by Kent Haruf
Oh, I think it’ll be all right. Let’s try again another night.
37
After dark one night they walked over to the grade school playground and Louis pushed Addie on the big chain swing and she rode up and back in the cool fresh night air of late summer with the hem of her skirt fluttering over her knees. Afterward they went back to bed in her upstairs front room and lay beside each other naked in the summer air coming in from the open windows.
And once they stayed overnight in Denver as she had before at the great old beautiful Brown Palace Hotel with its open court and lobby and the piano player who played all afternoon and evening. Their room was on the third floor and they could look over the railing down to the open courtyard below and see the piano player and people sitting at tables taking tea and drinking cocktails and the waiters moving back and forth from the bar and as night approached the guests going into the bar or into the restaurant with its white tablecloths and gleaming glasses and silverware. They went down and ate in the restaurant and then came back upstairs and Addie put on one of the expensive dresses she’d bought years ago just to wear in Denver. Then they went out onto the sidewalk to the 16th Street Mall and rode the shuttle bus to Curtis Street and walked over to the Denver Center and through the lobby and off to the left to the theater. A woman showed them to their seats, the theater a great large auditorium, and they looked all about at the other people coming in and talking and then the play began, the men on stage singing on their mission in their black pants and ties and white shirts, the audience amused by some of it. They held hands and at intermission went out to the restrooms. The women queued up in a long line. Louis went back to their seats and Addie returned just in time for the second half of the play.
Don’t say anything, she said.
I’m not.
Why can’t they figure it out that women take more time and need more stalls?
You know why, he said.
Because men are the ones who design these things, that’s why.
They watched the second half and then went out onto the street in the bright lights in front of the theater and caught a cab and rode back to the hotel.
Do you want a drink? he said.
Just one.
They walked into the bar and were shown to a table and each had a glass of wine, then they took the elevator to their room and undressed and got into the big king-sized bed. They shut the lights off and had just the light coming in from the street through the lacey curtain.
Isn’t this fun, she said.
Sure seems so to me.
She scooted over close to him.
I’m about as happy as I can be, she said. This is just what I want and tomorrow I want our own bed again.
Everything in its time and place, he said.
Now are you going to kiss me in this big hotel bed or not?
I was hoping to.
In the morning they ate a late breakfast in the restaurant and then packed up and the valet brought Louis’s car around to the front of the hotel and helped them with their bags. Louis gave him a generous tip out of his good feeling. They drove home leisurely on U.S. 34 out onto the high plains through Fort Morgan and Brush and finally into Holt County, all flat and treeless except in the windbreaks and along the streets in the little towns and around the farmhouses. There was a cloudless sky and nothing along the horizon but more blue sky.
They got to Addie’s in the afternoon and Louis carried her bags up to her room and then took his car home and unpacked his bags. At dark he walked over to her house for the night.
38
Labor Day they decided to drive out east on the highway to Chief Creek. The creek was shallow and sandy-bottomed with grass and willows grown up on both sides and milkweed, the grass had been cropped off close to the ground by cattle. There were great old cottonwood trees in a grove back a little from the creek. Addie brought out the basket with their picnic and Louis got the rake and shovel from the car trunk and scraped the old dry flaky manure from the shade under the trees where the cattle had stood out of the wind.
You’ve been here before, Addie said. You came prepared.
We used to come out here when Holly was a little girl. It’s about the only place to find running water and shade.
Well, it’s nice. It’s not the mountains but it’s nice for Holt County.
Yes.
But won’t somebody come to chase us off this place?
I doubt it. It belongs to Bill Martin. He never minded before.
You know him.
You do too, I think.
Just by name.
I had his kids in school. They were all bright kids. Hell-raisers, but bright. They’ve all left home now. I imagine he’s sorry about that. Kids don’t want to stay here.
Addie spread out a blanket on the cleared ground and they sat down and ate the fried chicken and coleslaw and carrot sticks and chips and olives and she cut them each a piece of chocolate cake. They drank iced tea with it all. Then they lay down on the blanket and looked up into the green moving branches of the tree overhead, the leaves twisting and fluttering in the low wind.
After a while Louis sat up and took his shoes and socks off and rolled up his pants cuffs, then walked over to the creek across the hot ground and stepped down into the cool water onto the sandy bottom and dipped and cupped water onto his face and arms. Addie joined him, barefooted in her summer dress. She held her dress up above her knees and stepped in.
Oh isn’t this just perfect for a hot day. I’ve never been here before. I didn’t know there was anyplace like this in Holt County.
Stick with me, he said. You’ll learn a lot, lady.
Louis took off his shirt and pants and underwear and laid them out on the grass and stepped back into the water, splashed himself and sat down.
Well then, Addie said. If that’s the way you’re going to be. She pulled her dress off over her head, took off her underwear and lowered herself into the cool water beside him. And I don’t even care if someone sees us, she said.
They sat facing each other and lay back in the water, both of them very pale except for their faces and hands and arms. They were a little heavy, contented. They could feel the current pushing fingers of sand underneath them.
Later they got out and went back to the blanket and toweled off and got dressed, they took a nap in the warm afternoon in the shade of the trees and got up again and waded in the creek once more to cool off before they packed up the food and drove back to Holt. He dropped her off at her house and she carried the picnic basket inside while he drove down the block and parked his car and put the shovel and rake back in the shed. When he stepped into the house, the phone rang almost immediately.
You’d better come over here, Addie said.
What’s going on?
Gene is here. He wants to talk to both of us.
I’ll be there in a minute.
In the living room Gene was sitting on the couch across from Addie.
He said, Sit down, Louis.
Louis looked at him and walked across the room and kissed Addie on the mouth. He made a point of it. Then he sat down.
What’s this about?
I’ll get to that, Gene said. I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon.
I told him where we’ve been, Addie said.
It’s not much of a place.
It’s what you make of it. It’s who you’re with, Louis said.
That’s why I’m here. I want this to stop.
You’re talking about us being together, Louis said.
I’m talking about you sneaking over here at night to my mother’s house.
No one’s sneaking around, Addie said.
That’s right. You’re not even ashamed of yourselves.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of.
People your age meeting in the dark like you do.
It’s been lovely. I wish you and Beverly had as good a time together as Louis and I do.
What would Dad say if he was i
n my position?
He wouldn’t want to talk about it. But I doubt he would have approved. It would not be something he would have done himself, even if he’d have thought of it.
No. He wouldn’t have approved. He had more sense, a clearer idea of his standing.
Oh Jesus. I’m seventy years old. I don’t care about what the town thinks. And you might care to know that at least some of the town does approve of us.
I don’t believe that.
Well you can or not, it doesn’t matter.
It matters to me. Taking my mother to Denver. Taking my son up in the mountains. And my God, the two of you sleeping in the same bed with him.
How do you know that? Addie said.
Nevermind. I know. What in the hell were you thinking of?
We were thinking about him, Louis said. He was scared. We brought him in to comfort him.
Yes, and every night now he cries. That started here.
That started, Addie said, when you left him here.
Mom, you know why I did that. You know I love my son.
But can’t you just do that? Can’t you just love him? He’s a good little boy. That’s all he wants.
Like Dad did with me, you mean.
I know your father wasn’t always kind.
Kind. My God, he had nothing to do with me after Connie died.
Gene wiped at his eyes. He looked at Louis. I want you to stay away from my mother. To leave my son alone. And forget about my mother’s money.
Gene, just be quiet, Addie said. Don’t say any more. What’s wrong with you?
Louis stood up from the couch. Listen to me, he said. It’s too bad you feel like this. I would never hurt your son. Or your mother. But I won’t stay away from her until she tells me to. And I sure as hell don’t have any interest in her money. If you want to talk anymore about this to me, I’ll see you tomorrow.
Louis bent over and kissed Addie again and went out.
I’m ashamed of you, Addie said. I don’t know what to say to you. This whole thing makes me so sick. So sad.
Just stop seeing him.
In the night Addie pulled the covers up to her face and turned away from the window and wept.
39
After the talk with Gene, Addie and Louis still saw each other. He came to her house at night but it was different now. It was not the same lighthearted pleasure and discovery. And gradually there were nights when he stayed home, nights when she read for hours alone, not wanting him to be there in bed with her. She stopped waiting for him, naked. They still held each other in the night when he did come over but it was more out of habit and desolation and anticipated loneliness and disheartenment, as if they were trying to store up these moments together against what was coming. They lay awake side by side silently now and never made love anymore.
Then the day came when Addie tried to talk to her grandson on the phone. She could hear the boy crying in the background but his father wouldn’t let him talk.
Why are you doing this? she said.
You know why. If I have to do this I will.
Oh you’re just mean. This is cruel. I didn’t think you’d go so far.
You can change it.
She called her grandson one afternoon when she thought he would be at home by himself. But he wouldn’t talk to her.
They’ll be mad, he said. He began to cry. They’ll take Bonny away. They’ll take my phone.
Oh God, Addie said. All right, honey.
When Louis came to her house in the middle of that week she led him out to the kitchen and gave him a beer and poured herself a glass of wine.
I want to talk. Out here in the light.
Something more has changed, he said.
I can’t do this anymore, she said. I can’t go on this way. I thought something like this was coming. I have to have contact, and some kind of life with my grandson. He’s the only one left to me. My son and his wife mean little now. That’s all broken, I don’t think they or I will ever get over it. But I still want my grandson. This summer made that clear.
He loves you.
He does. He’s the only one of my family who does. He’ll outlive me. He’ll be with me as I die. I don’t want the others. I don’t care about the others. They’ve killed that. I don’t trust Gene. I can’t guess what else he might do.
So you want me to go home.
Not tonight. One more night. Will you do that?
I thought you were the brave one of us.
I can’t be brave anymore.
Maybe Jamie will fight it and call you on his own.
Not yet he won’t. He can’t, he’s only six years old. Maybe when he’s sixteen. But I can’t wait that long. I might already be dead. I can’t miss these years with him.
So this is our last night.
Yes.
They went upstairs. In bed in the dark they talked a little more. Addie was crying. He put his arm around her and held her.
We’ve had a good time, Louis said. You’ve made a great difference for me. I’m grateful. I appreciate it.
You’re being cynical now.
I don’t mean to be. I mean what I’ve said. You have been good for me. What more could anyone ask for? I’m a better person than I was before we got together. That’s your doing.
Oh, you’re still kind to me. Thank you, Louis.
They lay awake listening to the wind outside the house. At two in the morning Louis got up and went to the bathroom. When he came back to bed he said, You’re still awake.
I can’t sleep, she said.
At four he got up again and dressed and put his pajamas and toothbrush in the paper bag.
Are you leaving?
I thought I would.
It’s still night for a few more hours.
I can’t see any point in putting this off.
She started to weep again.
He walked downstairs and went home past the old trees and the houses all dark and strange at this hour. The sky was still dark and nothing was moving. No cars in the streets. In his own house, he lay in bed watching the east window for the first sign of daylight.
40
As the weather held that fall Louis often walked out at night past her house and looked at the light shining upstairs in her bedroom, her bedside lamp that he knew and the room with its big bed and dark wooden dresser and the bathroom located down the hall, and remembered everything about the room and the nights lying in the dark talking and the closeness of it all. Then one night he noticed her face appear at the window and he stopped, she made no gesture nor any sign that she was looking at him. But when he was home again she called him on the phone. You can’t do that anymore.
Do what?
Walk past my house. I can’t have it.
So it’s come to that now. You’re going to tell me what I can do and can’t do. Even in my own neighborhood.
I can’t have you walking by and my thinking that you are. Or wondering if you are. I can’t be imagining you’re out in front of the house. I have to be physically shut off from you now.
I thought we were.
Not if you walk by the house at night.
So he never passed her familiar house again, in the night. Walking past in the day didn’t matter. And the few times they happened to meet at the grocery store or on the street, they looked at each other and said hello but that was all.
41
On a bright day just after noon when she was downtown by herself, Addie slipped on the curb on Main Street and fell and reached out to catch herself but there was nothing to catch on to, and she lay in the street until some women and a couple of men came to help her.
Don’t lift me, she said. Something’s broken.
The one woman knelt beside her and one of the men folded his coat under her head. They stayed there with her until she was taken away. At the hospital they said that she had broken a hip and she asked them to call Gene. He came that same day and it was decided that she would do better at a hospital in Denver. So sh
e left Holt in an ambulance with Gene following in his car.
Three days later Louis was at the bakery with the group of men he met occasionally. Dorlan Becker said, I guess you know about her.
What are you talking about?
I’m talking about Addie Moore.
What about Addie Moore?
She broke her hip. They took her to Denver.
Where in Denver?
I don’t know. One of the hospitals.
Louis went home and called the hospitals until he located the one she’d been admitted to and he drove the following day to Denver and got there in the early evening. At the information desk they told him her room number and he took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked down the hall and found her room and then stood in the doorway. Gene and Jamie were sitting there talking to her.
When Addie saw Louis her eyes teared up.
Can I come in? he said.
No, don’t you come in here, Gene said. You’re not wanted here.
Please, Gene, just to say hello.
For five minutes, he said. No more.
Louis entered the room and stopped at the foot of the bed and Jamie came around and hugged him and Louis held him close.
How’s old Bonny?
She can catch a ball now. She jumps up and catches it.
Good for her.
Let’s go, Gene said. We’re leaving. Mom, five minutes. That’s it.
He and Jamie left the room.
Will you sit down? she said.
Louis moved one of the chairs closer and sat beside her, then took her hand and kissed it.
Don’t do that, she said. She drew her hand back. This is just for now. Just for a moment. That’s all we have. She looked at his face. Who told you I was here?
The guy at the bakery. Can you imagine his turning out to be a help to me. Are you all right?
I will be.
Will you let me help you?
No. Please. You have to leave. You can’t stay long. Nothing’s changed.
But you need help.
I’ve already started physical therapy.
But you’ll need help at home.
I’m not coming home.
