Old people?”
I take him gently by the arm. “It’s the woman I’ll be talking to. You go and get some dinner with Dad. I’ll talk to you when you get home, I’ll tell you all about it. Don’t worry about a thing.” I push him out the door with David, then straighten to wave to the couple. The woman is carrying a black patent leather pocketbook by the handle, using both hands. She is smiling. Her boyfriend cradles her elbow, guides her tenderly along. He has a white mustache, neatly trimmed, and he is wearing a bow tie. This woman can move in tonight. They both can.
T HE PHONE RINGS just after I’ve gone to sleep. I squint to see the numbers on the clock. Eleven-thirty.
“You told her she could move in, didn’t you?” Rita asks, when I pick up the receiver.
“Oh, hi. I was sleeping.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Great.”
“It is great. You’d like her.”
“I’m sure I would. I’m also sure I wouldn’t want to live with her.”
“Why not? What is this prejudice you have against older people? I never knew this about you.” I get out of bed, quietly close the bedroom door.
“I’m not prejudiced. I just think you should think a little more about who you want to
live
with, I mean, didn’t the last experience teach you anything?”
“She’ll be fine. She has a wonderful boyfriend, this old, refined-looking gentleman who just . . . he is so vigilant, so attentive. We had tea together. We had a nice time. She’s moving in next week. Tomorrow I’m getting all David’s stuff moved out.”
“To where?”
“Oh, he found a condo already. I think he’d been looking for a while.”
“Jesus.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Listen, Rita, I’m going back to sleep. We can fight tomorrow.”
I hang up, then go to Travis’s room. He’s asleep, the phone didn’t wake him. That’s good—he had a rough night. He didn’t understand why he had to leave with David when he wanted to stay home. He didn’t understand why we really are getting a roommate, despite my careful explanations.
I stand beside him, my arms wrapped around myself, then reach down to pull the covers up to his shoulders. He stirs slightly, resettles himself. I kiss the top of his head, then go to sit in the chair in the corner of his room. I can smell him in the air. It is such a fine smell, faintly like earth, but saltier. I pick up one of his stuffed animals, an ancient bear, and hold it on my lap. Its size is close to the size Travis was when I first began reading out loud to him—I can rest my chin on the top of the bear’s head, just as I used to do with Travis.
I don’t hold Travis anymore, of course—not to read to him, or for any other reason, either. I wish I’d known that the last time was going to
be
the last time. But of course that information would have been as painful as this moment. When Travis had gotten his first haircut, after all, the barber had handed me his handkerchief with a smile, then a box of tissues, with no smile.
I lean my head back, close my eyes. I am so deeply tired. And I am afraid. The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s not fair that my son has a mother like this. His mother should know what she’s doing.
7
L ATE W EDNESDAY AFTERNOON , A SMALL MOVING TRUCK PULLS up to the curb.
Promove
. Sounds like someone David might hire. Two men who look as though they must be father and son get out of the truck, talk to each other before they start for the door. I wonder what they’re saying.
Remember—this is a divorce situation,
here. We’ll have to be careful. Don’t say anything to the Mrs.—she might
start bawling
.
I open the door, stand waiting on the porch. “Hi!” I say.
Oh,
God
.
“Mrs. Morrow?” the older man says.
“Yes!”
“We’re here to pick up a few of Mr. Morrow’s things?”
“Yes!” I step out of the way to let them in. “The study is the last room on the right, upstairs. The master is to the
I take him gently by the arm. “It’s the woman I’ll be talking to. You go and get some dinner with Dad. I’ll talk to you when you get home, I’ll tell you all about it. Don’t worry about a thing.” I push him out the door with David, then straighten to wave to the couple. The woman is carrying a black patent leather pocketbook by the handle, using both hands. She is smiling. Her boyfriend cradles her elbow, guides her tenderly along. He has a white mustache, neatly trimmed, and he is wearing a bow tie. This woman can move in tonight. They both can.
T HE PHONE RINGS just after I’ve gone to sleep. I squint to see the numbers on the clock. Eleven-thirty.
“You told her she could move in, didn’t you?” Rita asks, when I pick up the receiver.
“Oh, hi. I was sleeping.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Great.”
“It is great. You’d like her.”
“I’m sure I would. I’m also sure I wouldn’t want to live with her.”
“Why not? What is this prejudice you have against older people? I never knew this about you.” I get out of bed, quietly close the bedroom door.
“I’m not prejudiced. I just think you should think a little more about who you want to
live
with, I mean, didn’t the last experience teach you anything?”
“She’ll be fine. She has a wonderful boyfriend, this old, refined-looking gentleman who just . . . he is so vigilant, so attentive. We had tea together. We had a nice time. She’s moving in next week. Tomorrow I’m getting all David’s stuff moved out.”
“To where?”
“Oh, he found a condo already. I think he’d been looking for a while.”
“Jesus.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Listen, Rita, I’m going back to sleep. We can fight tomorrow.”
I hang up, then go to Travis’s room. He’s asleep, the phone didn’t wake him. That’s good—he had a rough night. He didn’t understand why he had to leave with David when he wanted to stay home. He didn’t understand why we really are getting a roommate, despite my careful explanations.
I stand beside him, my arms wrapped around myself, then reach down to pull the covers up to his shoulders. He stirs slightly, resettles himself. I kiss the top of his head, then go to sit in the chair in the corner of his room. I can smell him in the air. It is such a fine smell, faintly like earth, but saltier. I pick up one of his stuffed animals, an ancient bear, and hold it on my lap. Its size is close to the size Travis was when I first began reading out loud to him—I can rest my chin on the top of the bear’s head, just as I used to do with Travis.
I don’t hold Travis anymore, of course—not to read to him, or for any other reason, either. I wish I’d known that the last time was going to
be
the last time. But of course that information would have been as painful as this moment. When Travis had gotten his first haircut, after all, the barber had handed me his handkerchief with a smile, then a box of tissues, with no smile.
I lean my head back, close my eyes. I am so deeply tired. And I am afraid. The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s not fair that my son has a mother like this. His mother should know what she’s doing.
7
L ATE W EDNESDAY AFTERNOON , A SMALL MOVING TRUCK PULLS up to the curb.
Promove
. Sounds like someone David might hire. Two men who look as though they must be father and son get out of the truck, talk to each other before they start for the door. I wonder what they’re saying.
Remember—this is a divorce situation,
here. We’ll have to be careful. Don’t say anything to the Mrs.—she might
start bawling
.
I open the door, stand waiting on the porch. “Hi!” I say.
Oh,
God
.
“Mrs. Morrow?” the older man says.
“Yes!”
“We’re here to pick up a few of Mr. Morrow’s things?”
“Yes!” I step out of the way to let them in. “The study is the last room on the right, upstairs. The master is to the
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