by Kent Haruf
What do you mean?
Gene has it all figured out. I’ll move to Grand Junction into assisted living.
So you won’t come back at all.
No.
Christ, Addie. I don’t accept any of this. It’s not like you.
I can’t help it. I have to keep to my family.
Let me be your family.
But what happens when you die?
Then you can go live with Gene and Jamie.
No. I have to do this while I’m still able to make the adjustment. I can’t wait until I’m too old. I won’t be able to change then or I might not even have the option. You have to leave now. And please don’t come back. It’s too hard.
He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth and kissed her eyes and then went out of the room and down the hallway to the elevator. There was a woman on the elevator, she looked at his face once and looked away.
42
One night she called him on her cell phone. She was sitting in a chair at her apartment. Will you talk to me?
There was a long silence.
Louis, are you there? she said.
I thought we weren’t going to talk anymore.
I have to. I can’t go on like this. It’s worse than before we ever started.
What about Gene?
He doesn’t have to know. We can talk on the phone at night.
Then this seems like sneaking. Like he said. Being secretive.
I don’t care. I’m too lonely. I miss you too much. Won’t you talk to me?
I miss you too, he said.
Where are you?
You mean where in the house?
Are you in your bedroom?
Yes, I’ve been reading. Is this some kind of phone sex?
It’s just two old people talking in the dark, Addie said.
43
Addie said, Is this a good time?
Yes. I just came upstairs.
Well, I was just thinking about you. I was just wanting so much to talk to you.
Are you all right?
Jamie came over again today after he got out of school and we went around the block. Bonny was here too.
Did he have her on a leash?
He didn’t need to, she said. Jamie said his father and mother have been arguing and yelling. I said, What do you do then? He said, I go to my bedroom.
Well. I can be glad for him that you’re there, Louis said.
Addie said, What have you been doing today?
Nothing. I shoveled snow. I made a path up in your block.
Why?
I felt like it. The people renting your house came out to talk to me. They seem all right. But it’s still your house. Ruth’s house is still hers too.
I feel that way about it too.
Well. Things have changed.
I’m in bed, she said, here in my room. Did I say that already?
No. But I assumed you were.
You know that play in Denver will be coming up. Why don’t you use the tickets and go.
I won’t go without you.
You could take Holly.
I don’t want to do that. Why don’t you use them?
I won’t go without you either, she said.
Then some strangers will sit there in our seats. They won’t know anything about us.
Or why the seats became available.
And you still don’t want me to call you. You don’t want me to initiate these calls.
I’m afraid someone will be here in the room with me. I wouldn’t be able to cover up.
It’s like when we started. Like we’re started out new again. With you being the one to begin it again. Except that we’re careful now.
But we’re continuing too. Aren’t we, she said. We’re still talking. For as long as we can. For as long as it lasts.
What do you want to talk about tonight?
She looked out the window. She could see her reflection in the glass. And the dark behind it.
Dear, is it cold there tonight?
Acknowledgments
The author wishes to thank Gary Fisketjon, Nancy Stauffer, Gabrielle Brooks, Ruthie Reisner, Carol Carson, Sue Betz, Mark Spragg, Jerry Mitchell, Laura Hendrie, Peter Carey, Rodney Jones, Peter Brown, Betsy Burton, Mark and Kathy Haruf, Sorel, Mayla, Whitney, Charlene, Chaney, Michael, Amy, Justin, Charlie, Joel, Lilly, Jennifer, Henry, Destiny, CJ, Jason, Rachael, Sam, Jessica, Ethan, Caitlin, Hannah, Fred Rasmussen, Tom Thomas, Jim Elmore, Alberta Skaggs, Greg Schwipps, Mike Rosenwald, Jim Gill, Joey Hale, Brian Coley, Troy Gorman and most especially Cathy Haruf.
