across his chest. “If I was gone
tell anybody, it’d be you. But I’m not.”
They walked on, farther
down the block, and Paul noticed people on their porches looking out at them. Audrey
Jackson and Lillian Morgan, older ladies who had lived on the block for decades
and who Paul knew had been friends of his in-laws long years ago, now only stared
and whispered whenever Paul or anyone in his family walked by, and today was no
exception. Vic Jones, the burly, middle-aged bus driver who lived across the
street and always had a menacing look to offer any one of the Delaneys , leaned over his porch railing, his arms folded
across his chest, his eyes narrowed. Paul remembered the brick through the window,
which had been pushed from his mind by his sister’s arrival.
"Well, then
tell me about Ava,” Helena said. “What's she like?"
“She’s steady. Easy.
She aint all moody and emotional like most women are.”
“Really? Hmm. I
thought I sensed some…complexity in her.”
“Ava?” He shook
his head. “I wouldn’t ever call her complex .
With Ava, what you see is what you get. There aint too many surprises.”
“Oh,” Helena
said. “I wonder what gave me that idea.”
“Well, what
about you? You aint never got married or had kids or nothing?”
“I don’t know
about ‘or nothing,’” she said. “But no, I never got married or had kids.”
“You still got
time. You aint but thirty.”
The park was
almost empty of people, but the few who were there, sitting on the scattered
benches, stared openly at them as they walked by. The looks Paul usually got
from his neighbors, looks of disapproval and disdain, were now accompanied by double-takes at his sister, and outright gawking. Paul
glanced at Helena, who seemed to notice but not to be bothered about it, and he
realized how used she must have gotten to being stared at. It had always
bothered her as a child, but over so many years she must have learned to ignore
it.
As they circled
through the park, Helena suddenly asked, "Are you happy, Paul?"
He shrugged. “I
love my wife, and I got steady work, so, yeah, I guess I'm happy as I can be.
What about you? You happy?”
She shook her
head. “No. I’m not. But I’m trying to be.”
“Seems like you
doing alright, though,” he said. “Better than a lot of people I know.”
She frowned. “Do
you know how much I have come to hate that word? Seems. People use ‘seems’ to keep from having to really know
anything. They just decide how something seems and they don’t have to look any
deeper, or go any further, or ask any uncomfortable questions.”
“Hold on, now,”
he said, stopping at the end of a path, “I aint seen you in almost twenty years
and you aint been here two hours yet, so if I aint asking the right questions
fast enough, you can feel free to just come on out and tell me why you here,
why you showed up after all this time. You aint got to wait for me to ask.”
She looked
surprised and a little hurt. He
wasn’t trying to hurt her, but he didn’t know how to communicate with this
woman who was his sister, but who he did not know. She sighed, and shook her
head slightly as if answering a question that had not been asked. “I don’t feel
like walking anymore,” she said.
“Me, either.”
They abandoned their walk and went back to the house
and when they reached the bottom of the stairs Helena caught sight of the
broken window. “What happened there?”
He walked past
her up the steps. “Some kids messing around out here, I guess,” he said,
because that was the last thing he felt like explaining right then.
Helena’s train was leaving at two. Ava came downstairs
to say goodbye. She’d spent the last hour in her bedroom, thinking about what
her mother had said. She thought that maybe if she looked at Helena again,
really looked at her, she would see what she had seen, and feel what she had
felt, that first moment at the door, and would understand it. She stood
tell anybody, it’d be you. But I’m not.”
They walked on, farther
down the block, and Paul noticed people on their porches looking out at them. Audrey
Jackson and Lillian Morgan, older ladies who had lived on the block for decades
and who Paul knew had been friends of his in-laws long years ago, now only stared
and whispered whenever Paul or anyone in his family walked by, and today was no
exception. Vic Jones, the burly, middle-aged bus driver who lived across the
street and always had a menacing look to offer any one of the Delaneys , leaned over his porch railing, his arms folded
across his chest, his eyes narrowed. Paul remembered the brick through the window,
which had been pushed from his mind by his sister’s arrival.
"Well, then
tell me about Ava,” Helena said. “What's she like?"
“She’s steady. Easy.
She aint all moody and emotional like most women are.”
“Really? Hmm. I
thought I sensed some…complexity in her.”
“Ava?” He shook
his head. “I wouldn’t ever call her complex .
With Ava, what you see is what you get. There aint too many surprises.”
“Oh,” Helena
said. “I wonder what gave me that idea.”
“Well, what
about you? You aint never got married or had kids or nothing?”
“I don’t know
about ‘or nothing,’” she said. “But no, I never got married or had kids.”
“You still got
time. You aint but thirty.”
The park was
almost empty of people, but the few who were there, sitting on the scattered
benches, stared openly at them as they walked by. The looks Paul usually got
from his neighbors, looks of disapproval and disdain, were now accompanied by double-takes at his sister, and outright gawking. Paul
glanced at Helena, who seemed to notice but not to be bothered about it, and he
realized how used she must have gotten to being stared at. It had always
bothered her as a child, but over so many years she must have learned to ignore
it.
As they circled
through the park, Helena suddenly asked, "Are you happy, Paul?"
He shrugged. “I
love my wife, and I got steady work, so, yeah, I guess I'm happy as I can be.
What about you? You happy?”
She shook her
head. “No. I’m not. But I’m trying to be.”
“Seems like you
doing alright, though,” he said. “Better than a lot of people I know.”
She frowned. “Do
you know how much I have come to hate that word? Seems. People use ‘seems’ to keep from having to really know
anything. They just decide how something seems and they don’t have to look any
deeper, or go any further, or ask any uncomfortable questions.”
“Hold on, now,”
he said, stopping at the end of a path, “I aint seen you in almost twenty years
and you aint been here two hours yet, so if I aint asking the right questions
fast enough, you can feel free to just come on out and tell me why you here,
why you showed up after all this time. You aint got to wait for me to ask.”
She looked
surprised and a little hurt. He
wasn’t trying to hurt her, but he didn’t know how to communicate with this
woman who was his sister, but who he did not know. She sighed, and shook her
head slightly as if answering a question that had not been asked. “I don’t feel
like walking anymore,” she said.
“Me, either.”
They abandoned their walk and went back to the house
and when they reached the bottom of the stairs Helena caught sight of the
broken window. “What happened there?”
He walked past
her up the steps. “Some kids messing around out here, I guess,” he said,
because that was the last thing he felt like explaining right then.
Helena’s train was leaving at two. Ava came downstairs
to say goodbye. She’d spent the last hour in her bedroom, thinking about what
her mother had said. She thought that maybe if she looked at Helena again,
really looked at her, she would see what she had seen, and feel what she had
felt, that first moment at the door, and would understand it. She stood
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