sweetener, an unopened pint of Half & Half.
She poured for both of us and we sat there like some ancient married couple, sipping coffee together in the middle of the night without speaking. The moon hung full and bright in the sky outside, and after a while Clare got up and turned off the room’s lights. Then, after sitting again, finishing her coffee, pouring anew for us both, she said quietly, “I don’t understand what happened between us, Lew.”
I said nothing, and finally she laughed. “Guess I’ll put that on the list with quantum mechanics, the national debt and the meaning of life, huh?”
I looked at her.
“I’d come over there and sit at your feet now if I could, Lew. Just lean back against you and forget everything else. That’s what I’d do if I could. But I can’t. Probably fall, if I tried. Coffee okay? You want a sandwich or anything?”
“The coffee’s wonderful, Clare. You’re wonderful. And I’m sorry.”
A silence. Then: “You have things you’d do, too—if you could?”
I nodded. Oh yes.
Another, longer silence. “Think maybe you’d consider spending the night in this wonderful coffee maker’s bed?”
“I’m not in very good shape.”
She laughed, suddenly, richly. “Hey, that’s my line.”
Later as we lay there with moonlight washing over us and the ceiling fan thwacking gently to and fro, I mused that pain was every bit as wayward, as slippery and inconsistent, as intentions.
“Half in love with easeful death,” Clare said, striking her right side forcibly with the opposite hand and laughing. “Little did he know. But what’s left is for you, sailor.”
Human voices didn’t wake us, and we did not drown.
Chapter Nine
I T WAS NOT A HUMAN VOICE AT ALL TO which I woke, in fact, but a cat’s. Said cat was sitting on my chest, looking disinterested, when I opened my eyes. Its own eyes were golden, with that same color somewhere deep in a coat that otherwise would have been plain tabby. Mowr , it said again, inflection rising: closer to a pigeon’s warble than anything else.
“You didn’t tell me there was a new man in your life,” I said when Clare came in with coffee moments later.
“Yeah, and just like all the rest, too: only way I can keep him is to lock him in at night. Lew, meet Bat.”
She put a mug of café au lait on the table by me and held on to the other, which I knew would be only half filled, to allay spillage.
“I was in the kitchen one morning, bleary-eyed as usual, nose in my coffee. Glasses fogging over since I hadn’t put my contacts in yet. I heard a sound and looked up and there he was on the screen. Just hanging there, like a moth. I shooed him down but a minute later he jumped back up. That went on a while, till I finally just said what the hell and let him in. From the look of it, he hadn’t eaten for a long time.
“He was just a kitten then. There wasn’t much to him but these huge ears sticking straight up—that’s how he got the name. I asked around the neighborhood, but no one knew anything. So now we’re roomies. He’s shy.”
“I can tell.” I wanted the coffee bad, but the cat didn’t seem to understand that.
“No, really. I bet he spent all night behind the stove, just because he didn’t know you.”
“Help?” I made clawing motions toward the coffee mug.
“What? Oh sure.” She scooped the cat up in an arm (it hung there limper, surely, than anything alive can possibly be) and dropped it onto the floor (where it grew suddenly solid and bounded away into the next room). “Hungry?”
“Yes, but it’s my treat. What time is it, anyway?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“Aren’t you late?”
“I called in.”
“Not feeling good, huh?”
“ Au contraire , believe me.”
“Okay. So we can make the Camellia when it opens. Before the crowd hits. If that’s all right.”
“That’s great.”
We splashed water on faces, brushed teeth (unbelievably, she still had a toothbrush of mine there), dressed (as
She poured for both of us and we sat there like some ancient married couple, sipping coffee together in the middle of the night without speaking. The moon hung full and bright in the sky outside, and after a while Clare got up and turned off the room’s lights. Then, after sitting again, finishing her coffee, pouring anew for us both, she said quietly, “I don’t understand what happened between us, Lew.”
I said nothing, and finally she laughed. “Guess I’ll put that on the list with quantum mechanics, the national debt and the meaning of life, huh?”
I looked at her.
“I’d come over there and sit at your feet now if I could, Lew. Just lean back against you and forget everything else. That’s what I’d do if I could. But I can’t. Probably fall, if I tried. Coffee okay? You want a sandwich or anything?”
“The coffee’s wonderful, Clare. You’re wonderful. And I’m sorry.”
A silence. Then: “You have things you’d do, too—if you could?”
I nodded. Oh yes.
Another, longer silence. “Think maybe you’d consider spending the night in this wonderful coffee maker’s bed?”
“I’m not in very good shape.”
She laughed, suddenly, richly. “Hey, that’s my line.”
Later as we lay there with moonlight washing over us and the ceiling fan thwacking gently to and fro, I mused that pain was every bit as wayward, as slippery and inconsistent, as intentions.
“Half in love with easeful death,” Clare said, striking her right side forcibly with the opposite hand and laughing. “Little did he know. But what’s left is for you, sailor.”
Human voices didn’t wake us, and we did not drown.
Chapter Nine
I T WAS NOT A HUMAN VOICE AT ALL TO which I woke, in fact, but a cat’s. Said cat was sitting on my chest, looking disinterested, when I opened my eyes. Its own eyes were golden, with that same color somewhere deep in a coat that otherwise would have been plain tabby. Mowr , it said again, inflection rising: closer to a pigeon’s warble than anything else.
“You didn’t tell me there was a new man in your life,” I said when Clare came in with coffee moments later.
“Yeah, and just like all the rest, too: only way I can keep him is to lock him in at night. Lew, meet Bat.”
She put a mug of café au lait on the table by me and held on to the other, which I knew would be only half filled, to allay spillage.
“I was in the kitchen one morning, bleary-eyed as usual, nose in my coffee. Glasses fogging over since I hadn’t put my contacts in yet. I heard a sound and looked up and there he was on the screen. Just hanging there, like a moth. I shooed him down but a minute later he jumped back up. That went on a while, till I finally just said what the hell and let him in. From the look of it, he hadn’t eaten for a long time.
“He was just a kitten then. There wasn’t much to him but these huge ears sticking straight up—that’s how he got the name. I asked around the neighborhood, but no one knew anything. So now we’re roomies. He’s shy.”
“I can tell.” I wanted the coffee bad, but the cat didn’t seem to understand that.
“No, really. I bet he spent all night behind the stove, just because he didn’t know you.”
“Help?” I made clawing motions toward the coffee mug.
“What? Oh sure.” She scooped the cat up in an arm (it hung there limper, surely, than anything alive can possibly be) and dropped it onto the floor (where it grew suddenly solid and bounded away into the next room). “Hungry?”
“Yes, but it’s my treat. What time is it, anyway?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“Aren’t you late?”
“I called in.”
“Not feeling good, huh?”
“ Au contraire , believe me.”
“Okay. So we can make the Camellia when it opens. Before the crowd hits. If that’s all right.”
“That’s great.”
We splashed water on faces, brushed teeth (unbelievably, she still had a toothbrush of mine there), dressed (as
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