There was sound now, on the porch. She heard Rosa come through the kitchen, and saw her cross the hall. They were all arriving. There was the familiar uproar of Sheri’s arrival anywhere, her voice carrying down the hall. Lily waited. Tyler walked in, carrying a paper bag full of bottles of gin and whiskey and brandy. “You’re up,” he said, going on into the kitchen. Sheri entered then, followed by her mother. “You look rested,” Mrs. Galatierre said. Her voice was low, supple. She walked across the small span of floor to embrace Lily. There was a youthful leanness in her arms. “I hope you already feel at home, dear.”
Tyler stood in the entrance of the room, holding a bottle of whiskey and a glass with ice in it. “Anybody want a drink?” he said.
EIGHT
1
THEY SAT OUT ON THE PATIO, next to the pool. The sun had gone to the other side of the house. Tyler went into the shallow end for a few minutes. Sheri dove in and swam underwater across the length, and came up next to her half brother. “Boo.”
“Hey, I want my inflatable water wings,” Tyler said, reaching for the side. She went under again, swimming away from him. “I’ve been deep-sea fishing and I like being on boats,” Tyler said. “But I never really liked being in the water.” He got down, so that only his head showed above the surface. His movements were uncoordinated and slow. He stood finally and came out, and dried off. Sheri dove from the board. She had been trained to do different dives. Her mother remarked to Lily that she had won prizes in high school competitions.
“She’s very good,” Lily said, marveling to herself at the fact that Sheri, with her way of telling things about herself, had never mentioned that she had this skill.
After a long interval of diving and swimming to the ladder and diving again, Sheri came out of the water and flopped down on the glider next to her mother. Tyler assumed the role of bartender. There was something faintly hectic about his demeanor, and Lily watched him with an ache. He made a whiskey sour for Sheri. Lily had a glass of wine, as did Millicent Galatierre. Rosa asked when they wanted dinner, and was told that it would have to wait until Buddy and Nick returned from town. “Join us,” Mrs. Galatierre said. “Tyler’s fixing drinks.”
“Got studying to do, thanks,” said Rosa.
They all watched her go back into the house.
“How long has she been with you?” Tyler said.
His mother smiled. “Three years—a little more than three years.”
Then they seemed all to be waiting for something to occur to them as a subject for conversation. Sheri remarked on the chlorine content of the water, and Tyler spoke about new alternatives to the chemical. Mrs. Galatierre said they had a regular pool person who maintained things, and Sheri teased about how handsome and sexy the pool person was. Mrs. Galatierre looked at Lily and in an amused voice said the pool person was a woman. The talk went on for a while in this vein. It was oddly without any context, seemed to slip from subject to subject, banter between friends, except that it was also uneasy. Sheri told stories about growing up in a place like Oxford, with its ugly past. She talked about high school and about college, too. It was a strange hour. Lily watched Tyler, who spoke about the look of the house, the beautiful, shallow valley that surrounded them, and she thought about Sheri’s worry that he had made this journey to cause trouble. He was so obviously trying to be casual and friendly, and so visibly—at least to Lily, anyway—worried about what they might be thinking. He got up to make himself another whiskey. For a little space there was the sound of his voice and Rosa’s, exchanging pleasantries in the kitchen.
Sheri sipped her drink, rattled the ice in her glass, and without looking at Mrs. Galatierre said, “You’d think he’d say something.”
Mrs. Galatierre glanced at Lily.
Sheri rattled the ice again. “You’d think you’d say something.”
Millicent Galatierre turned to Lily. “My daughter lacks a sense of propriety about certain things. Perhaps you’ve noticed.”
“Well, it’s like you lived a fuck’n soap opera,” Sheri said, low. The drink had gone to her head.
“Sheri, please,” Millicent said. “Remember yourself.”
“Was the pool here when you bought the house?” Lily asked.
“No. Buddy had it built.”
“I was thirteen before I even knew Tyler existed,” Sheri said to Lily. “Can yew imagine?”
“I think I might ask for another glass of wine,” Lily said to her. “So I can catch up with you.” She touched the other woman’s arm, meaning to reassure her that this was a joke.
“I’d sure like to know what he’s thinking,” Sheri said.
“He’s an adult. He wants to establish ties with his family. He’s going to be working for Buddy. He doesn’t have to be thinking anything else. Can’t you see that he’s nervous about what you-all think?”
“Well, you’d think he’d say something about it.”
They were quiet for a time. Tyler’s laugh came to them from the kitchen; they couldn’t hear Rosa.
“I’m gonna ask him myself,” Sheri said.
“You will stop,” said Millicent, reaching across the small space to take hold of Sheri’s wrist. “That is enough. You’re embarrassing me.”
Sheri looked at her, then looked at where her wrist was held. When her mother let go, she sat back and took the last of her drink, then began to chew an ice cube with a cracking, jaw-breaking sound.
“How did you ever stand this girl as a roommate,” Mrs. Galatierre said to Lily.
“We got along great,” Sheri said with her mouthful of ice. “I don’t mean anything bad. I’m just worried, that’s all.”
Tyler returned from the kitchen with another glass of whiskey. He sat down at the edge of the shade.
“Did Buddy kill that bear in there on the floor?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Wow. We never hunted anything as big or as dangerous as a bear.”
Lily realized that he was talking about his father.
“Buddy only did it that once—when he was a boy. That bear is thirty years old.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Sheri said. She got up and moved unsteadily toward the house. “I’m gonna take a nap.” She went inside, letting the screen door slap to behind her.
“Is she all right?” Tyler asked.
2
BUDDY GALATIERRE arrived after dark, with his son-in-law. He was a tall man, with a muscular chest and powerful shoulders and arms. He had a full head of gray hair, combed back, and bushy grayish eyebrows that gave his ruddy face a look of perpetual questioning. Nick Green was not as tall as his father-in-law, but lanky and thin-faced, with sharp features, thick blue-black hair, and a sallow complexion. There were shadows under his deep-set gray eyes, giving him a dour, brooding expression. Both men had been drinking. You could smell it on them, and Sheri’s husband was a little loud with it, rocking on his heels. His hand when Lily shook it was cold and limp, unpleasantly clammy. She thought in the same instant of sex videos and of some other man, the platonic friend of his wife. She regretted knowing anything about him at all, and worried that it might show in her demeanor. Mr. Galatierre bowed to her in perfect eighteenth-century fashion and then took the same hand that she had withdrawn from Nick Green and kissed the back of it. His expression seemed to say that he understood how unlikable the experience of Green’s damp handshake had been. When he spoke, he addressed the other man. “That’s how it’s done around here, Nickie.” Then he turned to Tyler. “Well, young man. How good to see you.”
“Sir,” Tyler said, his voice a tiny increment higher than normal. Lily stood at his side and put her hand inside his elbow.
Tyler and Buddy shook hands. “You ready to go to work?” Buddy said.
“Yes, sir.”
“We need an infusion of youth,” Mr. Galatierre said.
Tyler nodded, and appeared a little confused, and shy. Lily squeezed his arm.
“You know, I was premed for a time, too,” Mr. Galat
ierre said.
“No, sir, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, no, of course.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sheri said. “Can we eat dinner now?”
Rosa had set the table, and Mrs. Galatierre had said to go ahead and serve it. They had all been seated at the table when the two men came in.
“We’ll be right back down,” Sheri’s husband said. “I’ve got to go wash up.”
“How much have you had to drink, tonight, Nick?” said Sheri.
Mrs. Galatierre said, “Sheri.”
“It’s all right,” Nick said, “Mama.”
“And please don’t call her Mama,” Sheri said. But Nick had gone out of the room and was already on the stairs. Buddy Galatierre followed, shambling unsteadily, calling to Rosa to fix him a Tom Collins, please, if it wasn’t too much of a bother.
Tyler was standing by the table, holding his own drink, staring after him with all the open-faced curiosity of a child. Then he turned and regarded his mother. “I bet,” Sheri said, “you’d like to have the whole story.” She rested both elbows on the table, hands up to support her head on either side, grinning at him.
“I think I—that is—I know the story, Sheri.”
Their mother sighed, and said, low, “Sheri, you’ve had too much to drink.”
Rosa brought in the dinner—roast beef and gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn bread, and salad. She had cut the beef into thin slices. Mrs. Galatierre took two, and passed the plate to Sheri, who passed it on to Tyler without taking any.
“Sheri,” Mrs. Galatierre said. “You should put something on your stomach.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Well, then perhaps you should leave the table.”
Sheri did nothing. Tyler held the plate of meat and waited. Sheri remained as she was. And then her husband came to the entrance of the room.
“I’m afraid Mr. Galatierre will not be down for supper,” Nick Green said. “Mr. Galatierre is sleeping in his clothes across the foot of his bed. I just left him there.”
Millicent came to her feet. “All right, Nick. Sit down and have something to eat, please.” She looked at Tyler and at Lily. “I hope you can forgive us for this.” She left the table and went upstairs. Rosa called to her from the hallway, “You want me to keep it warm?”
The answer was lost in the clatter of Sheri’s husband pulling a chair out and sitting down, folding his arms on the table and staring across at his wife. “What’s wrong with Missy, here?” he said.
“Don’t call me that,” said Sheri. “I’ve told you a thousand times.”
“Ah, the fever of love is on her.”
Sheri got up and left the room, evading his reach. He got shakily to his feet and made as if to follow her, then seemed to think better of it. He sat down and smiled, then reached across the table, offering his hand to Lily. “Don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We’ve met,” Lily said. “You were quite gallant and it was very pleasant.”
“Really? I don’t seem to recall. But then I’m blitzed. Did we shake hands?”
“You kissed my hand.” She gave Tyler a look, and he grinned.
“Wait a minute,” Nick said. “No, no—you don’t fool me. Hey, Buddy kissed your hand. I shook your hand. And I’m truly contrite about that because I know my hands get clammy when I’ve had too much to drink. So my esteemed wife has told me.”
For a few moments, no one said anything. Rosa walked in and put portions of everything on Mrs. Galatierre’s plate, then took it back into the kitchen. Sheri’s husband had helped himself, and was eating wolfishly, as if alone. Tyler and Lily began slowly to eat, watching him, and occasionally sending each other a sidelong glance. Nick stuffed his mouth with corn bread that he had dipped in the gravy. His cheeks bulged, and he seemed to be communing with himself, nodding and muttering under his breath. Then he stopped and looked at Lily.
“You’re absolutely sure we met before?”
“About fifteen minutes ago. We were being held prisoner by the evil duke. You released us.”
He smiled, nodding. Then he frowned, and seemed to be thinking something over. “And we shook hands.”
“You shook hands,” Tyler said. “Right.”
“God, I’m sorry. Forgive the handshake.”
“It’s forgiven,” Lily said, and folded her arms. It was, she realized, a gesture he might interpret to mean she didn’t want to shake hands again.
He did exactly that, nodding, and saying, “I don’t blame you.” Then he turned to Tyler. “And you? Did I shake hands with you?”
“No,” Tyler said. “You kissed my hand.”
“Damn.” Nick laughed, pointing.
“You’re forgiven.”
Lily broke forth with a laugh, and then suppressed it. Nick shrugged, and kept on eating, shaking his head now. He took a long drink of the water that Rosa had poured for everyone, then leaned forward in his chair and called out, “Rosa, how ’bout some beer?”
There was no answer from the kitchen. He waited a moment, staring at the door, then picked his napkin out of his lap, threw it down, and stood. “Service around this place leaves something to be desired, you may have noticed.” Carefully, he made his way to the kitchen door and, pushing it open, held it. “Rosa?” He went on through, and the door swung shut. Lily and Tyler were alone in the dining room, and the whole house seemed to be breathing with the collective vexations, tensions, and absurdities they had just witnessed.
“Christ,” Tyler said, shaking his head. “Nothing like a little pathology to help me relax into things.”
“I wonder if it’s like this all the time,” Lily murmured. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”
Sheri walked back in from the foyer, moved slowly to her chair, and sat down. She didn’t look at them.
“Hey, Sheri,” Tyler said. “What is it? You were so happy to see us this morning.”
Sheri said nothing.
Nick Green came out of the kitchen carrying a six-pack of sixteen-ounce cans of beer by the elastic strap that held them together. One can was missing from it; he held that one in his other hand, and took a long drink, putting his head back, before he settled into his chair. The cans clattered on the table when he set them down. “Well,” he said to Sheri. “You do look sexy. If I was a drinking man, I might be forced to make a pass at you.” He finished the one beer and opened another, laughing softly to himself.
“Oh please shut up, Nick.”
He went on laughing for a time, turning his head from side to side in time with it all, then he drank from the new can, and began to eat again, soaking more corn bread in the beef gravy.
“Sheri,” Tyler said. “Did I say or do something to offend you?”
“We’re all grown up,” Sheri said sadly. “And now we can all be friends. Is that it?”
“You tell me,” Tyler said quietly. “I really don’t understand.”
She said nothing.
“Your father offered me a job and I took it. And I’m here.”
Lily said, “Your mother seems all right about it. Just as you said she was.” Sheri looked at her as if her presence was surprising.
“I’m worried about everything,” Sheri muttered. “It’s my nature lately—don’t take it too seriously.” She hiccupped.
Nick Green looked at her and laughed, opening another of the cans of beer. “I sold five cars today, sugar. I’m bad, bad, double bad. Five in one day.” He drank. “I believe I just may have a future in sales, yes indeed. A big future in sales. Is there anything sexier than a salesman on a roll?”
“You mean a drunk salesman on a roll?” Sheri said.
“Hey.” He held up the beer. “I sold five cars. It’s a record.”
“Is that what you were celebrating?” Sheri said. “This time?”
“Hey, you unhappy, sugar?”
She looked down.
“Your excellent father and I were celebrating everything tonight. The arrival of new family,
the fixing up of you and me, as it were, the sale of five units in one day, and—and—” He stopped, wavered slightly, took another drink of the beer. “Hell, we were celebrating just being alive in this particular summer of our Lord.”
Rosa came in from the kitchen and began, with a certain abruptness, to clear the dishes away. Lily stood up to help, and the other woman said, “That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m not finished eating yet,” Nick said. “As the great Irish poet Mr. Yeats said so well, ‘Don’t fuck with me when I’m eating.’”
Rosa didn’t answer him, but went on clearing away the other places, cleaning around him as he continued to eat. Lily watched this and suddenly felt hemmed in, no place to go in the house for fear that she might come upon a scene. She sat still, not eating, and when Rosa came to her and hesitated, she said, “Oh, I’m through.”
“You never got started,” Rosa said gently, taking her plate away.
Nick settled back in his chair and ran his hands over his stomach, then emitted a long, low belch.
Sheri said, “For God’s sweet sake.”
“I apologize from the bottom of my heart.”
“So,” Tyler said. “How did you and Sheri meet?”
“Met in high school,” the other man said. He clasped his hands on top of his head and gazed across the table at Sheri, who was running her hands through her hair and not looking at anyone. “There I was, the school’s budding high achiever—running the school newspaper, writing stories and poems for the literary journal, all in the mistaken belief that it would make Missy fall into my arms. But Sheri wouldn’t have anything to do with me. Felt she was above me. Which, of course, as we can all very plainly see, she, um, is.” He sighed, and reached over to touch her shoulder. She pulled away, but there was a faint smile on her face, as if she were being bothered by a child. “Nothing worked,” Nick went on. “Until she came home from the University of Virginia, having learned that living in the Upper South causes abscessed teeth and infections and systemic bad grades. Isn’t that right, Missy?”
Hello to the Cannibals Page 19
