* * *
While Tallie was in her bedroom getting ready for lunch, Emmett was on the couch, composing what he knew would be his last email to Joel.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: i still care about you too
joel,
i don’t mind telling lionel you mentioned him. you know how lionel is. i’m going to his halloween party with a date, so the answer to your question about whether or not i’m seeing someone is yes. i am. it’s pretty new. i just met him recently. he’s a chef. my mom met him for the first time this morning when she stopped by. she talked his ear off, of course, but he did a great job of listening to her. he’s quiet anyway, so it worked. it’s too early to say what’ll happen with us, but i really like him. a lot. he watches funny girl with me and does the dishes.
you know the end of funny girl always makes me cry, but now it makes me wonder what would’ve happened if i’d fought harder to stick it out with you. all that country-song shit about standing by your man. maybe if i’d had an affair of my own to even it out? although the baby trumps it all, right? clearly you win. is that how this works?
speaking of…i can’t stop thinking about adopting a baby. maybe soon? i have the money and the stability and it feels like the right time. at last. cue etta james.
i had no way of knowing if i could be happy alone again! and being happy is one of those things that feels phonier and phonier the more you talk about it, but…i feel like if i squint, i can see it. and i need that hope. the hope alone is enough for me.
but i do wonder who knew about your affair. everyone at the art museum? all of your friends? all of hers? maybe none of it matters anymore. i don’t know. at least i don’t have to put the chips back in the pantry for you now, right? that’s your new wife’s job.
there’s no need for you to be in a rush to write me back. i think this quick reconnection has been good for both of us and honestly, i wish you well. the point is, by the grace of god, i forgive you. and i will be here, squinting.
truly,
tallie
* * *
“Tell me about your grandmother Ginny,” Tallie had said to him after they’d gotten their water with lemon at the Irish pub.
He told Tallie his grandmother’s real name, Virginia. But he left out the part about her living on Emmett Lane for most of his life. He told her she’d given him his gold cross necklace and that Ginny died seven years ago. He talked about her house—her kitchen, the pigs and chickens she kept in her backyard, the beehives and fresh honey.
“My mom’s parents were great, too, by the way. They’re both gone now. Married for sixty-five years,” he said.
“I never met either of my grandfathers because they died before I was born, but my grandmothers were pretty great, too.”
“Tell me about them.”
“I asked you first.”
“I asked you second.”
Tallie scrunched her nose up at him. “My dad’s mom was a quilter and a visiting nurse. Made the best pound cake in the entire world. My mom’s mom worked at the greyhound racetrack. She smelled like violets and drank her bourbon straight,” she said.
“My kind of people,” Emmett said. “Did they live here? You spent a lot of time with them?”
Tallie nodded. “Lionel and I spent most of my childhood summers at my maternal grandmother’s house with my cousins while my parents worked. She lived in the West End. Okay, seriously, I’m done! Now, you.”
“So yeah. My grandmother Ginny and her sisters were beekeepers, which was equal parts fun and terrifying,” he said. The pub waitress set down one brown wicker basket of Irish soda bread, another filled with sourdough. She slid softened shamrock-foil rectangles of butter across the table and asked if they’d need more time.
“I’ll have the fish and chips, please. And so will he if he likes fish and chips,” Tallie said to the waitress. “Do you like fish and chips? They have the best. It’s my favorite,” Tallie said to him, not needing to look at the laminated menu flashing and catching green light as she handed it over.
“I’ll take the fish and chips,” Emmett said, loving how easy Tallie had made it for him.
(The waitress’s name is Kelly. Her name tag has a shamrock on it. She’s wearing slip-on sneakers. Green. Tallie is pretty and red-lipped at her side. Some of her hair is down. She put on makeup, dressed up a little. “Tunnel of Love” by Bruce Springsteen is playing. An American bar…even an Irish pub…isn’t an American bar if they don’t play at least one Bruce Springsteen song a day.)
“Beekeepers! I love it,” Tallie said across from him. She opened her eyes wide, put her napkin in her lap, and got her knife out. While she buttered her bread, Emmett talked, buttered his own.
“Virginia is my grandmother who taught me how to play gin rummy. We called it Ginny rummy. She was my father’s mother,” he said. “She and my grandfather Samuel had a scandalous interracial relationship. It’s his Bible in my backpack. He gave it to my grandmother, and she left it to me.”
Tallie listened and ate while he talked.
He told her about his grandfather’s family owning the main grocery store in town. How his grandmother sold honey to him. How they fell in love, got death threats. How somebody had attempted to burn the grocery store down.
“Yeah. All that good stuff. This, of course, is southeastern Kentucky late ’40s, early ’50s. They wanted to get married but obviously couldn’t. And then my grandfather was sent to Korea.” He told her his grandfather was killed in 1953 in the Battle of Pork Chop Hill at about the same time his grandmother found out she was pregnant with his dad.
“My grandmother wrote him a letter and told him but wasn’t sure if it got to him. She didn’t know if he ever found out she was pregnant,” Emmett said truthfully.
For all the lies he’d told, finally telling more of the truth was calming, like unclenching a tight fist. Emmett’s grandmother had kept Samuel’s obituary behind clingy photo-album film. He and his dad had gone to the big public library to read the grocery-store-fire news article on microfiche. Emmett had leaned in close, staring at his grandfather’s face, the tenderness in his eyes. He looked at it for so long that his vision blurred, lost to the gray.
“So sad and fascinating. All of this. I want to hear everything. Your family history is like a movie I want to watch and a book I want to read, Emmett,” Tallie said, rapt. His fake name had hopped from her mouth like a cricket.
He imagined his real name smoking from her lips, floating up and away. Some other time, some other place, he’d be real into Tallie. She was so damn sweet and really cared about people. So often, the dark cloud that followed him threatened to wipe him out entirely, making it hard to think ahead more than a matter of days. But. Tallie was the kind of person to make him believe in Monday morning.
Emmett relaxed in the booth as she studied his face like a treasure map. Why couldn’t he stop telling her things? He kept talking and talking. Told her about how hippie-peaceful his maternal grandparents were amid the hot, bubbling ignorance in his hometown. And more about Christine’s family and how it was well-known small-town lore that Christine’s dad had pined for Emmett’s mom when they were younger and used to tell everyone he was going to marry her someday.
“He was borderline obsessed with my mom before she married my dad. Even named his boat after her. More than once he cornered and tried to kiss her, but my uncles did a pretty good job of chasing him off most of the time. The biggest fight my dad and Christine’s dad ever had was when they were in high school and my dad caught her dad spray-painting his brand-new car. Her dad got out a bright orange n-i-g before my dad clocked him,” Emmett said.
“Sheesh,” Tallie said.
“Yeah. Just a lot of really stupid stuff. Christine’s dad always thought my mom should be with him. It was messed up that he felt jilted before, but especially after she married my dad…a half-black man. Then, boom, they had me. So Christi
ne being with me? Another, even bigger nightmare of her dad’s come true,” he said, knowing how dramatic it all sounded. It was like a Shakespearean tragedy; his and Christine’s families loathed each other, and in a flash, his young bride was dead.
Christine, his Juliet.
“Ugh. How did you and Christine navigate that? I can only imagine how hard it was. No wonder you fought so much,” Tallie said, pushing her bread plate and knife to the edge of the table, making the waitress’s life easier.
Emmett drank his lemon water, let some of the truth fall through the slats in his brain. “Christine and I had a lot of problems, but we don’t get to choose our families, and she certainly would’ve chosen differently if she could’ve.”
“Emmett, it sounds like you have a sweet family. I know how much they love you and how much you love them. I can see it on your face. Please let me contact someone to let them know you’re okay.”
The waitress brought their food, warning them the plates were hot. Emmett leaned back, promising not to touch his.
“It’s not that easy,” he said to Tallie once the waitress walked away, leaving them alone again.
“Tell me why not.”
“Because there’s nothing left for me in that town, and it’s better this way, trust me. Besides, when I wrote my parents the letter, I truly thought I’d be dead by now, so I’m being completely honest when I tell you I didn’t think this far ahead,” he said.
He’d wanted to spare his parents the horror of finding his body themselves, so that meant no gun, no pills, no hanging. The hovering possibility of the body his spirit was currently inhabiting dead-floating in the Ohio River was perfectly macabre and fitting for the holiday. He refrained from letting a dark smile of relief slide across his face.
“But this is too important—”
“I can’t explain it all; I really can’t. Everyone’s life gets so tangled up with everyone else’s. And everyone has dark secrets they don’t want anyone holding up to the light.” Emmett stopped and took his time, tried to think of how to put a positive spin on what he was saying because it was what Tallie would do. “But also…there’s forgiveness, right? Out there floating in the ether if we can find our breath and catch it?”
“True forgiveness is severely underrated, for both the forgiver and the forgiven. I knew I had to find a way to forgive Joel so I could go on with my life.”
“Right. So would you be okay with seeing him again? Or if he reached out to you? What if he walked in here right now?” Emmett asked.
“I…don’t know. But I don’t think I want to see him? The photos on social media are enough, I guess. Too much,” she said.
“And you said he and Lionel were friends. How did he react to what Joel did?”
“Lionel would be civil to him now, because that’s how Lionel is. But there was a point last winter, before Joel moved away, when he wanted to pretty much kick his ass,” Tallie said, digging into her food. “Nope. Enough about me, you sneak. I’m not letting this thing go about your family. I’ll ask you again.”
“I understand. I’d be doing the same thing you are…if our situations were reversed,” he said. He ate a couple of fries, dipped them into the ramekin of tart vinegar. He took some bites of his fish, too. He’d cooked and plated a hundred million orders of fish and chips at his family’s lake restaurant, but this lunch was out-of-this-world delicious. Had food tasted better since Thursday evening, or was he imagining it? Deciding to stay alive for a few more days had done wonders for his appetite and taste buds.
“And so what would you do now, if you were me?”
“This is delicious.”
“You’re not changing the subject this time, by the way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. She glared at him. “Yes, Tallie,” he said, correcting himself. “If I were you, I would enjoy this delicious lunch, go home and get dressed for my brother’s dope costume party, and enjoy my evening. That’s what I would do.”
“Emmett—”
“Happy Halloween?” he said, wry as sandpaper.
“You’re taking advantage of your lilac puff. Things would be completely different if not for your lilac puff.”
He winked at her before speaking again.
“Now, all right. Please tell me who’s going to be at this party tonight. I want to hear more about the Tallie Clark kith and kin,” he said with his salt-vinegar mouth, rubbing his hands together underneath the table.
“Well, you know my mom isn’t coming. She was clear about that,” Tallie said.
The waitress refilled their waters. A man at the bar turned and looked out the window beside them, leaving his eyes on Emmett for too long before swiveling around. Did he recognize him? Would the man say something to someone? It wouldn’t matter. Remember, nothing matters, Emmett’s brain chanted, forcing him to listen.
(The man at the bar is wearing a white pocket T-shirt that is too tight around his stomach. The woman next to him is wearing a pointy witch hat—felt, black. They have sausages, fries, and beers in front of them; they’ve ordered the same thing. The woman is drinking her beer. She’s wearing a white T-shirt, too. She puts salt on her fries. Someone at the end of the bar is speaking loudly into a phone. “Tell him I’ll call him later,” he says. He laughs. Someone else in the back of the restaurant is laughing, too. The cash register dings.)
The man at the bar turned away from him and looked at the other window, not paying any attention to Emmett. He’d considered someone possibly recognizing him at the Halloween party but knew people wouldn’t be paying close attention to him. Instead, they’d be drinking and dancing and whatever else, lost in the costumes.
“And my dad and his wife will be there…they’ve been married since I was in high school. I wasn’t needing any bit of a stepmom, but I love her and we get along fine. My dad’s name is Augustus, but everyone calls him Gus, and my stepmom’s name is Glory—”
“No Gus, no Glory,” Emmett said.
“Most people get a kick out of that,” she said. “Okay, let’s see…bunch of Lionel’s friends and our cousins. My best friend since elementary school, Aisha, usually comes with me, but she’s at a yoga retreat in Lake Tahoe this weekend. And some of my other girlfriends show up a lot of the time,” Tallie said, counting people off on her fingers.
“You and Joel used to go together? He’s a Halloween guy?”
Tallie flattened her hand in the air, tilted it back and forth—the universal hand signal for “so-so.”
“Every year except last year because we were separated,” she said.
“This is the first time you’ve ever taken another dude?”
“Dude,” Tallie said, laughing. “Sorry, I just don’t think of you as a dude. Not like, some dude.”
“Some guy, some man, some date,” he said, definitely flirting, but only a little.
“I’ve been dating or married to Joel since day one of Lionel’s costume parties. Although this guy I dated in college and off and on after…Nico Tate…he’s the one I was dating a bit when I met Joel…we started hanging out again sometimes…he told me he would be there tonight,” she said, eating. Drinking.
“So is he going to be pissed you’re bringing me?” Emmett asked, thinking of the pictures he saw of her on Nico’s Facebook page. Embarrassment tingled his ears, remembering them.
“If he is, it’ll be news to me. I mean, at one point…Nico wanted to get married, but I didn’t. Or couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. He was busy playing a lot of tennis, professionally for a bit. I’m not quite sure what happened between us. We were together, then we weren’t. He married his childhood sweetheart, but they got divorced…and honestly? Sometimes I think I made the wrong choice not marrying him back when I had the chance. Waiting and finding Joel, marrying him instead. Then I feel awful for thinking it, which is ridiculous because I obviously don’t owe Joel any loyalty at this point. So yeah, it’s a nonstop loop up here,” she ended, pointing to her head.
“All right, but hear me out…yo
u could’ve been Tallie Tate.”
“Ha! No. I wouldn’t have changed my name. I’m dying Tallie Clark.”
“Not anytime soon, I hope.”
“Right you are,” she said. “And besides, I’m never getting married again.”
“Me neither.”
They looked at each other, still and quiet in the noisy, crowded pub.
“Well, tell me if you need me to give you space tonight if your boy Nico Tate is there. Men can get weird,” Emmett said.
“Ain’t that the truth? And nice try, but I’m not letting you off the hook completely about talking to your family. I won’t bug you anymore about it tonight, though. Not until tomorrow. Deal?”
“Deal,” he said, wiping his hand on his napkin and offering it across the table for her to shake.
* * *
When they were finished at the pub, they went over to the gelato shop. Tallie: stracciatella and basil. Emmett: butter pecan and black cherry. He paid for lunch and the gelato, too; they walked through Fox Commons with their little cups, pale ping-pong scoops.
(The storefronts and homes are decorated with pumpkins, scarecrows, and leaf garlands, strings of purple lights wrapped around the wrought-iron banisters and porch swings. Orange and yellow and rich wine-colored everything with acorns and walnuts underfoot, like storybook illustrations.)
There were plenty of nice neighborhoods in his hometown, but there wasn’t anything like Fox Commons. It was much more than a neighborhood: it was a fully operating city within a city. Clean and safe. The kind of place where people lived and worked, and if and when something terrible happened there, they’d probably look earnestly into the news camera and say, We never imagined this could happen here.
This Close to Okay Page 16