mentioned it.
“I never tell.” Jellie laughed. “Jimmy, everyone needs more brandy. I’ll get some more coffee.” That gave the fans time to
pull on their jockstraps, backward, of course, and get the television cooking: “Third-and-six on the Dallas five. Heeerrre’s
the pitch-out.…”
The sociologist had papers to grade, Pat Sanchez and her date decided on a walk. Jellie and her mother were cleaning up in
the kitchen. Michael went outside for a smoke, and when he returned the rest of them, except Jellie and her parents, were
watching the game. Michael sat at the dining room table with Leonard Markham and asked about fishing for brook trout, saying
he used to do a little trout fishing in the Black Hills. Mr. Markham knew how to talk about what interested him, giving Michael
the right amount of information without getting boring. He’d have made a good teacher instead of the paper box manufacturer
he was, Michael thought. He liked Leonard Mark-ham.
Later, Jellie and her mother joined them at the table, Jellie sitting across from Michael. This is what he’d come for, the
chance simply to look at Jellie Markham Braden on a cold autumn day in 1980. He was careful, though, because once or twice
her mother caught him staring at Jellie in a way not related to the conversation. And mothers know about the secret thoughts
of men, particularly when those thoughts concern the daughters of the mothers.
Struggling for something to talk about, Michael brought up India and watched Eleanor Markham’s face go dark—just a little,
but still there—when he mentioned it. Jellie quickly turned the conversation in a different direction. That was the second
time he’d picked up something strange about her India days. Something that made her reluctant to go into it other than acknowledging
she’d been to India and stayed for three years.
Michael could only tolerate being in Jellie’s general vicinity for relatively short periods of time back then. His feelings
toward her were just too overpowering, escalating in intensity minute by minute, and he was half-afraid he’d blurt out something
obvious and stupid, some unseemly remark tipping off her husband or somebody else, including Jellie, about the way he felt.
He wanted to be able to see her, be around her as often as he could, without feeling any more surreptitious than he already
did. So about six o’clock he excused himself under the pretense of going home to feed his animals.
Jellie wrapped her arms around herself and shivered on the front steps when she said good-bye to him. “Thank you for coming,
Michael. I know these affairs aren’t your style, but I wanted my parents to meet you. You’re a different sort than they normally
come into contact with.… I didn’t say that quite right. I didn’t mean to imply you’re a curiosity piece, just that you’re
different. My dad said to me a few minutes ago, ‘I like that Michael Tillman; he’s got some fiber to him.’ I knew he’d like
you.”
Michael understood what she meant. “I like him, too, Jellie. Thank you for inviting me, I had a nice time.” He couldn’t help
looking hard at her once more before leaving. He just couldn’t help it, wanting to put his arms around her and say, “Don’t
go back in the house. Come home with me, I’ll kiss your mouth and your breasts and what surely is your soft, round belly and
tear you to pieces and put you back together again. Afterwards we’ll go down the road, far away, doesn’t matter where.”
Jellie set her gray eyes on Michael’s for maybe five seconds, her face almost serious. A different look than she’d ever given
him before, as if she were half seeing into his thoughts. She said nothing, just looked at him, then dropped her eyes and
smiled a little before opening the door and going back inside.
A year later he was west of Madurai and pushing hard into southwest India looking for her. The driver spoke
“I never tell.” Jellie laughed. “Jimmy, everyone needs more brandy. I’ll get some more coffee.” That gave the fans time to
pull on their jockstraps, backward, of course, and get the television cooking: “Third-and-six on the Dallas five. Heeerrre’s
the pitch-out.…”
The sociologist had papers to grade, Pat Sanchez and her date decided on a walk. Jellie and her mother were cleaning up in
the kitchen. Michael went outside for a smoke, and when he returned the rest of them, except Jellie and her parents, were
watching the game. Michael sat at the dining room table with Leonard Markham and asked about fishing for brook trout, saying
he used to do a little trout fishing in the Black Hills. Mr. Markham knew how to talk about what interested him, giving Michael
the right amount of information without getting boring. He’d have made a good teacher instead of the paper box manufacturer
he was, Michael thought. He liked Leonard Mark-ham.
Later, Jellie and her mother joined them at the table, Jellie sitting across from Michael. This is what he’d come for, the
chance simply to look at Jellie Markham Braden on a cold autumn day in 1980. He was careful, though, because once or twice
her mother caught him staring at Jellie in a way not related to the conversation. And mothers know about the secret thoughts
of men, particularly when those thoughts concern the daughters of the mothers.
Struggling for something to talk about, Michael brought up India and watched Eleanor Markham’s face go dark—just a little,
but still there—when he mentioned it. Jellie quickly turned the conversation in a different direction. That was the second
time he’d picked up something strange about her India days. Something that made her reluctant to go into it other than acknowledging
she’d been to India and stayed for three years.
Michael could only tolerate being in Jellie’s general vicinity for relatively short periods of time back then. His feelings
toward her were just too overpowering, escalating in intensity minute by minute, and he was half-afraid he’d blurt out something
obvious and stupid, some unseemly remark tipping off her husband or somebody else, including Jellie, about the way he felt.
He wanted to be able to see her, be around her as often as he could, without feeling any more surreptitious than he already
did. So about six o’clock he excused himself under the pretense of going home to feed his animals.
Jellie wrapped her arms around herself and shivered on the front steps when she said good-bye to him. “Thank you for coming,
Michael. I know these affairs aren’t your style, but I wanted my parents to meet you. You’re a different sort than they normally
come into contact with.… I didn’t say that quite right. I didn’t mean to imply you’re a curiosity piece, just that you’re
different. My dad said to me a few minutes ago, ‘I like that Michael Tillman; he’s got some fiber to him.’ I knew he’d like
you.”
Michael understood what she meant. “I like him, too, Jellie. Thank you for inviting me, I had a nice time.” He couldn’t help
looking hard at her once more before leaving. He just couldn’t help it, wanting to put his arms around her and say, “Don’t
go back in the house. Come home with me, I’ll kiss your mouth and your breasts and what surely is your soft, round belly and
tear you to pieces and put you back together again. Afterwards we’ll go down the road, far away, doesn’t matter where.”
Jellie set her gray eyes on Michael’s for maybe five seconds, her face almost serious. A different look than she’d ever given
him before, as if she were half seeing into his thoughts. She said nothing, just looked at him, then dropped her eyes and
smiled a little before opening the door and going back inside.
A year later he was west of Madurai and pushing hard into southwest India looking for her. The driver spoke
Similar Books
