Evening News

by Marly Swick

  When she told Ed about the apartment, he sounded pleased. He offered to help her move even though she didn’t have anything to move.

  “I made reservations to fly back to L.A. the week after Teddy’s birthday,” she said. “To sort out our stuff and drive the Honda back. Just a quick trip. Teddy can stay with you.”

  “Jesus,” he said, “how many miles does that car have on it?”

  “I don’t know. A hundred and ten thousand, something like that.” She was standing in the kitchen, chopping onions for tuna salad, and tears were streaming down her face as she spoke. She sniffed a couple of times, and Ed asked, “Are you crying?”

  “Chopping onions.”

  “Oh.” He was silent for a couple of seconds. She could hear voices in the background and what sounded like a jackhammer. They were still rushing to get things ready for the Fourth, which was only a couple of days away. “We could go with you. Teddy and me,” he said. “I’m worried about that old car making it. And you know, I’m not a bad mechanic. Besides, I’ve never seen California. I probably ought to go out there so I can have a more informed prejudice.”

  She laughed. She knew that Ed had no desire to see California. He was just worried about her. She sniffed again, and this time she was crying. “Thanks, but I don’t think so. There are some things you’ve just got to do alone.” She picked up the dish towel and wiped her eyes. She was glad he couldn’t see her. “Besides, it wouldn’t be good for Teddy.”

  “Yeah.”

  She knew what he was thinking. In the old days she would have thought it was none of his business, but she said, “Dan’s not going to be there. He’s in Vermont or New Hampshire or someplace, trying to be the next Anne Morrow Lindbergh.”

  “Royalties from the Sea,” Ed snorted.

  She was about to rebuke him, to say that Dan wasn’t doing it for the money, but she let it go. She didn’t know at what point she and Ed had stopped being adversaries and started playing on the same side, but somehow it had happened. Maybe it wasn’t a winning team, but at least it was a team. She was surprised Ed knew who Anne Morrow Lindbergh was. He seemed full of surprises lately. She had begun to wonder if she had ever really known him.

  “I think I might have a job,” she said. “They’re supposed to call me by Friday and let me know.”

  “Really? Doing what?” She heard Teddy calling him in the background, and Ed covered the mouthpiece and hollered back, “Just a minute!”

  “Taking classified ads for the Journal-Star,” she said. “Part-time. And Vonnie is going to pay me to bartend on the weekends.”

  “Hey, that’s great!” Then, as if anticipating some sarcastic comeback, he added, “I mean, you know, for now.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She washed her hands, raising her voice over the running faucet. “And I’ve got an appointment to talk to some adviser at the university about finishing my degree.”

  “No shit. Sounds like you got it going on, girl.” She could hear Teddy whining at him to hurry up. “Keep your shirt on, bud. Come say hello to your mom,” Ed told him. He handed the phone over to Teddy, who said, “Hi, Mom. See you tomorrow.” And hung up. She stood there staring at the dead phone in her hand and then shook her head, smiling to herself. “Didn’t anyone ever teach that kid any manners?” she muttered to herself. But she didn’t take it personally. She knew he was just busy being a kid again.

  When she shows it to him, Teddy acts really enthusiastic about his mom’s new apartment even though it is just five empty rooms with dirty white walls crying out for fresh paint. You can see the nail holes and tape marks where all the previous tenants had hung their posters. And it smells like the inside of his old tin lunchbox when he forgot to empty it out.

  “It’s really big,” he says, “and it has a lot of windows.” He knows his mother likes light. She thought a lot of the houses they looked at in California were depressing because there weren’t enough windows.

  “Well, it’s not really that big,” his mother says, frowning faintly as she surveys the place. “It just looks big without any furniture.” She walks down the hall and looks into the two bedrooms, which are about equal size. “Which room would you like?” she asks him.

  He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if he sleeps in a closet, as long as he doesn’t have to go back to California. “Either one,” he says, “they’re both nice.” She looks a little disappointed, so he points to the one next to the bathroom that has one less window than the other bedroom. “Maybe this one. So I can be close to the bathroom.” He thinks she’ll like the extra window. Both rooms are painted a dingy beige, the color of old Band-Aids.

  “I’ll help you paint,” he volunteers. He remembers the two of them painting what would be the baby’s room, listening to Spanish tapes and joking around. He can tell from the look on her face that she is thinking the same thing. “Dad has a whole lot of extra paint,” he says to change the subject. “I’m sure he’d let you borrow it.”

  “You can’t borrow paint, you dummy.” She smiles and tousles his hair, which is growing out fast. He can get it all into a rubber band now, but it still looks pretty stupid. The other day when he tried it out, Frito walked by and said, “You get your tail caught in a door?” Sometimes, like his dad said, Frito could be a real pain in the ass. He isn’t really sure why his dad puts up with him. They argue all the time about everything. Like when Frito overheard his dad offering to help his mom move in to her new place, he made a big deal out of it. When his dad got off the phone, Frito was standing there looking all glum. “What’s wrong with you?” his dad asked him. And Frito just shook his head and looked even glummer. He was like that — you had to pull it out of him. Finally, when his dad started to walk away, Frito said, “You’re too busy here to be helping her move. We’ve got a ton of shit to do before the Fourth.”

  “It’ll only take a couple of hours, if that,” his dad said. “She hardly has any stuff. Just relax, for Pete’s sake.”

  “I just hope you’re not thinking about starting anything up with her again,” Frito muttered. “’Cause she’s bad news. It’s bad enough being a fool for love once, but twice means you’re a goddamned moron who deserves what he gets.”

  His dad looked mad, like he wanted to punch Frito out, but he just shook his head and said, “It’s all in your head. You’ve been watching too many soap operas.” He picked up the hammer and headed downstairs. “I’m just giving my son’s mother a hand.”

  “Yeah, right,” Frito mumbled as he followed him down the stairs.

  “Look” — his dad wheeled around and pushed his index finger into Frito’s big chest — “it’s better for me if she stays here. That way I can see my son whenever I want to, and that means a lot to me. So I’ll do whatever I can to make it easy for her to be here, understand?”

  Frito shrugged. He saw Teddy spying on them from the landing. “You’re the boss,” he said, and kept on walking out to his truck and took off somewhere. But he was back the next morning, same as always.

  “I can stay here with you,” Teddy offers, worried that his mom will feel too lonely by herself in an empty apartment.

  “That’s sweet of you, Teddy. I appreciate it.” She looks as if she’s about to cry, and he thinks maybe he said the wrong thing. “But there’s nowhere for you to sleep yet. I need to get some beds.”

  “I can use a sleeping bag.”

  “Next week,” she says. “When the place is all fixed up. I want us to start off on the right foot here.”

  “Okay.” He is just as glad, since things are pretty exciting right now at his dad’s place — they’re counting down to the big day — and he doesn’t want to miss any of it. Although he would have if his mom needed him. He knows the only reason that she is here, in Nebraska, in this empty new apartment, is because of him. He knows she is trying to make the best of it for his sake. He knows there is really nothing he can ever do to make it up to her.

  The tenants moved out of her new apartment on the last day of June.
They were two college girls, blond and overweight with sad-looking perms, going home for the summer. They were from the same small town in the western part of the state, Broken Bow, and could have passed for sisters. Although they were friendly and generous, leaving Giselle two old wooden dressers and a battered coffee table free of charge, as well as a six-pack of Bud, the place was filthy. The linoleum floors looked as if they had never been washed. Something dark and sticky had spilled all over the refrigerator shelves. Giselle spotted a can of 100 percent pure Vermont maple syrup in the trash can sitting by the front door and thought of Dan scribbling away in some pristine knotty-pine cabin in the woods, where the air smelled like room freshener all the time. The two window air-conditioners in the apartment banged and chugged like old airplane engines in a valiant but doomed attempt to defeat the heat.

  She spent the first day after the girls moved out cleaning. And the second and third days painting the dingy beige walls white. Vonnie and Jess brought over pizza and a boom box and spent an afternoon helping her. As soon as they left, as if he’d been parked around the corner waiting for them to leave, Ed stopped by with some housewarming gifts: a ficus tree, some potted yellow mums, and two beautiful old wing chairs from the farm that he said were just going to waste since the guys thought they were too uncomfortable to sit in.

  He said he had dropped off Teddy at his appointment with the new shrink just a couple of blocks away and had fifty minutes to kill until he picked him up again. They talked about the new psychologist and how Teddy seemed to have warmed right up to him. It was “Dr. Bauer says this” and “Dr. Bauer says that.” Giselle offered Ed one of the beers the girls had left behind, and they sat in the two wing chairs in the otherwise empty living room, discussing Teddy’s choices for school in the fall. Giselle was conscious of her sweaty clothes and limp hair, both liberally spattered with paint. Ed looked as though he just stepped out of the shower, in a loose Hawaiian shirt and baggy white pants. For once, he’d even traded his cowboy boots for rubber thongs. She stared at his long pale toes, thinking that she couldn’t remember ever having seen them before, although she must have. You couldn’t be married to someone for five years and never see his toes, could you? She thought of M. Butterfly, the film version. She and Dan had rented it one night. Jeremy Irons, a diplomat, falls in love with a Chinese opera star and loves her for years and years, supposedly never knowing, until the end, that she was a man. Dan said he didn’t believe such a thing was possible, but she wasn’t so sure, then or now. Lately she had been thinking a lot about why Dan had married her, and she had come to the conclusion that it was all timing. Like a game of musical chairs. She was the one left standing when his father died.

  Before he left, Ed asked if he could use the bathroom.

  “First door on the right,” she said. “But I warn you, it’s a disaster area.”

  While he was in the bathroom, she peeled some masking tape from around the window trim. Vonnie had done a great job with the trim. She was neat and precise, unlike Giselle, who tended to slop and dribble paint all over. The toilet flushed, and Ed walked back into the living room.

  “It’s looking good,” he said. “There’s lots of light.”

  He looked at his watch but didn’t go. He seemed as if he had something on his mind. She peeled another long snake of masking tape off the doorframe.

  “I was wondering,” he said finally, “if you had a picture of your daughter I could see. I’ve never seen her. I don’t even know what she looks like.”

  Giselle’s hand froze in midair. She looked at him as if he were crazy. Everyone else, including herself, avoided bringing it up. Or alluding to it in any way. She felt a flash of anger. She stalked over to her purse sitting on the kitchen counter and took out her wallet. He looked nervous but stubborn, as if he were prepared to stand his ground. She walked back over and shoved the open wallet into his hands.

  “May I?” He looked at her, and she shrugged as he slipped a 2 x 3 photo of Trina in the red dress out from its cloudy plastic envelope. He stared at it for a good long minute without saying anything. Not so much as “She’s pretty” or “What a beautiful child.” She reached out and snatched it back. He looked up at her, startled, and she could see the tears in his eyes. Then, as if to change the subject, lighten things up, he pointed to a messy stack of books and magazines lying on the kitchen counter. “What’s all this?” He picked up a book entitled Money Matters. Half a dozen bookmarks fluttered between the pages. “You studying for an exam?”

  “It’s my women’s investment study group,” she said, taking the book from him, “if you must know.” She expected him to make some sexist joke, but he looked interested, as if he were waiting for her to tell him more. “We meet once a month. We each do research on particular mutual funds or Treasury certificates or whatever and report on them. Then we decide what to invest in.”

  “Really? That’s great.” He walked out onto the front porch. “I’ve been thinking I should learn about this stuff. Maybe you could teach me.”

  “I don’t know that much.” She shrugged. “But sure. I mean, we’ve got to think about Teddy’s college fund and all.”

  “Please,” he groaned. “I’m not ready for junior high.”

  She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Poor dad.”

  “See you on the Fourth,” he said as he started across the lawn to his van. “Shit. I almost forgot.” He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand, a gesture she remembered from high school. “You don’t need to worry about the cake. Aunt Lou volunteered to bake one.” She nodded and tried to look enthusiastic. She wasn’t much in the mood for crowds, but seeing as how it was Teddy’s birthday, she didn’t have much choice. After Ed left, she went back inside and slipped the photo back into its plastic sleeve. The anger was gone. She appreciated the gesture. She knew that it couldn’t have been easy for him to ask.

  ***

  The first night she spent in her apartment, it rained all night. A violent crash of rolling thunder and then the downpour, clattering against the metal air-conditioner like a stampede of horses. She gave up trying to sleep and painted the bathroom until dawn. The fresh paint seemed to brighten her mood, as if she’d applied a coat to the walls of her mind. There was something about new paint, pristine walls, that just made you feel good. All the old nail holes and cracks covered up like so many old mistakes erased and forgiven. The apartment, she had to admit, was looking good. Better than she had imagined. Their house in California was just a cracker box, really, with wall-to-wall carpeting and low ceilings, like a glorified mobile home. It would be nice to have hardwood floors and crown moldings, not to mention a fireplace. Maybe she would volunteer to have the women’s study group meet at her place next month. A sort of housewarming.

  The birds chattered and the sun shone. She felt tired but not so bad, considering she’d been up all night. She was glad to see that Ed and Teddy were going to have a nice day. Ed had been fretting about the weather for days, worrying about rain, mumbling about omens. She had to admit the sun seemed like a good omen. She looked at her watch and yawned. As she poured herself some iced coffee, she looked at the huge gaily wrapped package sitting on the floor next to one of the wing chairs. A birthday gift from Dan for Teddy. When it arrived yesterday, via UPS, she had been so curious to know what he’d sent — what he felt was appropriate under the circumstances — that she had unwrapped the gift and then rewrapped it. It was a new computer like the one that had been stolen. Guilt money, she’d thought. But maybe she was being unfair. All her thoughts about Dan seesawed back and forth like this. One minute she was so furious with him, she knew she’d kill him if she ever laid eyes on him again. Then the next minute she missed him so much that it took her breath away, literally, and she’d have to steady herself against the nearest solid object. She had been so in love with him — that weak-kneed, swooning, melting sort of love that every young girl fantasizes about. But she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a mother. You’re a mother, she
kept reminding herself. Think of your son. She was like the captain of a sinking ship, bound by duty and honor to save herself last. She was glad her phone wasn’t hooked up yet. It made it easier not to break down and call him in a weak moment. At times she gave in to the temptation of thinking there was still hope. It went against the grain — it was un-American to believe that you couldn’t have what you wanted if you worked for it. Maybe they just hadn’t worked hard enough. She hadn’t been patient enough. She hadn’t been willing to compromise enough. But in her more clear-eyed moments, she always came back to the expression on Dan’s face when he looked at Teddy. There was nothing she could do about that. She slid the box to the back of the coat closet.

  ***

  It looked like a county fair. Cars lined the gravel road leading up to the newly painted farmhouse festooned with red, white, and blue balloons. A giant white rabbit was handing out free dog and cat treats to people who had brought along their animals. Kids were lined up for free pony rides. Mac was manning the barbecue grill, and Frito was in charge of the beer kegs. Ed’s brother, Brice, was handing out free ED’S ANIMAL FARM seed caps. Teddy was all revved up, higher than a kite, riding his birthday bike around in manic circles until he smashed into the fireworks table and his dad told him to knock it off. Everyone seemed to be having themselves a fine Fourth of July.

  It had been so long since Giselle had been in a social situation, aside from Vonnie’s bar, that she felt a knot in her stomach like a small grenade of panic ready to explode at any slight misstep. She practiced deep breathing, sipping her wine in slow, deliberate doses, as she strolled around the property, trying to look like a potential customer checking out the accommodations for her beloved Rover or Snowflake. Her pulse was just starting to slow to normal when she recognized Gail Svoboda standing by the barbecue grill talking to Mac, who was flipping hamburgers with a showman’s flourish. A year ahead of Giselle in school, Gail had been her role model. Giselle had followed in her footsteps as editor of the yearbook when Gail graduated and went off to Northwestern. The last Giselle had heard, Gail was married, working for a big ad agency, and living in Chicago. Maybe she had moved back, too. Or maybe, more than likely, she was just visiting her family. They owned a big funeral home — white with pillars — like something out of Gone With the Wind. Giselle was working up her nerve to go over and say hello when a dogfight suddenly broke out. Mac had accidentally flipped a burger onto the ground. A German shepherd and a boxer were going at it in a cloud of dust. The owners were screaming at each other while the other dogs raised a deafening ruckus. Everyone seemed paralyzed except Ed, who charged over and blasted the dogs apart with the garden hose. The crowd calmed down again except for the boxer’s owner, who left in a huff. Giselle walked over to Ed and said, “Nice work.”