Circle of Three

by Patricia Gaffney

  Jess watched a buzzard flying high up in the sky and didn’t say anything.

  “Of course she says it wasn’t a date, it was business, because the guy’s her boss, but since when do you do business at night in a saloon?”

  Jess still didn’t jump in and sympathize, so I said, “Not that I care who she sees, it’s none of my business, for all I care she can go out with every guy in Clayborne. I just don’t think she should lie about it. And I don’t think it’s such a hot idea to date your boss anyway. Especially this guy, who’s a total jerk. I mean, he wears a goatee.” I bumped Jess with my elbow, trying to get a rise out of him. “A goatee. Plus he’s got no neck.”

  Finally he grimaced. “You’re talking about Brian Wright.”

  “Yeah. So do you know him?”

  “Slightly. I do a course for the school.”

  “Oh, yeah. Fishing,” I remembered. “So what do you think of him?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to think anything.”

  I hadn’t expected him to get all discreet on me. Now I wished I hadn’t even told him. “It’s no big deal, I really don’t care what she does.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a date,” he said after a while. “Have you and Carrie talked about it?”

  “I don’t have to talk about it. She calls me from a nightclub, she’s drinking, she’s with a guy. I call that a date. Oh, and she gets home after I do. I pretended I was asleep—I didn’t even want to talk to her.” Jess started to say something. “Not that I care,” I said again quickly, “it’s her life, she can do whatever she wants. But I just…” I looked away downstream, where the river bent and the sycamore trees leaned over on both sides. From this angle, it almost looked like they touched in the middle. “She told me no one could take Dad’s place—that’s exactly what she said, ‘Nobody’s taking his place.’ She said she wasn’t available.”

  “Ruth.”

  “What? You don’t have to defend her.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I know everything you’re going to say. I’m being selfish, she’s allowed to have some fun, what she said wasn’t really a promise—I know all that. I just don’t like it.” I leaned out over my knees to stare down at the brownish green current, thinking I always talked too much around Jess and wondering why that was. He couldn’t be a father figure because he wasn’t anything like my father, and he wasn’t exactly a friend because I didn’t know that much about him. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked him.

  “What?” he said, even though he’d heard.

  “Are you going out with anybody?”

  “No. Not right now.”

  He looked very uncomfortable, which cheered me up for some reason. “Hey, Jess, did you know Becky Driver’s in my class? I met her mother—I had dinner at their house.” He nodded pleasantly. “She’s nice, Mrs. Driver,” I said leadingly. “I mean, she’s really nice.”

  “She is nice.”

  “Becky’s not yours, though, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So…” What happened? How come your marriage didn’t work out? You couldn’t ask questions like that straight out, you had to beat around the bush.

  I was trying to think of a subtle approach when Jess said, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Ha.” Good one. Touché. We grinned at each other. “Well,” I said, “there’s this one guy. Raven.”

  “The vampire.”

  I laughed—he remembered! “Yeah. I’m not sure if he’s my boy friend,” I said, making a face. What a stupid word. “He’s the one who dropped me off here.”

  “Ah. So you were playing hooky together.”

  “Just today, just this once. Honestly, this is not my practice, I mean, it’s not my lifestyle.” I decided to tell him. “We went to my dad’s grave. We had sort of a picnic. It was nice. I mean, it was respectful and everything.” If you didn’t count smoking dope and kissing and making out. “I keep thinking, you know, if only he hadn’t died. What it would be like. Or if he had to die, if only he’d lived for five more years, say. I think if I’d been, like, twenty, we could’ve been much closer. Sometimes I think he was waiting for me to grow up to be really friends. Now—he’ll never know how I turned out,” I managed to say before I started crying. Shit. I turned my head away, put my cheek on my knees, so Jess couldn’t see.

  He put his arm around me. I thought he would try to cheer me up, tell me my father had loved me very much, blah blah, but he just said, “It’s sad,” and it went right through me.

  “It is,” I said gladly, “it’s so sad. I think trying not to be sad is worse than being sad.”

  “I do, too.”

  “So I’m glad I went to his grave.” I sat up. “I don’t think my mom goes. I don’t know, she might. We went together at Christmas and on January ninth, his birthday. If she does go, she doesn’t leave flowers, because there weren’t any.”

  “I think she’s trying to be strong for you. Trying to do the right thing, be what she thinks you need her to be. I think she’s feeling all the things you feel about your father, missing him, and wishing there had been more time. One thing I’m sure of—you’re the center of her life.”

  “Then why’d she go out on a date?” I laughed, to make it sound more like a joke. Less whiny.

  He looked pained. “Why did you?” was all he could come up with.

  “It’s not the same, he was my father, not my husband. He would’ve wanted me to have a boyfriend. He wouldn’t have wanted her to.”

  “Maybe you should talk to her about it.”

  “No. No. I don’t want to hear her stupid explanations. God. She’s so embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing?” Jess gave me a crooked smile. “When I was your age,” he said, “fifteen or so.” He leaned back on his elbows and stared at his belt buckle. “You saw my mother’s picture?”

  “In the house? Yeah,” I said, “she was really pretty.”

  “She was schizophrenic.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed.

  “It didn’t start until I was about ten. Before that, she was fine. But she had a miscarriage, and after that everything changed.”

  “God. I’m really sorry.”

  “When she’d get bad, she’d have to go away, go in the hospital. My father and I were close, but we were lost, like orphans when she was gone. Then she’d come home, and I’d drive her crazy by not leaving her alone. I couldn’t get enough of her. I was always trying to cure her, with presents and things I’d make for her, food, spells. Tricks.” He laughed. “Sometimes it seemed to work, whatever it was—some drink I’d concoct, a special, particular prayer. But not for long. And nothing ever worked twice.”

  This was bad, but something worse was coming. I already sort of knew what it was.

  “She did a lot of crazy things. She’d get lost, wander off and lose herself. We’d have to call the cops. One day we were in Belk’s, buying me some clothes for school. It was the end of the summer. She’d been fine for months, her old self, but it was starting again. I could always tell. She was odd in the store, saying things that didn’t make sense. She kept complaining that she was hot, burning up, why didn’t they turn on the air-conditioning. I was afraid she’d complain to the saleslady, and I didn’t want to be around if she did. I wandered off, into a different area of the department. Far enough away so I could pretend nothing was happening.”

  “Oh, God, Jess.”

  “I heard a commotion. Raised voices. You could feel it in the air—shock. Somebody called security over the PA. I didn’t want to, but I had to go see.” He reached out and touched me on the arm with the lightest pat, a reassurance, and he gave me a tickled, helpless smile. “She’d taken off her clothes. Every stitch. She was naked as a jaybird in the men’s sweater department at Belk’s.”

  I moved my hand far enough from my mouth to whisper, “What did you do?”

  “Ran away.”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. But only to the elevator. If it had com
e immediately, I’d have gotten on and gone down and outside and away—I’d have run away. But it took forever. So.”

  “You had to go back.”

  “I’ve always been ashamed for that, how close I came to leaving her. I had this fierce love for her, I loved her more than anybody else. But she…”

  “Embarrassed you.”

  He smiled.

  I blushed. But I didn’t feel lectured to or guilty or caught in the act in some sin. No question, he’d made his point, but not only was he not rubbing it in, he was helping take the sting out by admitting that once he’d done the same thing, only worse. With better cause, okay, but still.

  God! Imagine having a crazy person for a mother. Really crazy, like certifiable, not just weird or irritatingly nuts like Mom. It really put things in perspective.

  “That’s awful,” I said, and I put one finger on the sleeve of Jess’s sweater. It was the first time I’d ever comforted him for anything. “That’s so sad. She looks so beautiful in the picture. I think you look like her. Do you believe in heaven? She could be watching down on you. I’m sure she’s very proud of you, you know, how you’ve turned out and all. God.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what people have been saying to me,” I realized. “You know, old people, mostly—that my dad’s probably still with me, he’s proud of me, yadda yadda. Does that comfort you? Because it never comforts me. But now I at least get why they say it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, to be nice. To be kind, to show that you care and you wish the person didn’t hurt.”

  “Yes.”

  “So that’s something. Isn’t it? It might be a crock, but the person saying it means well.”

  “I think it’s something. I think it’s all we get.”

  We lay on our backs and watched clouds and sky and birds go by, peaceful as two old, old pals. I almost told him about Raven, that’s how comfortable I felt. I might have, but then he sat up and said, “Four o’clock.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Listen.”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Listen.”

  “Oh. Cows.” They were mooing way off in the distance. “You have to milk them now?”

  “Pretty soon. Mr. Green will start.”

  I scrambled up from the dock. “I didn’t know it was so late,” I said, matching Jess’s long strides up the hill. “Guess you sort of blew off your afternoon, huh?” He just smiled at me, and I felt fine. “Hey, Jess. Can we take the pickup truck?”

  “Sure, if you want.”

  “And, Jess?”

  “Hm?”

  “Can I drive?”

  “Got your learner’s permit with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Yay!” I clapped my hands, did a little dance. Jess’s pickup was a stick shift, the most fun of all to drive. “And, Jess?”

  “What?”

  I laughed. “Can we take Tracer? Can we put her in the middle between us? I’ve always wanted to do that, drive in a pickup truck with a dog and, you know. A guy.”

  He shook his head. “The cowgirl look.”

  “I guess.”

  “Amazing. I thought you were into vampires.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Or health food and vitamins.”

  “Them, too.”

  “You’re a very versatile person.”

  “Thanks.”

  Versatile. I was very versatile. Cool. And here I thought I was just confused.

  13

  Ballroom Dancer

  “NEVER MIND, DANA, you wouldn’t have had that much fun anyway. The women’s club is full of poops, nothing like our day. You’re better off without ’em.”

  “I’m not upset.” I’d told Birdie that three times since we got in the car. “It’s nothing. I’m not losing one wink of sleep over this, believe you me.”

  “Well, I should hope not. Because that would be a waste of perfectly good energy. How come your house is so dark?”

  “What? Oh, he forgot to turn on the porch light again. I swear, it’s like living with a mole.”

  “You sure he’s in there?”

  “He’s there. He’s either working in his office or watching TV in the den. Want to come in?” I invited without much enthusiasm. “Cup of coffee before you go home?”

  “Oh, my, no, a cup of coffee would keep me up all night.”

  “Decaf, I meant.”

  “Rain check?”

  “Sure.”

  “Unless you want me to. Unless you want to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” I said, laughing, “I want to sleep. I’m perfectly fine, Bird, this means very little to me.”

  “Oh, I know that.”

  “I won’t even think about it tomorrow.”

  “Of course you won’t. You’re too smart for them, that’s the problem. They didn’t know a good thing when they saw it.”

  “Thanks. Thanks for the ride.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Want to go to a movie or something? There’s a sale—”

  “Can’t tomorrow. Maybe next week.” Birdie’s sympathy was starting to grate on me. Much better if she’d just say, “I told you so,” and get it over with.

  “’Night, Dana,” she called. “Really, don’t give it another thought, it’s not worth your—”

  “Drive carefully,” I said, and slammed the door.

  The house wasn’t just dark, it was cold. More like living with a bear than a mole, some heavy, lumbering animal that hibernates, I thought, going around turning on lights in the living room, the kitchen, turning up the thermostat. Canned laughter sounded from the den. George has two passions, if you can call them that: his book and old TV shows. The older the better; he even buys them on tape from 800 numbers, old episodes of Lassie, Bonanza, 77 Sunset Strip, The Loretta Young Show. I don’t know what to make of that. Was life so much better for him in the 1950s than it is now? Was there some tone then, something he responded to, some flavor or style that he’s nostalgic for now? I wonder what it is. I would really love to know. But when I ask him, “Why do you like that old stuff?” all he ever says is, “It’s amusing.”

  Tonight it was I Love Lucy. I walked into the den just as Lucy was opening her big mouth wide and crying, “Waaaah,” because Rickie wouldn’t take her on a vacation. George looked up at me and smiled with fond, laughing eyes—I smiled back before I realized it wasn’t me making him so happy and appreciative. Should I have tried to be more like that? A silly, wacky, zany kind of woman? Was that what he’d wanted?

  “You’re back,” he said, hitching over to make room for me on the couch.

  Where did I go?—I almost asked, to test him. But I was blue enough tonight; if he flunked the test, I’d feel even worse. “From the women’s club,” I said instead, helpfully. “Election night.”

  A commercial came on, and he muted the sound with the remote control. “How did that go?”

  “I lost.”

  “Oh, dear.” He blinked sympathetically through the middle bar of his trifocals. He looked pretty natty in tweed trousers and the blue crew neck sweater Carrie gave him two Christmases ago. He had dandruff on his shoulders, though, and a yellowish stain on his chest, maybe dried orange juice. And he smelled like his pipe. We were a fairly handsome couple in our day, I’ve got pictures to prove it, but we’ve turned into the kind of people you don’t look at twice. Which one of us will end up at Cedar Hill first? I wonder that too much lately. It’s awfully easy to imagine me visiting George in a room like Helen’s. Wheeling him down to arts and crafts, bending over his stooped shoulder, showing him how to make pot holders.

  “Yep,” I said, “the new president of the Clayborne Women’s Club is Vera Holland. Who’s seventeen years old.”

  “Really?”

  “Or twenty-seven, what’s the difference. A younger woman. Her platform was ‘diversity.’Translation, let’s all go out and recruit more of her tacky fr
iends.”

  “Tsk.” His eyes flicked briefly to the TV. A shampoo commercial.

  “I didn’t even want the damn job, I just didn’t want her to have it.” Well now, that wasn’t true. “Oh, I sort of wanted it. Shake things up. I wanted to feel, you know…active.” Alive, rather. “Anybody can belong to a club, that doesn’t mean anything. What it was—I think I felt like testing myself before it’s too late.”

  I felt a little breathless from the frankness of that. Showing much of myself to George, revealing my deeper feelings—I quit that years ago, it didn’t pay off. A one-sided exercise that usually just left me feeling foolish. Not that not telling him things has gotten me anywhere, either. It’s pretty much a lose-lose.

  “Well,” he said.

  “Well. Well, what?”

  “Well…maybe it’s for the best. Lot of work you don’t need.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I stood up. “And my life’s so rich and full already. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I scooped up my coat and my purse.

  “Dana.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sure you’d have made an excellent president.”

  “I don’t know if I would have or not, but it would’ve been nice to win. I really did want to win.”

  He shrugged, shook his head. Pursed his lips, blinked his eyes. Body language attempts at commiseration. Words, George, I want words. On TV, Fred and Ethel came into Lucy’s apartment. Fred talked out of the side of his mouth, deadpan, and Ethel rolled her eyes.

  “Well,” I said, “let me get out of your way.”

  “I’ll be up in two seconds,” George called. Gales of laughter followed me up the stairs.

  It was even colder on the second floor than the first. Undressing in front of my closet, I heard the flick of light switches downstairs, then the clump of George’s shoes on the steps, slow and heavy, reluctant sounding. As good as his word, even though it was a little early for him. Did he feel sorry for me? To hell with that. But in the glimpse I got of him passing behind as I bent over to take off my hose, he just looked tired.