“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Willard said.
“Thank you, but I need to get home.” Jane picked up her purse. “It was good to meet you, Willard.”
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again,” said Willard, who had begun to perspire in the heat from the frying pan. His eyes were the bright, hot blue of a summer sky. “And don’t you worry, I’ll take care of Jimmy.”
Jane passed by the basement stairs just as Jimmy was coming up with the goggles in his hand.
“Jimmy,” Willard called from the kitchen, “be sure you walk Jane out to her car.”
Jane’s car was in the driveway behind the maroon Buick, and it was still daylight, so it didn’t seem especially dangerous for her to walk to her car alone, and she couldn’t imagine what help Jimmy would be if some danger did happen to present itself, but she smiled and said that would be lovely.
“What did you think of Willard?” Jimmy asked as soon as they were outside. “Isn’t he nice?”
“Yes, he’s very nice,” Jane said. Jimmy looked so pleased that Jane felt suddenly ashamed, disloyal. Why had she doubted him? Did she truly think Jimmy was incapable of making a genuine friend? She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “He’s wonderful, Jimmy.”
Jimmy smiled. “Willard would love to meet Duncan, I know, and Aggie and Gary and all them guys.”
“I’m sure he would,” Jane said.
She got in her car and backed out of the driveway. Then she paused for just a moment and looked at Jimmy as he stood there, the mild October breeze ruffling his hair and stirring the golden leaves piled at his feet.
* * *
—
Darkness fell as she drove home, and when she pulled into her own driveway, the lighted windows of her house glowed like promises to all the world’s weary travelers. Winter would be long, and Jane didn’t look forward to it, but that glowy-window thing was awfully nice. As she walked up the porch steps, she could see Duncan standing at the kitchen sink, cleaning the grease from his hands with a pumice stone.
“Hey, Janey,” he called over the sound of running water as she came in.
“Hey,” she said, smiling as she hung her blazer over a chairback.
Duncan lived at Jane’s house full-time now, but Jane felt it was an unsatisfactory, impermanent kind of full-time. He paid for groceries and contributed to the utilities and did a hundred home repairs, and yet to Jane their lives remained maddeningly untangled, frustratingly separate. Duncan didn’t even rent out the apartment above his workshop. Jane doubted he could find a renter, given how strongly the apartment smelled of spar varnish, but she wished he would try. It seemed too much like he was keeping the apartment as an escape hatch.
Often in the mornings, Duncan would sing as he shaved in the bathroom, and while the fact of Duncan shaving in her bathroom pleased her greatly, the song he chose did not. And he always sang the same one, the lyrics floating out to Jane on the steam from his shower.
Would you care to stay till sunrise?
It’s completely your decision.
Now Duncan nodded his head toward a foil-covered dish on the counter. “Aggie brought us some stuffed peppers,” he said. “All we have to do is bake them for thirty minutes.”
Really, if there was one thing Jane could do with less of, it was Aggie. But one thing she could always do with more of was Aggie’s stuffed peppers. That was the Aggie conundrum. “How nice of her,” she said.
Duncan turned off the water and dried his hands on a dish towel. “She stopped by to tell me Jim has been drinking beer with someone at the Sportsman.”
“I was going to tell you the same thing!” Jane said. She sat at the kitchen table and told him about Willard, and the coq au vin, and all the rest. “Did you know Jimmy went to the Sportsman?”
“I’d heard that,” Duncan said. “But I thought it was only once in a while, when the walls were closing in on him.”
Did the walls ever close in on Duncan? Jane wondered.
“Anyway, today, I began work on the Wheelers’ dining table,” Duncan said. He was never happier than when he was commissioned to custom-build a piece of furniture, although it meant he fell even further behind in his refinishing business.
“I thought you began work on that yesterday,” Jane said.
“Well, technically, yes,” Duncan said. “But today was the first day the boards came in, and I got to feel them with my hands. Pure elm planks with hollows for resin.”
Sometimes when Duncan talked all evening about lumber, or table legs, or the art of modern woodworking in general, Jane told herself that if they were married, she would feel like killing her own husband, and wouldn’t that be terrible? But the thought wasn’t that comforting because she already felt like killing him and they weren’t even engaged.
Marriage was not something they discussed, and yet, it was not something they avoided discussing either. Duncan was always interested in hearing about other people’s engagements and weddings, and he didn’t grow restive or frightened-looking when they watched a movie where the characters got married. They made future plans together without hesitating—a trip to Chicago for Easter, Mackinac Island next summer, a hammock for the backyard. They never spoke of breaking up. It was totally possible, Jane thought sometimes, that Duncan had changed his mind about marriage. And yet—and yet—she couldn’t bring herself to ask him if he would like to marry her, or even if he thought about it, which was strange, because it was usually so easy to talk to Duncan about anything. Really, she should ask him. He might say, “I’ve been thinking about the same thing!” Or he might say, “That’s definitely where I see us heading.” He might even say, “How about December next year?” Or he might say, “Marriage isn’t for me—you know that, Janey.” So she said nothing.
* * *
—
Miss Heather, the yoga teacher, was the next guest speaker. She looked like a time traveler from the eighties with her puffy blond bangs and blue eyeliner and shiny leggings, but she was young and enthusiastic, and the children seemed excited to see her. Mr. Robicheaux went out back and had a cigarette, but Jane helped Miss Heather push the desks out of the way so everyone had enough space to lie down, and she joined the students in following the poses. Cat Pose was first.
“Stretch just like a kitty cat,” Miss Heather told the class, getting down on all fours and arching her back. “Feel the stretch in your lower spine. Stretch, stretch, stretch. You can even meow.”
“Our cat sharpens her claws on the furniture,” Zachary Walton said. “Can we do that, too?”
“No, you’re all well-behaved kitty cats,” Miss Heather chanted rapidly, folding her legs beneath her. “And now we’re going to be lions in Lion Pose. Kneel on the floor and cross the front of the right ankle over the back of the left—”
“Just watch Miss Heather and do what she does,” Jane said quickly. Many students were still struggling with right and left.
“Can we roar?” Zachary asked.
“Yes!” Miss Heather said. “Let’s hear those roars!”
“Very soft roars,” Jane added. The third-grade class next door was doing MEAP testing, and she didn’t want to be responsible for someone failing to get into college ten years from now.
Miss Heather led them through Cobra Pose, Swan Pose, Butterfly Pose, and Tortoise Pose—Jane was thankful that these were all silent animals—and they ended with mindful breathing, during which most of the class fell asleep.
“It’s like that in the first quarter,” Jane said, turning her head to talk to Miss Heather as they lay on the floor. “They’re still young enough for naps.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Miss Heather said. Her bangs fluffed up from her forehead like a cresting wave. “But, Jane, mindful breathing is so beneficial, truly, even for children. It’s a way to connect the mind and body, to renew
energy and sharpen focus, to eliminate negative feelings and refresh compassion.”
“That does sound valuable,” Jane said. She didn’t add that all that could be accomplished by morning recess, too.
* * *
—
Taco Tuesday was going to be different this week. Special. Jimmy had called Jane to tell her not to bring any food.
“Me and Willard are going to do everything,” he said. “You guys don’t need to bring anything but yourselves.”
Jimmy never said that kind of thing. Just like he never thought to say “Thank you for thinking of me” or “I look forward to hearing from you.” It wasn’t that Jimmy was ever impolite or unappreciative—he had just never learned gracious phrasing. It was one of the infinite number of deficits that marked Jimmy as different. Jane was touched by the effort he must be making.
“Duncan and I can’t wait,” she said, and just like that, she and Jimmy had a normal phone conversation. (Although Jimmy set the receiver down without saying good-bye or hanging up, and Jane could hear him in the background asking Willard if it was possible to barbecue spaghetti, so maybe it wasn’t as normal as all that.)
When Jane and Duncan got to Jimmy’s house the next night, Aggie and Gary were just getting out of their car. Aggie was wearing a chocolate-brown skirt and a low-cut apricot-colored silk blouse. It seemed to Jane that every item of clothing Aggie owned was the color of some delicious food: melon, honey, peach, salmon, butterscotch, raspberry, lemon. Perhaps because she was such a good cook. But also those colors suited her, emphasized the creaminess of her complexion and made her pale hair gleam.
“Look at that,” Duncan said, and for an awful moment, Jane thought he was referring to Aggie’s cleavage.
“What?” she asked.
“Someone’s raked the leaves,” Duncan said.
Someone had, Jane saw now, looking at the greenish-brown combed-looking grass of Jimmy’s yard, although it was nothing she’d have noticed on her own.
“And they bagged all the leaves,” Duncan said in a pleased voice. Mr. Estes used to rake Jimmy’s yard, but he’d developed heart problems the previous winter and Duncan had taken over. Except that now he didn’t have to rake it, because it was already done.
Freida pulled up to the curb behind them as they got out of the car, and there was the usual flurry of greetings. Gary even addressed Freida by name. (He seemed to recognize her now, although one time last year she had come to Taco Tuesday after getting a haircut and he’d stared at her suspiciously all evening.)
“I feel absolutely boorish arriving empty-handed,” Aggie said. “I kept saying to Jimmy, ‘Why don’t I bring dessert? I could whip up a lemon meringue pie in two shakes!’ But he insisted that he and Willard would handle everything.”
“Who’s Willard?” Gary asked.
“Gary, we went over that on the way here,” Aggie said impatiently.
Jane wondered, not for the first time, if Gary was actually as unobservant as he appeared, or if he was just trying to drive Aggie slowly insane.
The front door opened, and Jimmy stepped out onto the front porch, calling, “Why are you all standing outside? Come in!”
By the time they all got through the front door, Willard was coming out of the kitchen balancing a tray with three frosty glasses on it. Each glass was filled with pink liquid and garnished with a blackberry and a mint leaf.
“These are my world-famous blackberry vodka tonics,” he said. “Made especially for you girls.” He was wearing chinos and a powder-blue polyester shirt that floated gracefully over his belly. His full cheeks were freshly barbered, and he smelled of aftershave. He set the tray on the coffee table. “Now, Jimmy has told me about how much you ladies have done for him since his mother died, so tonight, you three just rest easy and let the menfolk do the cooking.”
“We’re going to have steaks and home fries and all sorts of stuff,” Jimmy said happily. “I been peeling potatoes all afternoon.”
Willard gestured toward the kitchen. “Come on in, gentlemen.”
“Gary doesn’t like kitchens,” Aggie said. “He has a thing about linoleum.”
“Well, life is all about adventure.” Willard clapped Gary on the back. “Come on with us now.”
Gary tilted his head back and looked at Willard through his bifocals, but he went in the kitchen. Duncan went, too, saying, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you raking the lawn,” and Willard said, “Oh, it was nothing. An hour’s work at most.”
Jane and Aggie and Freida sat down and sipped their vodka tonics. Freida took out her mandolin and strummed it quietly. Usually at this point on Taco Tuesdays, Freida played the mandolin and Gary requested songs, which Jane privately found fascinating. Little insights into the murky liquid that sloshed around in the fishbowl of Gary’s mind! She was actually surprised that he knew the titles of any songs. He seemed to request songs exclusively from the 1960s: “Barbara Allen,” “Little Boxes,” “The Water Is Wide.” Did that mean he thought it was still the sixties? Jane wondered. Once, he had requested “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” and Freida had played it in a somewhat rollicking style (she loved Bill Monroe), and color had come to Gary’s thin cheeks and he’d clapped along, and afterward he had tried to tip Freida five dollars. It was very embarrassing, and no one spoke of it again.
But tonight, Freida just plucked the strings idly. “I hear you’re having guest speakers,” she said to Jane.
“Oh, yes.” Jane sipped her drink. “The mayor and Dr. Haven and Banjo.”
“Any musicians?” Freida asked in a slightly aggressive way.
“The only musician I’d want is you, and you’re coming to the farmers’ market with us at the end of the month,” Jane said.
Freida seemed mollified.
Aggie was sitting up very straight and clenching her drink glass tightly. Every few seconds, she twitched slightly and cleared her throat. Jane realized that relinquishing control of the kitchen was causing Aggie actual physical discomfort. Finally, Aggie seemed to reach her breaking point and called, “Yoo-hoo! You men in the kitchen! Remember, Gary has an aversion to Yukon Gold potatoes!”
Willard stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Now, you just relax, missus,” he said kindly to Aggie. “Gary can speak for himself, can’t he?”
Aggie frowned. “No, not really.”
Dinner was exactly what you’d expect a line cook to serve—sirloin steaks, braised short ribs, grilled scallops, an enormous platter of crunchy golden French fries. It even appeared on the table very rapidly, with all four men rushing out of the kitchen carrying Jimmy’s mother’s best Corelleware heaped with food.
“What movie are we watching tonight, Jimmy?” Jane asked when everyone began passing the dishes.
“We’re not going to watch a movie,” Jimmy said. “Willard says when you have friends over, you should talk to them. He says TV gets in the way of conversation.”
Duncan looked up, startled. “But that’s what television is for,” he said, holding a short rib above his plate with a pair of tongs. “That’s probably why it was invented. Hey, Aggie, remember when we gave your parents all fourteen episodes of The Jewel in the Crown for Christmas and bought ourselves fourteen hours of freedom? Now, that was a great holiday.”
“But genuine conversation among friends is one of life’s pleasures,” Willard said. His eyes were bright blue, hot and glowing like a Bunsen burner flame.
“I take it from that statement that you’ve never spent an evening with Aggie’s parents,” Duncan said.
“Honestly, Duncan.” Aggie looked annoyed. “Is that any way to talk about two people who were never less than kind to you?”
“Anyway, Aggie’s parents aren’t here.” Willard’s voice was reasonable. “Here, we’re truly friends who—”
“If you use the word fellowship, I’m leaving,” Gary said.
The planet paused its rotation briefly: Jane and Gary felt the exact same way.
“What’s wrong with that word?” Freida asked.
“It’s just a word he dislikes,” Aggie said. “I think he associates it with a very severe case of food poisoning he got from a church picnic.”
“Well, then, we’ll just avoid it.” Willard made it sound as though Gary were a normal person making a sensible request. “But the point is that I would like to get to know you all better. Now, Freida, I wonder if you’re aware that Beatrice Mooney is offering piano lessons out of her own home.”
Freida set her knife and fork down with a click. “I would put nothing past that woman—nothing,” she said, her nostrils flaring slightly. “She’s been trying to corner my share of the piano lesson market for years.”
“I saw she’d put a sign up at Glen’s,” Willard said. “It was just an index card on the bulletin board. It seemed awfully unprofessional.”
“Beatrice is the embodiment of unprofessionalism,” Freida said vigorously. “Do you know that she has never trained professionally on the piano? She plays the organ well enough, I guess, but the piano requires a different set of manual dexterity and music theory skills—”
“Well, now,” Willard interrupted, “if you don’t mind me sticking my nose in this business, I think what you ought to do is have a recital and get the paper to write it up.”
“I have a recital for all my students in the spring every year,” Freida said.
“That’s why I’m thinking you should have one now, in the fall, when it will really stand out,” Willard said. “Nothing fancy, just you and maybe one student? A duet? Jimmy has nothing but praise for your rendition of ‘Early Morning Rain.’ ”
Freida’s eyes had a faraway look. “Maybe me on mandolin and Stevie Campbell on the piano,” she said, obviously thinking aloud. “If I simplify the chords, and we get through it without his voice cracking…You really think the paper would write about it?”
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