Earthly Possessions by Anne Tyler

announcer said from a distance. Jake turned up the sound. The man grew louder but no clearer, and sadly shuffled his papers as if he realized it. A picture appearedof Jake and me, backing away from the camera. In spite of the snow, our faces seemed more distinct now. By next week you would be able to count our eyelashes, maybe even read our thoughts. But our stay was much briefer this time, cut off in midstep. We were replaced by my husband, a towering hatrack of a man, gaunt and cavernous and haunted-looking as always, sitting on our flowered sofa. I felt something tearing inside me. “That bank robbery in Clarion,” the announcer said, “is not yet solved, and police are concerned about a woman hostage who has been identified as Mrs. Charlotte Emory.”
    My husband vanished. A picture teetered up of me alone, photographed by my father for my high school graduation: my fifties self with lacquered hairdo, cowgirl scarf, and cheeky black smile. Then Saul returned. The announcer said, “Our own Gary Schneider talked with her husband this evening for ‘Views on News’ cameras.”
    Gary Schneider, who wasn’t pictured, asked something I didn’t catch. Saul stopped cracking his knuckles. He said, “Yes, naturally I’m worried, but I have faith she’ll be returned to us. The police believe that the bandit is still in this area.”
    His voice was hollow. He didn’t seem to be thinking of what he was saying.
    “Would you care to comment, sir,” said Gary Schneider, “on that sidewalk witness who said they appeared to be running away
together?
Do you have any feeling that this may have been a voluntary action on her part?”
    “That’s ridiculous,” said Saul, and he straightened slowly and took on a looming, ominous appearance that caused Gary Schneider to say, “Uh, well, I just—”
    “Charlotte wouldn’t do such a thing. She’s a good woman, really, it’s just that … and I know she would never leave me.”
    Something clanked. Jake spun around. The old man stood there with a gasoline can, shaking his head at the TV. “Howlong
you
been watching?” Jake asked—so mean you couldn’t miss it, but the old man only smiled.
    “Why, I was one of the first in this valley to purchase a set,” he said. “This here is my third; run clear through the other two. Matter of fact I been thinking of color but I’m scared of the cancer rays.”
    “Yeah, well,” said Jake.
    He paid him for the gas and the can. The old man said he would trust us for the can, but Jake said, “Might as well do like I’m used to,” and handed over the money and took the can and nudged me out the door. When we left, the old man was already stooped before the TV trying to get his favorite channel back.
    As soon as we were outside again, Jake said, “You told me you were leaving your husband.”
    “I was,” I said.
    “How come he said what he did, then? You lied.”
    “He
lied,” I said. “I don’t know why he said that. Not only was I planning to leave him but I’ve left before, and he knows it. Back in nineteen sixty. And I told him I would in sixty-eight also as well as a lot of other times, I couldn’t say just when, exactly …”
    “Oh, hell, I might have known,” said Jake.
    “Now, what is that supposed to mean?”
    But he wouldn’t answer. We walked on, our feet luffing softly on the scabby highway. The air felt chillier and a fine cold spray had started up.
    Oh, I certainly would have liked to give that Saul a piece of my mind. He was always doing things like that. Always saying, “I’m certain you won’t leave me, Charlotte.” I just wished he could see me now. I wished I could mail him a postcard: “Having wonderful time, moving on at last, love to all.” From Florida, or the Bahamas, or the Riviera.
    But then I stepped in some sort of pothole and cold watersplashed to my knees, and my shoes started leaking as if they were no more than paper, and we rounded a curve and came upon the car: hulking in the