He's fine.
What does he think about all this?
The fact we're taking some time off?
That's a nice term for it.
He's been through worse, I imagine. He said he lived one place once where the man, his foster dad, just up and left.
And the guy never came back?
Nope.
What a life. He still doing all those chores for Paul?
Tending the horse, you mean? You bet.
He's good about that, isn't he? Most kids, I guess, wouldn't be that responsible. They'd find excuses. They'd go do something else.
What would he do?
I don't know. Most kids would figure it out.
She looked across at him, trying to understand why what he had just said annoyed her so much. He stared back at her and offered a smile that he probably thought was boyish and winning and handsome. Not the knowing look he reserved for people he was about to nail for speeding or because they were driving with more beer in their blood than white corpuscles; it was a smile that once she had found quite attractive.
Alfred isn't most kids, she said simply, but she knew there was a trace of irritation in her voice.
Nope. Has he been paying attention to you--listening to you?
He has.
And he hasn't gotten into any trouble?
When was the last time he got into any trouble, Terry? Seriously?
I'm sorry, really I am. But I know what I saw the Monday morning after Christmas.
You still think he was up to something?
Still do.
The waitress returned to take their order, and she watched the way he teased the young woman good-naturedly about her haircut, and then asked her whether the gravy was thick and fatty enough to come with an angioplasty. Everything he said seemed to make her giggle. After she left, he leaned forward with his elbows on the table and the fingertips on his hands joined in a pyramid, and asked, So, tell me: Where are we? What are you feeling these days?
Well, I would love to see us get back to where we were. It was pretty good once, wasn't it? I don't think I'm making that up.
Nope, not a bit. It was. Remember when we got the girls all the way to the top of Mount Lafayette?
I do.
And the time we left them with Mom and went to Montreal for that long weekend? It doesn't get better than that.
No. That was nice, she said, and though the memories were indeed pleasant--capable, even, of taking the edge off her annoyance--she had the sense that they both were stalling. Certainly she was.
You still have that chemise? The one you slept in?
Somewhere.
You should find it.
There was the small sliver of an ice cube left in her water glass, and she swirled the liquid so that it disappeared. Then: I don't think it'll ever be like that again. I could find it. But we're older now. And very different.
You never know.
Yes, you do. Are you seeing someone, Terry?
Pardon me?
I asked if you were seeing someone.
Don't tell me that you're still obsessed with what my brother said back in November.
Nope. Not at all. But if we're going to talk about me in a chemise, I want to know if you're seeing someone else.
That's why you're asking?
I'm asking because we haven't connected on anything for the last month--
A month is not a very long period of time. People go through phases, you know--
We haven't connected much in two years. You said so yourself. It's the good periods that have been rare.
That's not my fault.
I didn't say it was.
I could ask you if you were seeing somebody. I could--
And you know you'd be acting like a jerk. You know damn well I'm not seeing anybody else. I can say that. I am not seeing anybody. I haven't had a drink with another man in a bar, I haven't kissed one or held one or fucked one. I--
You might want to keep it down if this is going to become an NC-17 brawl.
I was almost whispering.
Words carry in this place. Trust me, I know.
I won't ask why.
Excuse me?
She sat back in her chair, surprised that she hadn't started to cry. She was angry and she was hurt, but she felt strangely composed. She thought she would ask him one more time, though there was no longer much doubt in her mind: So, tell me, she said, it's a simple yes-or-no question. Are you seeing another woman?
Behind him she saw their waitress reaching through the window to the kitchen for the plates with her egg salad sandwich and his open-faced turkey, and she was glad he didn't know their lunch was about to arrive. He might have stalled if he had, knowing the imminent return of the waitress would give him another moment to consider his answer.
He took a deep breath and looked back into her eyes. I am, he said. I'm sorry.
She nodded. It wasn't nearly as painful as she had thought it would be. Perhaps because she had been expecting it for so long, the blow barely nicked her. Is it serious? she asked simply.
It's complicated.
Meaning?
I guess it's serious.
Do I know her?
No. You two have never met.
Can I presume, then, this mystery woman is the person you met in November when you were supposed to be hunting? The woman you claimed you only had a beer with in a bar?
Yes. You can.
The waitress arrived, smiling, and placed the egg salad sandwich before her and the hot turkey in front of her husband.
Can I get you anything else? she asked.
Without thinking about what she would do, she reached for her coat and her tote bag and stood, and then--aware that the waitress was gazing at her, confused, and her husband looked vaguely alarmed--she pushed the plate with the hot turkey and the gravy and the creamed squash off the table and into Terry's lap. A napkin for my husband, she said to the young woman. Maybe even a towel: No offense, but that gravy does look pretty greasy. Other than that, I think we're all set. Then she left the restaurant, waiting until she got to the parking lot and was sure that Terry wasn't following her to put on her coat.
It was only when she was in her car and on her way back to the animal shelter that the magnitude of what she had done dawned upon her, and despite what he had told her, she was unable to restrain a small smile: Like all troopers, he had four pairs of all-season uniform pants and an equal number of long-sleeve winter shirts. She was quite sure that half his pants and two of those shirts were in the ironing pile at the house, because she'd seen them there that week. And so although she didn't know exactly how he was spending his evenings at that camp, she realized there was a pretty good chance that he would be shopping for pre-wash stain removers after work, and tonight he would be doing his laundry and ironing.
"I knew he liked me. Maybe if I had been older it would have been harder to like him, given what his uniform meant to my people. But I was a teenager, I was still so young. And he was very handsome."
VERONICA ROWE (FORMERLY POPPING TREES),
WPA INTERVIEW,
MARCH 1938
*
The Heberts
The riding ring was filled with girls, most of them blond, most of them with long straight hair that (inevitably) they had pulled back into ponytails. For a moment Paul watched a group somewhere in the neighborhood of Alfred's age, five kids nine or ten or eleven (but who could really tell these days, with girls starting to mature so young? For all he knew, they were all third- or fourth-graders) giggling as they fed fast-food French fries to a hitched Appaloosa. They were wearing either leather chaps over their jeans or stretch riding breeches, and they all had boots that laced partway up their shins.
It looks like you and I are the only males here, he said to Alfred.
Maybe some of the horses.
In name only. Count on it: Any male horses here aren't exactly the men they used to be--if you get my drift.
Som
e of the girls looked up at them, but most paid them little attention.
It's nice in here, Alfred said. Not too hot. I'd thought it might be like a gym.
Nope.
There were two large rings, and a pair of teenagers was jumping over small red-and-white fences in the far one.
A middle-aged woman approached, and one of the girls ran from the hitching post where she, too, had been trying to convince the big Appaloosa to eat French fries, her arms filled with a tangled bridle and a jumbled mass of reins, and intercepted the teacher before she could reach them. The woman, small and athletic with long red hair that fell down her back in a braid, bent over and disentangled the great lump of leather. He was relieved she was an adult--a real adult--not some twenty- or twenty-one-year-old kid. It was bad enough he was taking a lesson, but the notion that he might have been taught by a person barely a third his age had been galling.
When she was done she motioned for the girl to return the tack to a room off to the side, and then ambled over to them.
It looks like you're Paul and Alfred, she said. I'm Heather Barrett. Welcome. She extended her hand first to Paul and then to Alfred, and for a moment the boy looked at the hand, apparently surprised that it had been extended to him so cavalierly.
I understand you've already got a pretty good foundation, she said to him. That true?
I guess.
I taught him, which is probably a mixed blessing, Paul added.
How so?
I'm a good teacher and I ride pretty well for an old man. But I wouldn't even know where to attach a lead line to a bridle.
You ever been on a lead line, Alfred?
The boy looked up at him. Have I?
Nope.
Well, let's get you started and see what you know. She turned to the girls at the hitching post and called out, Are Delta and Thomas ready?
One of the girls stopped laughing long enough to tell her that both horses were saddled, and then ran toward a line of animals at another hitching post at the edge of the ring. They're over here, she called back over her shoulder.
You'll be on Delta, she said to Alfred after they'd started toward the two mounts, and, Paul, you'll be on Thomas. Neither horse is going to set any land speed records these days, and you never know whether Delta will just decide to go to sleep on you. But I think the biggest difficulty you'll have is that they're friends, and sometimes the pony brain gets more interested in his pony pals than the fact there's a human on his back and he has a job to do. Got it?
He watched her turn to get the mounting block, which was about a dozen yards toward the center of the ring, but Alfred hadn't realized he was expected to wait. The girl who'd run ahead had already taken off Delta's halter and tightened her girth, and so Alfred had gone ahead and climbed into the saddle. For a moment Heather paused with the block in her hands when she saw that he had swung himself up onto the animal--she was surprised and she chuckled--but then Paul saw her turn her attention to him.
Think you'll need this? she asked.
I'll never turn down a device that makes my life easier, he said, and she laughed once again in a way that made him happy.
HE AND EMILY had dinner that night at Laura's for a change, and he told Laura how well Alfred had done. The boy had spent about a minute and a half on the lead line before Heather had determined he was well beyond needing one, and though she said his form could use work when he posted, he was cantering by the end of the hour. The girls who hung out at the ring after school had watched him with curiosity, and then, Paul decided, grown to respect him if only because he was a boy and he was there. None of the girls, Alfred had told him, went to his school.
In bed that night, Emily's head on his shoulder, they talked about the wounded couple across the street, and they discussed whether the pair would consider counseling. They agreed both that those younger people should and that it was unlikely. Terry was involved with someone else, Laura had told them when Alfred wasn't in the room, and in her opinion he had little affection for the child.
What do you think would happen to Alfred if they got divorced? he asked Emily now, allowing a book he'd been reading to fall closed on the mattress beside him. She was wearing a red nightgown they'd bought at the Corn Palace in South Dakota--emblazoned on the front was a picture of a smiling ear of white and yellow corn with husks for arms and a wild mane of hair made from its tassels--and he noticed that she'd managed to get the smell of bird feed out of the material. The first time she'd tried it on it had looked nice on her, but it had also stunk like the Krazy Korn brand pellets that had been merchandised in great display silos that day beside the official Corn Palace nightshirts and sweatshirts and socks.
You mean logistically?
I guess.
Nothing, I hope.
He wouldn't be taken from Laura?
I doubt it.
But you never know, do you?
No, but I have to believe that people like Louise can see he's better off with Laura than anyplace else he's been lately.
True, true. And Laura wouldn't feel overwhelmed to be raising a young boy alone and decide to give him up, he said. Right?
Good Lord, Paul, of course she wouldn't. She views herself as his mother now. She is his mother now!
Oh, I know how much she cares for him. But I worry...
She's a little better every day. Why, she's much stronger now than she was three or four months ago.
She is, isn't she?
Certainly. She's had to care for someone again, and I think that's the best thing that could have happened to her.
He thought about that for a moment, recalling Laura and Alfred as they stood in their doorway when he and Emily were saying good night to them after dinner. I would miss him if he left, he said, a remark he made without thinking, and one that surprised him when he heard the words in the air in their bedroom.
Alfred, you mean.
Yes, Alfred. I would--I will--miss Terry, too, if he and Laura don't get through this. But I was speaking of Alfred.
I think Terry needs...oh, I don't know what Terry needs. He hasn't been himself this whole winter.
He didn't say good-bye when he left, you know.
You sound hurt.
No, not really. Surprised is all.
Maybe he didn't think he'd be gone all that long.
It just wasn't like him. It seemed so out of control. Here's a man who's seen an awful lot over the years, but he's always been nothing if not in control, he said, and he recalled an August evening some years ago after Terry had spent the day watching the mashed bodies of two mountain bikers pulled from beneath some out-of-state SUV (the driver had died, too, Paul believed, but he wasn't quite sure), and how Terry had come home and mowed the lawn as if it had been just another day on the road, and chatted with Emily and him for ten or fifteen minutes about how much his girls were enjoying some circus day camp in the village.
I wish I knew about this other woman, Emily murmured.
Why?
She sighed and ran her hand over his chest. Because I like Laura. I want to know what he sees in somebody else.
He took her hand and held it: He felt a soreness along his upper thighs and his lower back. Heather had worked him harder this afternoon than he'd worked himself throughout the last month, and he was going to pay the price, he could tell, for at least the next couple of days. He stretched his legs and arched his back ever so slightly, hoping to mitigate the pain; he didn't want to have to get out of bed to get an aspirin, and thereby admit to Emily that an hour on a horse with a real teacher could make him feel so badly beaten up.
"...and so I may not re-up this fall. I think I need a change."
SERGEANT GEORGE ROWE,
TENTH REGIMENT, UNITED STATES CAVALRY,
LETTER TO HIS BROTHER IN PHILADELPHIA,
MARCH 15, 1877
*
Terry
Russell took off his boots and his socks--white once, but now the color of a T-shirt that's been left ou
t on the street in the rain--and rested his feet on one of the other wooden chairs that sat around the table near the sliding glass doors.
So this place belongs to Henry's parents? he asked his brother.
Terry counted the beers in the refrigerator, relieved they were down to three, and then pushed the door shut. If he himself drank one more, he decided, then that would limit Russell to another two. Of course, there was also the one that Russell was drinking right now, and the one he'd said he had at a bar in Vergennes on his way here, while waiting for Terry to finish his shift. And so even if his brother had downed two or three cold ones before leaving the tavern, which was altogether possible, he wouldn't have drunk more than a six-pack tonight. He guessed Russell could handle that.
Yup. I called Henry and expected to sleep for a night on some foldout couch in the living room, but he set me up here.
Man, don't leave. Patch things up with Laura, and bring her out here, too.
You really think I should stay? he asked. The moon was completely covered over by clouds tonight, and so the lake and the mountains across the water were invisible. For all Russell could see, outside the glass doors and beyond the wooden deck there might have been nothing more interesting than a parking lot.
I do. Become a squatter. This place is mighty nice, I can tell, and I haven't even gotten to see it in daylight yet.
The views are pretty special, I have to admit.
Laura seen it?
He sat down in the chair opposite his brother's feet, relieved that Phoebe had been gone since Friday morning and wouldn't be back until tomorrow night. Wednesday. He had Thursday and Friday off this week, and their plan was that she would stay here at the camp with him those days.
No, she hasn't been out here yet, he said.
I bet she'd like it.
Probably.
You seen her?
I saw her last Friday. We had lunch. And we spoke on the phone yesterday. I called her.
the Buffalo Soldier (2002) Page 31
