Separate Flights

by Andre Dubus

  She switched on a light and blinked at the clock on the kitchen wall: ten minutes to three. She could hear the air conditioner in the living room; she thought either she had forgotten to turn it off or Peggy and Bucky had come in after their date and turned it on, then Peggy had forgotten it, which was just as well, for already the kitchen was hot and she would go sit in the cool living room and drink gin and perhaps watch the sunrise. She opened the refrigerator and saw there was beer and decided to drink that, because it was simpler and enough of it made her sleepy. She popped open a can and turned off the kitchen light, for she wanted everything dark; she pushed through the swinging door into the living room then stopped, her eyes snapping toward the other sounds which she understood even before she saw the two standing and quick-moving silhouettes at the couch across the room. Her hand darted to the table lamp beside her, but for an instant she squeezed the switch between thumb and finger; her mouth opened to speak but she didn’t do that either; then she turned on the switch and stepped back from the sudden light and what she saw in it: Peggy’s face hidden inside the dress she was pulling down and shrugging into, and Bucky with his naked back turned, snapping his trousers at the waist. Beth turned out the light before Peggy’s face came out of the dress. She backed through the kitchen door and leaned against the sink and took a long swallow of beer.

  They would be whispering now. She couldn’t hear them, but she moved farther from the door anyway. She finished the beer before she heard the front door closing, then she waited again. She lit a cigarette and was going to the refrigerator for another beer when Peggy came in, standing with lowered head while the door swung shut behind her. Beth hugged her and stroked her long hair.

  ‘Do you want a beer while we talk?’

  Peggy nodded against her shoulder. They went into the living room and, avoiding the couch, Beth chose the easy chairs where she and Lee sat at night to watch television or read. The chairs were side by side, with a table and lamp between; when Beth and Peggy sat down, the lampshade hid their faces.

  ‘Has it been—going on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I won’t tell Daddy.’

  ‘Please don’t. Ever.’

  ‘No. No, he won’t know. He sees things—I don’t know how he sees things, but it’s different. And now—’

  And now what? Instead of turning on that lamp she could have backed out of the room, gone upstairs to bed, and never mentioned it again: she could have pretended to Peggy and gradually to herself that she thought they were only kissing. Which was still another lie: everyone knew that young people did everything short of making love, yet you called it kissing. And she could have done that tonight, but she hadn’t, and by turning on the lamp she had committed herself to something more, to the awful risk of forming words and throwing them out into the dark like so many sparks in a dry season. And now that it was time she had nothing to say, and she nearly said, Let’s have a good night’s sleep and talk about it tomorrow while Daddy’s playing golf. But she would not do that, she would not. So she decided to talk about those things she did know, to at least deal with and probably eliminate them.

  ‘If I were still a Catholic then you’d be one too and all I’d have to do is send you to the priest tomorrow. I’d tell you it was a sin and he’d tell you it was a sin and you’d believe it. Then he’d tell you to break up with Bucky. But we’re not Catholics or anything else, so that leaves us with clichés, and what’s wrong with that is a cliché is an out, it just sort of hangs around and waits for someone to use it and when you do use one it saves you from having to think. So now I could say that nice girls make love for the first time on their wedding nights and they never make love with anyone else unless they’re divorced first—’ The word divorce made her think of Lee sleeping above them, and that she was forty-nine, and that Peggy was leaving for college in two months and during the next four years her need for parents and a home would gradually diminish. ‘But you see there’s no sense in my telling you all that because you know it’s just not so. I mean, do you feel bad? Evil?’

  ‘I do right now, but not—’ She took one of Beth’s cigarettes.

  ‘Not with him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. I want you to be happy, and I’m not going to ask you to stop seeing him—’

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘Did you think I would?’

  ‘I thought you’d have to.’

  ‘That would be a lie too. Because I don’t really have any reason to. Not any good ones, anyway. And you have to believe this: I don’t think you’re bad, and I love you very much, and you must never feel ashamed. You can tell Bucky I didn’t see anything or you can tell him the truth.’

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘He’ll be afraid. When he has to see you.’

  ‘Tell him not to be. Is there anything you need to talk about?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I mean, I’ve told you what’s not the truth about sex, or at least what I think isn’t the truth. I suppose now I ought to tell you—I don’t know, something else.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘You’re all right?’

  ‘Yes. I love him.’

  ‘Suppose you get pregnant?’

  ‘He’s careful.’

  ‘Those things don’t always work.’

  ‘Well, they have to.’

  ‘No, they don’t, I can at least tell you that. I want you to take the pill.’

  The sky was dark still; in another two hours dawn would come; two hours after that, Lee would wake to a house that had changed.

  ‘I’ll make the appointment and I’ll go with you.’

  She rose and stood in front of Peggy, who sat with lowered head, her knees pressed together.

  ‘We’ll tell him you’re getting married.’

  ‘Well, I can, but—’ Then she stopped.

  ‘It’s all I ask. Will you do that for me?’

  After a moment, Peggy nodded.

  ‘I’d do anything in the world for you,’ she said.

  With arms around each other they climbed the stairs, then kissed. Beth went to her room and shut the door and looked at Lee’s face in the dark: an open-mouthed, weary frown. She thought tenderly of how his face had changed. Then she got into bed and slept. She woke up while Lee was doing push-ups on the bedroom floor. She told him she had been awake most of the night and asked if he could fix his breakfast so she could go back to sleep. He said all right, he’d just have some cereal. When she woke after one o’clock she dressed and went downstairs; Peggy was drinking coffee in the kitchen.

  ‘Has Daddy left?’

  ‘Yes.’ Peggy blushed. ‘Bucky loves you.’

  ‘Oh, you called him?’

  ‘As soon as Daddy left.’

  ‘Good. I’ll have a cup of coffee, then take you to lunch. Unless you’re doing something else.’

  ‘No, he’s still afraid to come over till he picks me up tonight.’

  They went in the Volkswagen to a restaurant across the street from the university, then walked in the hot afternoon to several stores and bought Peggy a blouse. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing about trivial things, and at dinner Lee smiled at them with curiosity and pride. During the next four days Beth was sometimes frightened but always happy: she thought it was a wonderful paradox that Peggy’s having an affair made them even closer than they had been before. On the fifth day they drove to a gynecologist in Cedar Rapids. Going there, Peggy was nervous and talked about yesterday’s swimming party; coming home she was distant and hardly talked at all.

  ‘He probably didn’t believe us,’ she said. ‘He knows I’m not old enough to get married.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I guess not.’

  ‘You’re safe now. That’s what matters.’

  That night after dinner, Peggy scraped the dishes, put them in the dishwasher, then went upstairs. After a while Beth went up. Peggy was rea
ding in bed.

  ‘Aren’t you going out?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You aren’t having a fight, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s so early. Do you feel all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. I just don’t feel like going out, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh. Well—’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m all right.’

  Beth stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her read; then she went downstairs. The next night Peggy went to a movie with Marsha. On the third night Bucky took her to dinner. He was able to look into Beth’s eyes again and as she walked with them out on the porch and told them goodbye she felt her collusion was with Bucky, not Peggy. It was almost eight o’clock, but daylight savings time, and the sky was still light. She watched them get into the car. Bucky was talking and Peggy, looking straight ahead, shrugged her shoulders. When they drove off, Beth turned to the door then stopped; she did not want to go in. The dishes were washed, the kitchen cleaned, there was nothing on television, and she did not want to read. She sat on the wooden steps of the porch and watched the night come. When she went back inside, Lee was still sitting in his chair, reading Time.

  ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘Just sitting. It’s cool, but the mosquitoes got bad.’

  She lit a cigarette and sat on the couch, facing him. For a while she watched him read.

  ‘Lee?’

  ‘What,’ not raising his eyes.

  ‘Do you believe in God?’

  ‘Sure.’

  His eyes lingered, probably finishing a paragraph: then he lowered the magazine.

  ‘Why? Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘No. Will you take me to a movie?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘If you want to.’

  ‘Can we make it?’

  ‘I’ll call and find out.’

  The last feature would start in twenty minutes, so they went.

  When they got home Lee finished whatever he had been reading in Time, and Beth had a drink. She was going to the kitchen for another when Lee started upstairs, so she closed the liquor cabinet and followed him up and they made love.

  ‘You didn’t want to talk about God, did you?’ he said. His voice was sleepy.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good thing. I don’t know any more than you do.’

  ‘Then you don’t know a thing.’

  ‘What made you ask me that anyway?’

  ‘Because I question the way we live.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Why we do things.’

  ‘What things.’

  ‘I don’t know. I wonder about the girls, how we’ve done with them.’

  ‘We’ve done all right.’

  ‘It’s not that simple, though.’

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Everything. Everything isn’t that simple.’

  She lay awake for another half hour or so, then slept. She woke up when Peggy closed the front door. The next sound was the refrigerator. After a while Peggy came upstairs and went to her room. Beth wanted to go talk to her, but she could not think of an excuse. She lit a cigarette and got up and stood at the window, looking at the streetlight on the corner. Once in a while she looked back at Lee sleeping on his side, and she wished she were like him: believing she knew those things she had to know, and not caring to know anything else. If she were that way she would not be standing here at the window; she might be sleeping or even talking to Peggy now, maybe they would go down to the kitchen for a snack and sit there eating and talking; because above all, if she were that way, she would not have turned on that lamp.

  4

  NEXT DAY after lunch, when Lee had gone to play golf, Beth asked Peggy if she wanted the car.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I need some things in town,’ Beth said.

  She was going to see Helen, and lying about it to Peggy made her feel more lonely. On the way she bought popsicles for Wendy and Billy. Helen lived in the country; for the last two miles Beth left the highway and drove on a dusty road through fields of tall corn. When she turned into the driveway Wendy and Billy saw her from the gym set in the backyard and ran to the car. They wore bathing suits. She hugged and kissed them and unwrapped the melting popsicles, and they walked back toward the gym set. Helen was in the kitchen doorway, holding the screen open.

  ‘Beer?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Larry went back to bed. There was a party last night, and we got about three hours sleep.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to sleep?’

  ‘Tonight. I could put the kids down for a nap, but I don’t like to. Wendy doesn’t sleep.’

  ‘She could sit in bed with books or something. She’d be all right.’

  ‘I know, but it makes me feel degenerate. Let’s go in the living room.’

  They sat in front of a large fan and Beth looked out the picture window at the willow tree in the front yard, its branches touching the ground. Across the dirt road there was heat shimmer above the corn that grew as far as she could see. As Helen lit a cigarette her hands trembled.

  ‘You’re hung over too.’

  ‘Just tired. I don’t get drunk at those parties.’

  ‘That’s smart.’

  ‘Next time I’ll be smart about leaving too. How’s Peggy?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Excited about New England?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Still going steady?’

  ‘Oh sure.’

  ‘Then it’s good she’s leaving. She’s too young for that.’

  ‘You weren’t much older.’

  ‘No, I guess I wasn’t. Shall we have another?’

  ‘It’ll just make you sleepier.’

  ‘As long as I’m suffering I might as well drink.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Helen took the empty cans to the kitchen. Beth knew she ought to leave and let Helen rest somehow, at least spare her the effort of talking. But she thought of going home to Peggy and she could not. Helen came back eating a sandwich.

  ‘Peanut butter. You want some?’

  ‘No thanks. Listen: you go up and take a nap and I’ll stay with the children.’

  ‘I’ve made it this far, I can make it till tonight.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Finish your beer then go up and sleep.’

  ‘You’re being silly. What kind of visit is that?’

  ‘Well, it’s not like I drove a hundred miles. Come on: let me. Don’t you know I love to be with them?’

  Helen took a long swallow and sank in her chair.

  ‘You’re tempting me.’

  ‘Do it, then. Think how nice it’ll be to just go upstairs and lie down and sleep.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But first I’ll put Billy to bed.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Just finish your beer and go to bed.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ She drank. ‘Oh my, you’re good to me.’

  Now that her favor was accepted, Beth wanted something in return. She wanted very much to talk about Peggy, but she recognized her need for what it was. She didn’t want advice: if she did, she wouldn’t ask it from her twenty-five-year-old daughter. Nor did she want Helen to speak to Peggy. She merely wanted to talk about it, to share with someone else the burden of her decision. But she couldn’t do that: it was cowardly, and it wasn’t fair to Peggy. So they made small talk, then Helen said, ‘That beer’s there to be drunk,’ and went upstairs. Beth went outside and carried Billy upstairs; his eyes were closing as she covered him with a sheet and turned on the fan. Going downstairs she wanted another beer but she went past the refrigerator and out into the yard. She could not drink beer all afternoon; the day was too hot and she would drink too fast and go home tight. For a while under the hot sun she pushed Wendy in the swing.

  ‘Aren’t you hot?’ she said.

  ‘No.’

 
She pushed her again, then held the chains and Wendy swayed, then stopped.

  ‘I am. What do you do with that willow tree?’

  ‘What tree.’

  ‘In the front yard.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on. We’ll have a tea party.’

  In the kitchen she made grape Kool-Aid. ‘Are there some cookies?’

  ‘Mama hides ’em.’

  She looked high in the pantry, found chocolate Oreos, and put some on a plate. Wendy carried it out to the willow tree. Beth brought a beer, the pitcher of Kool-Aid, and a glass for Wendy. Under the willow tree there was shade; across the road the cornstalks were moving with a gentle breeze, and after Beth and Wendy had sat still for a while they could feel it.

  ‘This is a good place,’ Wendy said.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I bet nobody can see us.’

  ‘Not unless they look real hard.’

  When the cookies were gone Wendy got restless. She walked head first through the hanging branches and stood looking into the dust-covered weeds in the ditch beside the road. Sitting on the grass, Beth said: ‘Don’t you want to stay here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wait. I’ll be right back.’

  She went into the house. Upstairs in Wendy’s room she found a checkerboard and box of checkers: they were all there. She got a beer and went outside.

  ‘Do you know how to play checkers?’

  ‘I forgot.’

  Beth parted the branches and went through and sat in the shade.

  ‘Come here and I’ll show you.’

  For the next two hours, until Helen and Larry came outside with their faces washed and sleepy-looking, she drank beer and played checkers with Wendy. Driving home she opened all the car windows so air blew on her face, but when she parked in the garage she still felt tight. She had also smoked too much: crossing the lawn she wheezed and when she coughed to clear her chest she brought up something. She swallowed and went inside.

  She could hear the record player in Peggy’s room, and she was about to call upstairs that she was home but she didn’t. She ought to eat something. She sliced cheese and ham and ate standing up. As she cut a piece of lime and filled a glass with ice she told herself to get sober before Lee came home; she poured the gin and tonic, her mind detached as though still deciding whether or not to drink it, then she went upstairs. Peggy’s door was open, and she lay across her bed, reading a magazine. Beth turned down the volume on the record player and sat on the bed.