“I’ll play one more, but I’ll have to bring it way down, so it’s not going to sound like the original. Be warned. But it’s the only happy Billie Holiday song I know. But I’m an alto and she had that sweet, almost, you know, childish—”
“Play it.”
She played “Miss Brown to You.” She was hoping they’d sing it with her, but of course nobody knew the words but her. Thea and Cornel clapped along, though, when she came to the long piano solo at the end, so it was almost like having a jazz bass accompaniment. This was a great song. She grinned up at Magill, who was practically lying on the piano with his chin on his folded arm, smiling back at her. “Play it again,” he said as soon as she finished, and she laughed and started over.
Thea’s hands suddenly went tight on her shoulders. Caddie stopped. It came again—the doorbell.
“I knew it.” Cornel shot up on his tiptoes, elongated with panic. “I’ll take the fall for you,” he promised Thea, moving her toward the sofa. “Don’t say a word, you’re an innocent bystander.”
Caddie got up slowly, feeling dazed. Who could it be? Thea said, “I’m sure it’s nobody, Cornel,” but she looked spooked, too. Magill was sliding the ashtray and the joint makings under a chair with his foot. The room still smelled like pot, though. It was after ten o’clock on a Saturday night; nobody ever knocked on Caddie’s door at this hour. Could Mrs. Tourneau have smelled marijuana through the open windows and called the cops? Would she have done that? The bell rang again.
Caddie shook her head at the three pairs of eyes staring at her in various degrees of alarm, smacked her hands on her thighs, and went to see who it was.
Christopher.
15
Christopher, standing there in the yellow porch light. In his pleated khakis and maroon polo shirt and his gold-rimmed glasses. He took his hands out of his pockets and smiled, dipping his head in the shy, self-deprecating tilt she loved. “Hi.”
Finney, ecstatic, hurled himself against the screen, trying to scratch it open with his paws.
“Christopher.”
“How are you doing?”
“Fine, I’ve been all right.” She didn’t know what she was saying. She couldn’t believe he was here, looking so normal, like this was nothing, not a miracle, standing on her doorstep and smiling at her through the screen.
“May I come in?”
“Yes, sure, come in,” and she opened the door and backed up. Finney threw himself on Christopher’s knees when he crossed the threshold. He said “Down” once, and the dog obeyed. Incredible.
“I, um, have some company,” she said, in an agony of self-consciousness, waving toward Thea, Magill, and Cornel in the living room. All three were sitting down, innocent but avid, craning and peering into the dim hall. “You’ve never met them. Come in and I’ll intr—”
“I can’t stay. I came by for those books.”
She stared at him stupidly.
“You said you’d return them.” He smiled, forgiving her. “I guess it slipped your mind.”
His dog books. He’d come for the dog-training books he’d lent her. Everything that had lifted up inside dropped back down, back into place. Her face was burning; that was strange, because it felt as if all her blood had drained to her feet. “Yes, I did, I forgot, I’m sorry. But I know right where they are—I’ll go get them.” Should she introduce him anyway? She couldn’t think. “Um…”
“Hello,” Thea said musically. “You must be Christopher.”
He cut his eyes at Caddie in a funny way, almost accusatory, and she thought, Were we supposed to be a secret? Was I not supposed to tell? But he turned his charming smile on Thea, slipped his hands back into his pockets, and sauntered into the living room. Caddie said, “Well, I’ll just…,” and ran upstairs.
In her too-bright room, she sat on the bed while her heart slowed. It came to her that, as intimate as they had been with each other, Christopher had never been up here, never seen her bedroom. Good, because it looked ludicrous to her, a girl’s room instead of a woman’s, with its pink-and-white-striped wallpaper, the narrow bed and the stringy white rug, the child-size closet. She embarrassed herself. She was angry with Christopher, but how could she blame him for moving on? Her life was as stunted as this room.
That he would come today of all days—did it mean something? Nana believed in signs, so Caddie didn’t on general principles. But this was too close, too much of a coincidence not to imply—something. She hesitated to call it a connection. That would be pathetic and self-deceiving, and yet, why would he come tonight unless it meant something? She leaned over and held her face in her hands.
Footsteps on the stairs. Who? Thea—Caddie let out a slow breath, realizing that’s who she wanted it to be. Of all people.
Thea paused in the door, took one look at her, and sat down on the bed beside her. “Is it that bad?” She stroked a wisp of Caddie’s hair back from her forehead. “Just give him his damn books. The sooner he’s gone—”
“Oh, Thea. Guess what I’ve gone and done.”
“What?”
“Can’t you guess? I thought you’d know by now.”
Thea looked into her eyes, and the light dawned. “Oh, baby.”
“Right. Exactly.”
Thea made a sound, a perfect mix of shock and sympathy, and slid her arms around her.
Caddie rested her head on her soft shoulder, inhaling the musty smell of pot in her hair. She wanted to stay like that, never move again. “Should I tell him? He doesn’t want a baby. Oh, God, I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you sure? Did you go to the doctor?”
“No, but I took the test yesterday and it was positive. So I got another one today, and it was the same. But I still can’t believe it. We were always so careful.” It must’ve happened that time, early in the morning, when they’d both been half asleep and started to make love without any protection. She was the one who’d remembered before they did much. But they must’ve done enough.
Thea shook her head sadly. “It can happen so easily. For some people.”
“Life is so damn unfair.” She felt as angry for Thea, who’d wanted a child, as she did at herself. “How could I be so stupid? I’m too old for this.”
“I don’t think there’s an age limit on it. Until, of course, there is.”
“But I’m supposed to be a grown-up. I just feel so…”
“Don’t. It just happened, and you’ll get through it. I know it feels like it, but this isn’t the end of the world.”
“Oh, boy, it feels like it.”
“But it’s not. Too many people care about you, and we’re not going to let anything terrible happen.”
“Please don’t make me cry, not now—”
“Absolutely, no crying. Not until he’s gone, anyway, then we’ll bawl. Oh, Caddie, you are so much stronger than you think you are.”
“I don’t feel strong. I feel like my life’s been leading up to this, one big—monstrously stupid thing—”
“Now, stop. You know how many girls this happens to?”
“Girls.”
“And grown women, too. Don’t be silly.”
“I know, I’m just trying not to think about the real—the real problem here. Thea,” she whispered frantically, “it’s a baby.”
They held on to each other for a long minute and didn’t talk.
“Should I tell him? I don’t know what to do.” She was back to that. “I know he has a right to know, but honestly—I don’t think he’ll care.”
“You don’t have to decide right now. Just because he’s here. You’ve only just found out, you need some time. It’s—”
“Caddie?” Christopher’s voice, calling from the bottom of the steps. “Look, uh, I’m in kind of a hurry!”
“Bastard,” Thea said with venom.
Caddie stood up. “I’m just going. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Panic flickered along her skin, made her hands perspire.
“Do whatever you like.”
Thea got up more slowly. “Tell him or not, it’s your perfectly good decision.”
The high, righteous arch of Thea’s eyebrows gave her a swell of courage. “My decision.” She squared her shoulders. “God, I’m glad you’re here.” Books, she’d forgotten the books. She found them on top of the radiator. “I never read them,” she confessed, blowing the dust off the top one. Thea’s laugh carried her out of the room and down the stairs on another little wave of bravery.
Three heads swiveled when she walked into the living room. Somebody, probably Magill, had put a Lucinda Williams record on the stereo. He stood far across the room from Christopher, glaring at him and flexing his jaw muscles. Cornel looked belligerent, too. Only Christopher seemed relaxed and unconcerned. And Finney, who lay at his feet, gazing up at him adoringly.
“Well,” Christopher said, “really nice meeting you folks.”
Was she imagining a sarcastic edge to his voice? What in the world had the men been saying to each other? He crossed in front of her, heading for the door, and she followed. She had to put her foot across Finney’s chest to keep him in the house. “Stay,” she ordered, and slipped through the screen after Christopher.
It was hazy and hot outside, moths zipping and pinging off the porch light, fireflies flickering in the honeysuckle hedges. All at once the music inside the house went low—someone had turned down the volume. Christopher turned to face her at the top of the steps. When he looked at her, did he see the same old Caddie? He looked strange and familiar to her, as if he were wearing a disguise or a costume. Over his shoulder, Crone, one of Nana’s scrap-metal constructions, swayed in the soft breeze, porch light dancing on her bicycle-chain hair and coffee-can breasts.
“Thank you for the loan,” Caddie said, passing the stack of books over.
“Sure thing. Think they helped?”
“Oh, definitely, he’s much more obedient. How’s King?” she asked, stalling.
“He’s got an ear infection. Nothing serious, but he hates the drops.”
“I bet. Poor thing.” It wasn’t his fault he loved his dog more than her. He was still a good man. And she had to tell him. She twisted her hands, struggling for a way to start.
“Oh, hey, I got the news this week that we’re moving.”
“CAT’s moving?”
“Well, no, I mean I am.”
“You’re moving? A new office?”
“Moving to D.C. I’ll be doing national PR and some political work. If everything works out and I do a good job, they want me for their full-time lobbyist.”
He was willing her to smile back at him with his smile, urging her to join with him in his gladness and pride, but she took two steps back and came up hard against the sharp edge of the living room window. “You’re leaving?”
“Not right away. The timing’s still iffy, but definitely by the end of the summer.”
“Well, that’s…I know you were hoping…so you’re taking it? It’s for sure?”
“Yeah, definitely. It’s what I’ve been wanting.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Listen. We’ve never really talked about what happened. And—I have to tell you, I never understood. I thought…I was completely wrong, but I thought it was good, I thought you liked—us. What—what—”
“Caddie, let’s not start this.”
“I know, but what went wrong? What happened? It’s important,” she explained past the tightness in her throat.
“Nothing happened.” He put his hand on his forehead and looked up at the porch ceiling. “I told you, it was one of those things. It didn’t work out, that’s all.”
“Maybe we can fix it. If we talk, if we have a conversation.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, really sorry, but there’s no sense in going into it again.”
“Nothing in common, you said.”
“That’s—yeah, basically, I mean—” Amusement flickered for a split second in his sad, sympathetic face. He made half a gesture: he lifted his arm and swept it back, but stopped just before it could indicate the yard. The sculptures. “We’re different people, that’s all. We want different things.”
“How do you know what I want?” She held her hands out to him. “I don’t know what I want.”
He smiled in sad agreement. “And, see, that’s just not much of a turn-on for me. I’m sorry, Caddie. That’s all I can say.” He started to turn away.
“Wait. Christopher, wait.”
He looked so pained and patient, and yet—there was something in his eyes that gave her a sick feeling. He was only pretending to hate this. “What?”
“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” The spasm of disbelief that flashed in his face was just another layer of humiliation. But she plowed on, because that was her job now, all she had left to do. “What I mean is, there aren’t any circumstances—under which—you can ever see us getting back together. Right?”
He hesitated, as if he suspected a trick. “I said we can still be friends. If that’s what you want.”
“No, that’s not what I’m asking.” She sucked her lips in to wet them. “You don’t have any feelings for me anymore. Real feelings. And there’s nothing—you can’t think of anything that would change your mind, can you? It’s over, it’s completely over. No matter what.”
“No matter what?” He started to laugh, but it caught in his throat. She’d said too much; the horror in his fixed, staring eyes told her he’d guessed.
She said quickly, “No, I’m just asking—”
“Jesus, oh, God—”
“No, no—if I had a fatal disease! If I won the lottery, if I won—a genius award!” She flung a hand out, tamping down a bubble of hysteria. “It wouldn’t matter to you, it wouldn’t change anything, isn’t that right? Just answer. You wouldn’t suddenly fall in love with me. Nothing could change your mind. Christopher, just answer, that’s all you have to do.”
It felt like forever, but it was only a couple of seconds before he spoke. His smile was ghastly when he tried to say lightheartedly, pretending he had believed her, “Okay, no. I guess I wouldn’t fall in love with you. Nothing would change.”
She sagged a little. “Okay, then. I just wondered, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure.” She didn’t feel much of anything, not relief, not disappointment. Sore, that was all.
The screen door squeaked open. Magill stepped out on the porch, barefooted, holding Finney in his arms. “Oh, hi, kids. Que pasa? Thought I’d get some air.”
“Me, too.” Cornel shuffled out after him. “That the moon?”
“Hey,” Christopher said.
“Caddie?” Thea cleared her throat in the open doorway. “Everything all right?”
Christopher’s disbelieving laugh made her wince, it sounded so artificial. “What’s this, the cavalry?”
“Why?” Magill said interestedly, coming up close. Finney strained in his thin arms, but he held on tight. “Caddie need a cavalry?”
Christopher snorted. Caddie regretted everything she had ever told him about Magill, and she thanked God she hadn’t known about his accident, the awful details, until tonight. Otherwise she would surely have told Christopher, and he didn’t deserve to know.
But she didn’t trust the sparkly, reckless look in Magill’s eyes. “Nobody needs anything,” she said quickly. “Christopher has to go, he was just leaving.”
“Right.” Christopher pulled his lips into a patient smirk. What a relief for him that this scene was ending with other people behaving badly. “Nice meeting all you folks. Caddie, you take care.” He went down the steps.
Magill either couldn’t hold on to Finney any longer or he let him go on purpose. Either way, as soon as the dog hit the porch floor he flew down the stairs and latched onto Christopher’s foot, snarling and growling with mock ferocity, eager to play his favorite game.
“No,” Christopher commanded in that calm, godlike voice that never failed.
Finney let go long enough to bark, then clamped back onto C
hristopher’s loafer, wagging his tail with delight.
It could have been funny, and someone who wasn’t feeling very kind could’ve had a small laugh at Christopher’s expense. But he said “No” again, and Finney backed up, confused. Christopher pushed his hand down like a stop sign. “Sit.”
Finney sat, smacking his lips, tilting his head like the RCA Victor dog.
“Stay.” He and the dog locked eyes. Christopher turned on his heel and sauntered off down the walk between the sculptures, and Finney stayed.
“Damn,” Magill swore softly.
Nobody spoke on the drive back to Wake House. Her friends thought they were being tactful, and besides, what was there to say? But Caddie could hardly stand the silence. Even when they pulled up to the curb and the men got out of the car, nobody said anything. And the jig was up—Magill and Cornel knew all about her situation, because she’d told them—but they still weren’t talking.
She got out, too, because Cornel wanted to hug her. Then Magill, and that was when she came closest to breaking down; something about the frailty of his body, the breakable feel of his bones as he squeezed her in his arms. After he let go, he rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the ground for a while. But the perfect comforting remark never came to him—she’d have had to give him some sort of a prize if it had. “Okay if I call you later?” he ended up asking.
“Oh, gosh. I’m so tired.”
“Sure. Caddie?”
“Hmm?”
“You know how lucky you are he’s gone.”
She wasn’t feeling very lucky. “Night,” she said, spreading her lips to smile, and got back in the car.
Calvert Street was quiet for a Saturday night. Wake House looked fat and mysterious, bottom-heavy in spite of the dark bulge of the tower and the chimneys against the lighter black of the sky. All the upstairs lights were out except for one on the second floor, Mrs. Brill’s room. She had insomnia.
The Goodbye Summer Page 20