them, you see.” She continued to hesitate in that one spot, facing the girl, just smiling self-confidently and absently running her hand through Mark’s hair as he leaned disconsolately against her knees.
“Oh…Well, then…” And the girl waved them on.
Dinah had found the incident staggering, and she had been so struck with admiration for Pam that she had related the whole thing to her mother that afternoon, but her mother had just nodded absentmindedly. Her mother had never been in a store like that.
Now Dinah sat in a booth across from Pam and felt grateful to her, because she was sure Pam was not judging her, was not even thinking of it. Pam never generalized; she would not assume that one mistake, one loss of temper, would inevitably lead to another. She would not, in fact, assume that one mistake indicated anything, really, one way or another. Dinah hoped that Pam would never be deceived in any way by virtue of her good nature, that she would know when it
was
necessary to draw conclusions. But at the moment Dinah was relieved because she believed that Pam’s tremendous competence had not led her to feel either smug or superior. She and Pam did not have to be rivals; they could just be uncomplicated summer friends.
I n Enfield the days were long, and most evenings Dinah’s three children, with Mark Brooks toddling along behind, roamed around their grandmother’s house long after supper while Pam and Lawrence and Dinah and Polly sat out on the patio with their drinks. Once in a while Buddy would join them when he came over from Fort Lyman. After a while Dinah would gather up her children and they would walk back through the village to their own summer beds, where they would sleep easily after their long day. But in the late afternoon Dinah sat on her mother’s patio suffused with lethargy, yet always aware of an unsettling presumption that something was going to be made clear to her momentarily, in the fuzzy light.
Pam was talking about Mark, about how absurd she and Lawrence were about him, monitoring his slightest progress. Her voice filled the space between the four adults sweetly, and Dinah heard the adamancy behind her self-deprecation. Mark
was
the finest and most fascinating child in the world, she was saying, beneath her words. Dinah remembered knowing the same thing about her own children. She looked across the patio at Lawrence, and she had known him for such a long time that it was unfathomable to her that he should be a father, that he should feel it deeply.
“But, you know,” Polly said, “it’s hard to know about children. Well, they never
tell
you anything, do they? They’re mysteries to me, still.”
Polly had arrived at one of her disconcerting moments of animation. Suddenly she would reveal herself to be, after all, tangibly connected to the world. Those moments always took Dinah unawares. And, at Polly’s words, Dinah’s mind went dizzy with the naïveté of her mother’s conclusion. To hear this from a woman who had floated through her own children’s childhood in a private, efflorescent silence! But she looked at her mother and found that she could, at the moment, only reaffirm her in her opinion that one’s children told one nothing, because Dinah could think of nothing to say to her mother on the subject. But Polly turned to her, “You know, though, Dinah, it does seem to me that you ought to do something about Toby. He walks oddly now and then, he’s developing a limp, and he’s gotten into a bad habit of stuttering. Have you done anything about his speech?”
It always amazed Dinah that her mother would sit down and calmly impart information to her about David and Toby and Sarah as if she, Dinah, had only a passing acquaintance with them. “Well…” Polly moved her hand around their little circle, motioning them all into her affection and amusement. “Now there’s a child who will tell you
everything!
I imagine that’s why he stutters so,” she said fondly,
“Oh…Well, then…” And the girl waved them on.
Dinah had found the incident staggering, and she had been so struck with admiration for Pam that she had related the whole thing to her mother that afternoon, but her mother had just nodded absentmindedly. Her mother had never been in a store like that.
Now Dinah sat in a booth across from Pam and felt grateful to her, because she was sure Pam was not judging her, was not even thinking of it. Pam never generalized; she would not assume that one mistake, one loss of temper, would inevitably lead to another. She would not, in fact, assume that one mistake indicated anything, really, one way or another. Dinah hoped that Pam would never be deceived in any way by virtue of her good nature, that she would know when it
was
necessary to draw conclusions. But at the moment Dinah was relieved because she believed that Pam’s tremendous competence had not led her to feel either smug or superior. She and Pam did not have to be rivals; they could just be uncomplicated summer friends.
I n Enfield the days were long, and most evenings Dinah’s three children, with Mark Brooks toddling along behind, roamed around their grandmother’s house long after supper while Pam and Lawrence and Dinah and Polly sat out on the patio with their drinks. Once in a while Buddy would join them when he came over from Fort Lyman. After a while Dinah would gather up her children and they would walk back through the village to their own summer beds, where they would sleep easily after their long day. But in the late afternoon Dinah sat on her mother’s patio suffused with lethargy, yet always aware of an unsettling presumption that something was going to be made clear to her momentarily, in the fuzzy light.
Pam was talking about Mark, about how absurd she and Lawrence were about him, monitoring his slightest progress. Her voice filled the space between the four adults sweetly, and Dinah heard the adamancy behind her self-deprecation. Mark
was
the finest and most fascinating child in the world, she was saying, beneath her words. Dinah remembered knowing the same thing about her own children. She looked across the patio at Lawrence, and she had known him for such a long time that it was unfathomable to her that he should be a father, that he should feel it deeply.
“But, you know,” Polly said, “it’s hard to know about children. Well, they never
tell
you anything, do they? They’re mysteries to me, still.”
Polly had arrived at one of her disconcerting moments of animation. Suddenly she would reveal herself to be, after all, tangibly connected to the world. Those moments always took Dinah unawares. And, at Polly’s words, Dinah’s mind went dizzy with the naïveté of her mother’s conclusion. To hear this from a woman who had floated through her own children’s childhood in a private, efflorescent silence! But she looked at her mother and found that she could, at the moment, only reaffirm her in her opinion that one’s children told one nothing, because Dinah could think of nothing to say to her mother on the subject. But Polly turned to her, “You know, though, Dinah, it does seem to me that you ought to do something about Toby. He walks oddly now and then, he’s developing a limp, and he’s gotten into a bad habit of stuttering. Have you done anything about his speech?”
It always amazed Dinah that her mother would sit down and calmly impart information to her about David and Toby and Sarah as if she, Dinah, had only a passing acquaintance with them. “Well…” Polly moved her hand around their little circle, motioning them all into her affection and amusement. “Now there’s a child who will tell you
everything!
I imagine that’s why he stutters so,” she said fondly,
Similar Books
