“Saved him,” I say. “I know. But you couldn’t have.” I put my arm around John and he moves into it.
“Spend the night with me,” I say quietly into his ear. We park the car and go up to my apartment without a word. When we get inside I don’t even turn on a light. I walk to the bedroom and turn down the sheets. We lie down together fully clothed and pass the night in each other’s arms. And at some point we sleep.
The next morning I get up first. John is turned on his side. His artificial leg is leaning against the bed. He must have removed it during the night.
“Nifty isn’t it?” John asks. He is leaning on his elbow watching my reaction.
“Yeah, looks like a pretty high-end model,” I say. “Do you want coffee?”
“Please,” he answers. “What’s the eye patch?” he asks, nodding toward my glittered eye patch that’s lying on the bed stand.
“Oh, that,” I say. “I hurt my eye and had to wear it.”
“I like the glitter,” he says.
“Well, I was playing Snow White at the time.”
“In a dark time the eye begins to see,” he says, gazing out the window, and I can see his face has clouded over. A dark time indeed.
“It’s a line from a poem. Theodore Roethke,” he says, his voice a whisper. I walk over and sit next to him. We don’t talk. We just gaze out the window onto the garden in the courtyard.
“I’ll put the water on,” I say and John nods.
I go the kitchen and to the bathroom. I splash water on my face and brush my teeth. By the time I come out, John is in the living room and has reattached his leg. I make the coffee while he uses the facilities. Mr. Ed looks at me with his cocked head.
“What in the world is going on?” he arfs.
“I don’t know,” I say in a hushed a tone. “Don’t judge until you’ve walked in my paws.”
John comes out of the bathroom and we drink our coffee.
“I have to get back to Queens. I’m having brunch with my sister’s family. Would you want to join me?”
“No, but thanks,” I say, feeling awkward.
“What do you say we go to a Yankees game sometime?” John asks.
“Sure,” I say. “Maybe . . . I don’t know. It feels so . . .”
“Look, Maggie,” he says. “I know this is awkward.”
“Let’s not say anything right now, okay? Let’s not talk about this for a while. I need to . . .” I don’t finish the thought. I can’t because I don’t know what I need, or maybe I’m afraid of what I need.
“All right,” John says. He puts on his jacket and moves to the door. “But I’m going to call you. And we are going to talk at some point.”
“Okay. At some point.”
“Goodbye, Maggie,” John says and kisses me on the cheek.
“Goodbye,” I say and put my arms around him and we hug for a long moment, and then part.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he says, going down the stairs and looking up at me.
“Not if I see you first,” I say and smile, and John smiles back. Then I turn quickly and walk back into my apartment. Damn. I bite the inside of my cheek and close the door gently.
I drink another cup of coffee and look out my window. Old Mrs. Vianey is sitting on one of the benches, feeding the pigeons. I take Mr. Ed out to the park. We walk over to the Great Lawn and plant ourselves on a bench.
“Life is funny, isn’t it Ed?” I say. “Life is damn funny.” Mr. Ed curls into my lap, and I think about what Dorothy says at the end of The Wizard of Oz movie—something about backyards and finding your heart’s desire.
“Anything is possible, Mr. Ed,” I say, looking across the ball fields and down to the Central Park South skyline. “It’s an awfully big backyard.” Mr. Ed cocks his head and nods in doggie agreement and then smiles his Westie smile. I breathe in and out and think about nothing, nothing at all, except this moment right here, right now.
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to The Wizards: Judy Hansen, Chuck Adams, Bob Jones, Algonquin Books, Marly Rusoff & Associates, Inc. The Scarecrows: Bruce Ackland, Peter Cabot, Robert Cary, Chuck Young. The Good Witches: Kathleen Frazier, Patty Kraft, Nancy O’Hara, Clare Veniot, Holly Webber. The Flying Monkeys: Lesley Burby, Celeste Carlucci and Jeffrey Klitz (xox to Bella, Sophia, and Juliette), Beth Chiarelli, Carol Coates, Toby Cox, Terri Eoff, Julie Halston, Sharon Hershey, Nancy Johnston, Lianne Kressin, Jane Michener, Rob Newton, Brian O’Neill, John Rowell, Sandy Winner. The People of Oz: Kay Rockefeller and the Traveling Playhouse, Rumble in the Redroomers, Thursday Writer’s Group, Boogieland and the Gang, Suter’s Marching Band, the Ladies in Kids and all the folks at the Eighty-second Street Barnes & Noble. And to Douglas Anderson, The King of the Forest, may you rest in peace.
Published by
Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill
Post Office Box 2225
Chapel Hill, North Carolina 27515-2225
a division of
Workman Publishing
225 Varick Street
New York, New York 10014
© 2008 by Barbara Suter. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available for a previous edition of this work.
E-book ISBN 978-1-56512-647-3
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