where to look or what to say. Once again it was the wantonness of her emotions that most frightened him, her easy intimacy a contagion requiring constant vigilance. His mind raced to change the subject. Anything. ”Oh. Yes, the mailman. That reminds me,” he said stiffly as she wheezed and snuffled into her hands. ”I was coming out of the post office and I saw that woman, the one with Dennis. It was awkward. I mean, it was the first time since that night at the Inn. And all of a sudden it just kind of came out of me. I certainly didn't plan to say what I did. And she was, well, dumbstruck, I guess.” The oddest thing happened as he spoke. He didn't want to be telling her any of this, knew he shouldn't, yet he was relis.h.i.+ng every word, savoring the moment relived, in a way that made it all seem not only quite right, but even better than he had realized.
”What do you mean?” She wiped her eyes. ”Gordon.” She touched his arm. ”You actually said that? You told her to stop seeing your brother?”
”I had to. Dennis and Lisa, they're my family. I can't just stand by and do nothing. It's not right. I mean, you'd do the same. You know you would.”
”No. No, I wouldn't do that that.”
”Yes, you would. You care for people. I've seen you. You speak up. Like that time with Jada. You dropped everything. You came right over.”
”Because you sounded so nervous.”
”Because you care for people,” he said, straining toward her, wanting to help, to convince her of her own worth.
”Because I care for you.”
He had an image of himself as a child walking out too far into the pond and then suddenly having to tread water. And in his panic realizing that if he stopped for even a moment, it would be over. ”And I care very much about my brother. And his family. Lisa and Jimmy and Annie.”
Reaching over, she patted his hand. ”Of course you do, Gordon. And even if he does get mad, at least you know you did the right thing. And that's really all that matters, isn't it?”
He nodded.
”And who knows, maybe it'll work. Maybe now she'll break it off, that . . . that what's-her-name.”
”Jilly,” he said, sinking into the warmth that came from speaking her name.
Delores touched his arm, stroking it with her fingertips. ”Yes, and then everything will be the way it should be.” She brushed her lips against his cheek. For a moment his eyes felt much too heavy to open.
She followed him up the walk. She said she had to go to the bathroom. He didn't believe her, and the odd thing was he didn't really mind. For the first time in a long time, he didn't want to be alone.
The minute the door opened, the sharp smell of mustard stung his nostrils. Then vinegar. He kicked something. The VCR. Why was it on the floor? He turned on the light.
”My G.o.d.” He looked toward the trashed kitchen, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
”Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,” Delores muttered, stepping closer.
He looked at her. ”Who?” She seemed to know what had happened here. He watched her pick up an unbroken saucer from the shards.
”Was there any money hidden in here?”
”No.”
”That's why, then. They probably got mad.”
”Who?”
”Kids, probably.” She picked up an intact plate. Then a bowl. Another saucer. ”Hopefully your insurance will cover it. You better call the police.”
”No.”
”But if you don't report it, then-”