ask, somehow.
And she was still learning how to talk with this man, her new husband. Their first real conversations had been by phone—Jerry from Chicago, she in Hartfield—and were full of gentle, teasing laughter as well as careful listening. Jerry asked her many questions, all about her life—what her parents had been like, and what she thought about her grandchildren, and how George had treated her. Winnie had treasured these long afternoons in her old apartment, walking back and forth, her ear growing hot from the phone’s receiver. She had been flattered by his attention, and perhaps she got caught up in talking about herself. Every once in a while she would try, of course, to turn the subject to his own experience, but she could tell right away that while Jerry didn’t mind talking about himself, he wanted to be the one leading the conversation. He much preferred to do the asking of questions. So she let him: it was heaven, the sensation of someone wanting to know you.
“Happens all the time,” Jerry said. “It’s a power play.” But he looked tired now, and he still wasn’t touching his food.
“Of course,” Winnie said, not certain about any part of it. “I’m sure she’ll listen to reason. Eventually.”
“I only told you because some of the lawyers are coming out tomorrow. And I didn’t want you to overhear something and get worried. Just put it out of your head.”
Winnie smiled, with difficulty, and said no more.
What would it mean for her own relations with Annette—were they still going to Chicago for Labor Day, for example? How could they possibly? Would there be shouting over the phone, a big fight at Thanksgiving? But the startling news and her fears soon shrank down to nothing but a manageable buzz inside her head, in the moment that Jerry blew noisily on a spoonful of soup, and then ate it. And another, and another. He put away the whole bowl in one swoop, and all Winnie did was sit, and watch, and fill with happiness.
Five
R ACHEL
The phone was ringing as Rachel unlocked the door at 10:05 AM . She tossed an armload of folded clothing on the counter and caught up the receiver at the last moment.
“Hand Me Down, children’s consignment,” she said, out of breath, flipping on the lights. Could she reach the air conditioner, too? The room was sweltering.
“Is this Rachel Brigham?” It was a young woman’s voice, both familiar and not, tentative in tone.
“Yes?”
“This is Leanne Draper. From the management office at the pool?”
“Yes? Wait. Is everything all right with Lila?”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that.” A little note of relief came into Leanne’s voice. “I was just—well, it’s just that your check got returned? I tried to reach your husband first, but…anyway, I left a message for him. So this is the other number that we have on file.”
“My check…really? I didn’t think I’d paid August yet. DidBob mail it in already?” This was impossible, of course. Bob would no sooner know the fee schedule for Lila’s pool membership than she herself would know how to fix a carburetor.
“It’s the check for July. The bank just called us.”
“Well, I don’t see how that could have happened.”
“Yeah,” Leanne said. “I bounce stuff all the time.”
“You guys are just depositing July now?” Rachel did some fast, sloppy calculations in her head. Last she’d looked, there was six hundred something in her checking account. If the July check for $850 had already bounced, would that mean that it was coming back into her account? Or that something else had bounced, too?
“I can take care of this over the phone for you, if you want. We can do pretty much any kind of credit card.”
Rachel was trying to think, in the still, hot air of the store. The Visa card would never handle that kind of charge. And American Express would be due by mid-month anyway. She could transfer from savings. Again. That would be the third time this summer. Then
And she was still learning how to talk with this man, her new husband. Their first real conversations had been by phone—Jerry from Chicago, she in Hartfield—and were full of gentle, teasing laughter as well as careful listening. Jerry asked her many questions, all about her life—what her parents had been like, and what she thought about her grandchildren, and how George had treated her. Winnie had treasured these long afternoons in her old apartment, walking back and forth, her ear growing hot from the phone’s receiver. She had been flattered by his attention, and perhaps she got caught up in talking about herself. Every once in a while she would try, of course, to turn the subject to his own experience, but she could tell right away that while Jerry didn’t mind talking about himself, he wanted to be the one leading the conversation. He much preferred to do the asking of questions. So she let him: it was heaven, the sensation of someone wanting to know you.
“Happens all the time,” Jerry said. “It’s a power play.” But he looked tired now, and he still wasn’t touching his food.
“Of course,” Winnie said, not certain about any part of it. “I’m sure she’ll listen to reason. Eventually.”
“I only told you because some of the lawyers are coming out tomorrow. And I didn’t want you to overhear something and get worried. Just put it out of your head.”
Winnie smiled, with difficulty, and said no more.
What would it mean for her own relations with Annette—were they still going to Chicago for Labor Day, for example? How could they possibly? Would there be shouting over the phone, a big fight at Thanksgiving? But the startling news and her fears soon shrank down to nothing but a manageable buzz inside her head, in the moment that Jerry blew noisily on a spoonful of soup, and then ate it. And another, and another. He put away the whole bowl in one swoop, and all Winnie did was sit, and watch, and fill with happiness.
Five
R ACHEL
The phone was ringing as Rachel unlocked the door at 10:05 AM . She tossed an armload of folded clothing on the counter and caught up the receiver at the last moment.
“Hand Me Down, children’s consignment,” she said, out of breath, flipping on the lights. Could she reach the air conditioner, too? The room was sweltering.
“Is this Rachel Brigham?” It was a young woman’s voice, both familiar and not, tentative in tone.
“Yes?”
“This is Leanne Draper. From the management office at the pool?”
“Yes? Wait. Is everything all right with Lila?”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that.” A little note of relief came into Leanne’s voice. “I was just—well, it’s just that your check got returned? I tried to reach your husband first, but…anyway, I left a message for him. So this is the other number that we have on file.”
“My check…really? I didn’t think I’d paid August yet. DidBob mail it in already?” This was impossible, of course. Bob would no sooner know the fee schedule for Lila’s pool membership than she herself would know how to fix a carburetor.
“It’s the check for July. The bank just called us.”
“Well, I don’t see how that could have happened.”
“Yeah,” Leanne said. “I bounce stuff all the time.”
“You guys are just depositing July now?” Rachel did some fast, sloppy calculations in her head. Last she’d looked, there was six hundred something in her checking account. If the July check for $850 had already bounced, would that mean that it was coming back into her account? Or that something else had bounced, too?
“I can take care of this over the phone for you, if you want. We can do pretty much any kind of credit card.”
Rachel was trying to think, in the still, hot air of the store. The Visa card would never handle that kind of charge. And American Express would be due by mid-month anyway. She could transfer from savings. Again. That would be the third time this summer. Then
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