|
|
|
|
 |
Forces Jack helped Matty into his long white Lincoln as if she were the bereaved one. While he walked around to the driver's side she got out her compact and went to work on her face. I gave Ernie's hand a squeeze and got into the back seat. He waved as we pulled away; I could see that he was relieved that the funeral was over. He would probably feel unburdened and a little numb for a few days, wading in the shallows of grief. Next week, or the next, the breakers would come crashing in. I thought of him, alone in his big bed, and I wished I had put on other sheets, not that cold blue. Then I had the most amazing flash — I saw the bedroom, and the bed, and Ernie, and myself, right in there with him. And I knew that I wasn't just imagining it, because the sheets were different. They were sheets I've never seen before, sheets from the future, with a zigzag pattern in earth tones, like a mountain range. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I realized then that Jack was talking, reminding me about Polly's radiation treatment. He was taking her to the hospital that afternoon, and she would stay over night. As usual, we'd arranged that I would make his dinner. "Why, Jack, you should have told me," Matty said. "I have an extra casserole at home, and you know Grace just hates to cook." "Oh, well" — Jack gave his Shucks, Ma'am chuckle. "She cooks for me. I mean, she's no fancy chef, but she's reliable, aren't you Gracie?" This meant he'd forgiven me about the roses, but somehow I didn't warm to it. "So, Grace,"Jack laid his arm along the top of the seat and talked slantwise back at me. "I figure I'll be home from the hospital about 6:15, ready to put on the feedbag. OK?" Well, I just felt like laughing. But I didn't. I said, "Certainly." I have always prided myself on my good manners. Then I sat back and gave my attention to the passing scene, for I felt as if scales had fallen from my eyes. We passed the Taco Bell, the Mission Bank with its blazing pyracantha, two boys in "Gang Green" tee-shirts riding skateboards. After a minute Matty said, "Then you must let me give you brunch tomorrow. Jack, before you pick up Polly. There's nothing worse than having breakfast alone, when you're not" — she took a touching little breath — "used to it." "Why, thanks, Matty. That's real kind of you. But, say — a gal like you should be able to have company for any old breakfast she chooses." There was that cowboy grin, and Matty smiled back at him, her mourning for Laura quite forgotten. They both looked extremely handsome, I must say, like contest winners: America's Senior Sweethearts. <<| 1
• 2 • 3 • 4
• 5 • 6 • 7
• 8 • 9 • 10
• 11 • 12 |>>
home • poetry • fiction • readings workshops • links • guestbook • email |