Some People Talk with God

by John Enright

  “But when?” Amanda asked. She would need hours to get ready.

  “That’s up to him, sis, not me, but I’d say sometime today. By the way, I don’t think he is anything like you. Are you sure he’s your brother?”

  Luckily it was a weekday and all the girls were off at their jobs. Susan would be around somewhere. Amanda had noticed that Susan tended to hide when it was just the two of them in the house. Amanda went and unlocked Morgan’s room. It was the room beneath the cupola and really the nicest bedroom in the house, with big bay windows and lots of light. Morgan kept it pretty Spartan. She had come with next to nothing and added little. It was just another room to Morgan. That was one of the reasons why she had no problem with a strange man staying there—there was so little of her there. Amanda found a clean set of sheets and pillowcases on a closet shelf and was stripping the old ones off the bed when Susan strayed into the room.

  “I’ve never been in this room before,” Susan said. “Is this Morgan’s room?”

  “Yes. Give me a hand here, Susan.” Making a bed was easier with two people. “Now open up the windows a bit and we’ll air the room out.” Also on the closet shelf Amanda found the bath towels and washcloths Morgan had taken from the Washington hotel, and she folded a set of those onto the foot of the bed.

  “Is Morgan coming back?” Susan asked, straightening the pillows.

  “No, we have another guest coming,” Amanda said, looking around, then added for some reason, “my brother.”

  “Where does this go?” Susan asked, walking over to the door that led to the enclosed circular stairs to the cupola.

  “Up to the cupola, but it’s locked, not safe. Susan, what are the plans for dinner tonight?”

  “I don’t know. After last night nobody wanted to talk to each other, so nobody made any plans. I don’t know whose night it is. Nothing’s defrosting. Nobody told me to do anything.”

  “Susan, I have to make a market run. I will have to go all the way to Catskill, so I’ll be gone at least an hour and a half. If anyone comes, just let them in and tell them I’ll be right back. Okay?”

  “Is he your older or younger brother?” Susan asked.

  “What difference does that make?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a brother. I thought it made a difference who was older.”

  “In our case it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Chapter 6

  The water was deeper than Dominick had expected, but his car made it through alright. When he was halfway into it, too far to turn back, he had seen that it wasn’t just that there was water in the roadway but that the stream beside the road had topped its banks and overflowed. He saw more of the bank crumble away as he passed, releasing a further flood. The rain had not let up as he had hoped. If anything it intensified as he drove north. His windshield wipers were on high. He was on back roads now, following Morgan’s directions to the Van Houten place. He hadn’t seen another car since turning off 9W. He was angry with himself for coming this way and not just driving straight up to Woods Hole. West Point had been hardly worth the visit.

  According to Morgan’s directions, somewhere along this stretch there would be a break in the woods leaving open fields, and up on a knoll to his right would be the house from the photograph. A bit farther on would be two stone posts marking the entrance to the driveway. Dominick couldn’t see much of anything through the downpour, but the forest did end and he slowed down. He never saw the house, but the two tall stone pillars that had once held a gate appeared on his right, and he turned up the driveway between them. Now pretend you are a multibillionaire CEO arriving for a high-stakes, three-day secret meeting, he told himself and chuckled once. There were no lights on at the house, which appeared much like it did in the photograph only worse for wear in the storm. The place looked forlorn in the rain, like a Victorian lady of a certain age in all her frumpy finery caught unprepared in a sudden downpour.

  Dominick sat in the car and watched the rain. There were no other vehicles in sight. Perhaps no one was home. Maybe Morgan had not gotten his message to Amanda. It was still early. If the rain let up maybe he could find his way back to 9W and find a motel before dark. He had accomplished the purported purpose of this ill-conceived side trip—he would not be investing Marjorie’s money in this sad place. Then one of the double front doors of the house opened, and a lanky wisp of a brown-haired girl in faded overalls came out onto the veranda and opened a pink umbrella. She skipped down the steps and came running to his car. He buzzed down his window as she came up.

  “Hi,” she said, bending down beneath her umbrella. “Nice car. Aren’t you going to come in? I’m supposed to make you to home.” Everything about her was amazingly plain—her face, her hair, her clothes, her speech. She was like something half made, lacking all finishing touches, a fine start deserted by the craftsman for another piece, a vessel well formed and bisqued but not glazed.

  “Yes, of course,” Dominick said, “I’ll come in. Is Amanda here?”

  “Here, take this,” the girl said. “I’m already wet.”

  “Yes, well, wait a second.” Dominick buzzed his window back up and turned off the ignition before stepping out of the car. The girl handed him the pink umbrella and ran back to the veranda through the rain. She was barefoot. Dominick followed her.

  On the veranda she took the umbrella from him, shaking the water from it as she closed it. “Isn’t this rain great? The garden is getting a real good soak. Come on in.” Dominick followed her through a vestibule into a hallway paneled in dark wood, past facing closed double oak doors and a graceful staircase with a finely carved balustrade. The wooden floor—of old, uneven if smooth planking—was uncarpeted. She led him back to the kitchen. “I made lemonade. Want some?”

  “I was looking for Amanda,” Dominick said.

  “I know. You’re her brother. Here.” She handed him a tall glass filled with lemonade. “She went to the store to buy food. She said she’d be back, but that was a while ago. Make yourself at home.”

  Dominick looked around the room. The kitchen was large and comfy. There was an old stuffed davenport along one wall and a papa-sized stuffed wing chair. There was also a substantial kitchen table that could seat a dozen people. He turned back to see his escort vanish through a side door. If Amanda was expecting him, he probably shouldn’t leave. He wondered if there was another road out, beside the one he had taken in. He couldn’t go back that way.

  The kitchen was on a corner of the house, and there were windows on two walls. Dominick went to one and looked out at the undiminishing rain. The view was of a well-tended vegetable garden with raised beds and beyond that at a distance a barn that had once been painted red. As he watched, the girl in the overalls walked into the garden. She walked as if it wasn’t raining, even though her long hair was plastered to her skull by the force of it, water dripped from her nose, and her soaked T-shirt and overalls hung on her like laundry on a line. He wondered if she weighed even a hundred pounds. Her collar bones stood out beneath the wet fabric of her shirt. She didn’t notice him watching her; she was busy. The rain had bent and beaten down young tomato plants staked in one of the beds. She was tending to them, lifting them out of the mud and refastening them to their stakes. As he watched her he thought—this is someone’s daughter; I wonder if anyone misses her. The lemonade was way too sweet.

  Amanda did not return. Dominick had stretched out on the davenport and fallen asleep. He was awoken by the girl shaking his shoulder. “You don’t have to sleep here. You have a bed,” she said. She was still sopping wet, dripping onto the floor where she squatted beside the couch. Dominick looked up at the windows. The sky was darker, but it was still raining. “I’ll show you,” she said.

  “No Amanda?” Dominick asked.

  “No. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll show you your room.”

  “Is there another road in here besides the one I took?” Dominick asked, sitting up.

  “There’s one other
way, down toward the river, but it’s just a dirt road. Nobody goes that way.” Now in the distance there was lightning and thunder. “Please stay until someone else comes.”

  Dominick looked down at her where she squatted. Was he trapped here? “You’re dripping all over the floor,” he said. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Please stay. You have Morgan’s room. It’s the best. I’ll show you.”

  There was no escape. “I have things in the trunk I have to get.”

  The girl jumped up and stuck out her hand for his keys. “I’ll get them,” she said. “I’m still wet.”

  Dominick picked out the key that would unlock the trunk and handed it to her. “There are several big bags and one small one. I’ll just need the small one. Thank you.”

  He followed her to the front veranda and watched her. She paused on the way to his car to kick at a frog in a puddle, a playful kick. She came back with his bag and went past him into the house and up the antique stairway. Again Dominick followed. His room was large and mainly empty. There was a queen-size bed, a bureau, and a desk chair at an empty table. An empty space where no one dwelled, a charming room turned into a cell.

  “What’s your name?” Dominick asked when she put his bag down near the bed.

  “Susan,” she said. “What’s yours?”

  “I’m Dominick. Susan, what are we going to do about supper?” Dominick hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which seemed like days before. “My guess is that Amanda is having trouble getting back because the roads are flooded.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t cook. Someone else always cooks dinner. What’s the difference between dinner and supper?”

  “None, really. Let’s go back to the kitchen and see what we can find to eat. Or rather, I’ll go back to the kitchen and see what I can rustle up, while you go get out of those wet clothes and put on something dry for dinner. How’s that sound?”

  “Okay, I guess. I must look awful.”

  “Dry your hair too. In fact, why don’t you take a nice hot shower while I fix us something?”

  Susan’s hand went up to feel her lank wet hair, as if she was surprised to find it there. She gave Dominick a strange look then turned around and left.

  Dominick found a packet of cheese ravioli in the freezer and a bottle of mushroom-garlic Ragu in a cupboard. There was half a loaf of only slightly stale French bread, butter, and garlic powder. The kitchen was fully equipped, and everything was where it usually was in American kitchens. He set about making supper. Beneath the pink umbrella he made a trip to the car to bring in his other bags so that he could root around in them and find his cigars and a book and the fifth of Glenfiddich. By the time Susan came down, the meal was almost ready and Dominick was seated in the stuffed wing chair with a glass of Scotch, a cigar, and a book.

  Susan was wearing an emerald green dress that looked like something his mother might have worn—expensive and showy in an understated way, with a high neck and long tight sleeves. She was wearing no makeup or jewelry, but her hair was clean and pulled back in a ponytail. As if to connect her to the previous Susan, she was still barefoot. Dominick looked at her over the top of his reading glasses. “A very pleasant transformation, Susan. Are you hungry?”

  “I think I may be starving,” she said.

  Dinner was edible. Dominick missed a red wine to accompany it. Susan ate like the teenager she was. There were no leftovers. She insisted on doing the dishes. “That’s my job,” she said. Dominick returned to his wingback chair and book and an after-dinner Romeo y Julieta. “Funny that Amanda hasn’t called,” he said. “I mean the power’s still on, so the phone lines should still be up too.”

  “Oh, there’s no landline phone here. Denise had it taken out because someone was abusing it. Only cell phones.” Susan was drying the dishes.

  “And you don’t have one?” Dominick asked, wondering who Denise might be.

  “Oh, I can’t afford one of those,” Susan said. “What’s that you are drinking?”

  “Scotch whiskey. Would you like some?”

  “Scotch. I don’t remember. It’s bitter, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is, very bitter.”

  “I’ll try some.” Susan put down her dish towel and brought a glass over to where Dominick was sitting. He poured her a dram. She sniffed it, then went to the sink and added a half cup of hot water to the glass then stirred in some Sweet’N Low before taking a sip. “Why do you call it Scotch?” she asked.

  “Because that’s where it comes from, from Scotland.”

  “Like Scotch tape?” Susan asked. “It tastes like smoke. Does that make it good?” She sat on the davenport, tucking her legs up beneath her. “I like it, though. After you get used to the taste you want another sip.”

  Dominick slipped a page marker into his book and set it aside. He dearly wanted just to read and forget that he was stuck in this place, but there was no way of ignoring this slim incongruous being in green on the charcoal couch.

  “Do you think this rain is because of global warming?” she asked, sipping her toddy. “You know, the polar bears dying and all?”

  “I don’t know,” Dominick said. “I’ve always preferred thinking that the weather and I had nothing to do with one another beyond temporarily coexisting.”

  “You talk funny. I like that, like one of those British PBS shows. What sort of name is Dominick?”

  “A very common name in another century.”

  “I like the smell of your cigar. Do you like the smell of pot?”

  “Susan?”

  “When anyone else is here I have to go out to the barn to get high, but now it’s just you here and you’re smoking in the kitchen and I thought … you know, I’d light up too. You seem cool.”

  “I am cool with it, Susan. I couldn’t care less. Fire away.” Dominick put his reading glasses back on and picked up his book. Susan put down her glass and whisked off. She returned with a very feminine looking pink-blue-and-white porcelain pipe, but before she sat back down on the davenport she picked up her glass and came over to Dominick. “Please,” she said, holding out her glass. “It’s not bad.” He poured her two fingers more of Scotch, and she fixed herself another toddy.

  Of course Susan politely offered the pipe to Dominick as she smoked, and he accepted it for several sweet lungfuls. They chatted about many things. It became a sort of tutorial, as Susan stoned was very curious: “If that’s why that happens, then how come …?” Dominick wondered, but didn’t ask, if she had ever been to school.

  In one of the cupboards Dominick had seen a bag of popping corn. He found it and popped a frying pan full of it for them. The Glenfiddich by now was almost gone. They talked a while longer. Susan wanted to know how food stamps worked and why all the frogs were disappearing. At an appropriately long pause Dominick excused himself, said good night, and went off to bed, leaving Susan still sitting on the couch, all dressed up and at the only place she had to go.

  The rain hadn’t stopped but it had let up. The thunder was now so faint you couldn’t compute the distance. He was almost asleep when he heard the door to his room open and close. In the faint light of a far-away lightning flash he saw a female figure in a nightgown carrying a pillow and comforter cross the room. As she rolled herself into her quilt on the floor beside Dominick’s bed, Susan said softly, “Don’t mind me, okay? I won’t bother you. I just can’t get to sleep if I’m all alone and it’s thundering.”

  ***

  Amanda spent the night at a Motel 6, sharing a room with Kathy. They had met where the road was washed out. Kathy had texted the other girls to tell them to find other places to stay for the night, seeing as no one would be able to get to the house. Amanda figured Dominick would have been turned back by the washout as well, if he had ever gotten that far. Kathy was worried about her sister being up there all alone, but there was nothing they could do about it. There was no way to call the house. Susan didn’t have a cell phone. They were having breakfast at an IHOP when Morgan called. She
was taking Amtrak up. Could Amanda pick her up in Hudson? She’d get in a little after noon.

  “Is Nemo there yet?” Morgan wanted to know.

  “I don’t know. I doubt it. I’m not even there.” And Amanda explained about the rain and the road washing out. “I’ll pick you up in Hudson.”

  By noon there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect sunny June day, except that the temperature was not going to climb out of the sixties. There was no sign of the record rain of the past few days until Amanda drove onto the Rip Van Winkle Bridge to cross over to Hudson. The river was a roiling, rushing, chocolate snake beneath them, carrying trees and what looked like islets of brush and mud downstream. The river hasn’t forgotten, she thought. The river remembers everything. Someday this bridge will be just a memory, but the river will be unchanged. The Chevy’s front end kept pulling to the left so that she couldn’t let go of the wheel for long, which made lighting a cigarette something to think about and plan. The dashboard cigar lighter had never worked.

  Like a ghost in the back seat her inner voice spoke up: Ah, addled one, remember your wish list for when you got money in the bank? Number one on the list was not just new tires and an alignment, but a new car altogether, something gutsy, something higher and with more lights. Ah, duh. The money is now in your bank account. Hello. What are you waiting for? For Morgan to pick out the make and model for you? She doesn’t even drive.

  And I’ll get her her own iPod so she can listen to her music not mine, Amanda thought.

  It will still be you driving around Miss Daisy.

  A semi truck’s horn blared behind her as she remembered at the last minute to merge into the exit lane. She couldn’t help it if she wasn’t yet used to being rich. What else was on that list of things to buy? She had always wanted to go up in a hot-air balloon. She would get all new expensive underwear. She would fly out to Denver and try to find Ricky. They would finish up the Van Houten place and flip it as quickly as possible. She would finally take that ferryboat ride from Vancouver up to Sitka, getting off at any stop she wanted to and just hanging out. She’d buy some Inuit art.