David Gates - The Wonders of the Invisible World

“Not tell Seth.”

He turns a palm up.

She turns a palm up, too, and sits down across the table from him.

He closes his eyes, feels around for his beer, grasps it. “I hurt her,” he says.

Holly thinks how to phrase the question, then says, “In what sense?”

Van shakes his head, eyes still closed. “You know, she was, one side of her, her whole left side, it was just dead. And this one day, she was taking a nap and I just—” Shakes his head again. “I stuck a pin into her arm. Right there.” He jabs an imaginary pin into his left arm just below the shoulder. Winces.

“Accidentally, though.”

“ Not accidentally. Shit.” Shakes his head. “Oh, boy. Okay, it’s out now.” Holly watches him wagging his face back and forth. She wishes he’d open his eyes. “I did it to see, you know, if she’d feel it. Because I didn’t know whether or not the nerves were still connected to the, you know, to the … Shit.” He’s still shaking his head.

“And did she feel it?”

“No. Not that I could tell. She didn’t wake up.”

“Well, then you didn’t hurt her.”

He opens his eyes and looks at her. “That’s what you think?”

Holly shakes her head. “You were under so much stress. I can’t even imagine—”

“No. Please don’t bother. I didn’t tell you this in order for you to come up with some little insight to get me off the hook.” He looks down at her breasts; good she wore her sweatshirt. “By which I don’t mean you’re not smart.” He’s still looking.

“But Van, that doesn’t negate all the, the whole — like taking care of her, taking her places, being with her …”

“Okay, you’ve said your piece. I’ve said my piece. Now what shall we talk about?”

“We could talk about where you’re looking,” she says. He goes red, looks down at his sandwich. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I guess I was getting back at you for brushing me off.”

“Well, what the hell. You don’t like me much anyhow.”

“That’s not so.”

He holds up a hand to forestall further untruth. “No need. I apologize. This is one hell of a way to pay you back for the nice lunch.”

“Which you haven’t touched.”

“Which I haven’t touched.” He finishes his beer and looks around the room. “What is wrong with me?”

“Do you want to talk?”

Shakes his head. “I am talking. This is what happens when I talk. I do apologize.”

“It’s all right. Would you like another beer?”

“Which I guess isn’t the same as being sorry.”

“It’s all right, ” she says. “I just wish I could help.”

“Not a thing you can do. I will take another one, thanks. Probably a bad idea, but what isn’t. And then I’ll get out of your hair. Go up and do some reading. I don’t mean to sound — whatever the word is. Byronic.”

Holly doesn’t quite catch this. “Ironic?”

“Huh,” he says. “Isn’t it.”

Holly sticks a load of clothes in the washer, then goes back to Madame Bovary. But lying on the sofa, under warm yellow lamplight, she can’t keep her eyes open; behind her red eyelids there’s an alternate story going, and she follows that for a while. She comes awake to a wet tickling on the sole of her foot. She jerks the foot away: Van’s standing at the end of the sofa with something in his hand. With the brush from a jar of rubber cement.

“Are you insane?” she says. “What are you doing ?”

“I couldn’t resist. It’s just a teensy little — here.” He whisks a Kleenex from the box on the end table; as if in a magic trick, the same Kleenex now seems to be sticking up out of the box.

She grabs her foot with both hands and twists it around to look: an inch-long streak of cloudy goo across her instep. “Aren’t you a little old to be acting like a first grader?”

“A little old? That’s charitable. Here you go.” He holds out the Kleenex; she ignores it and rubs at the goo with her fingertip. “I don’t know why I did that. Maybe it is Alzheimer’s. I actually came down to ask if I could borrow your car to run a quick errand.”

“I have to go to Westport later,” she says. “I’d be glad to pick something up for you.” Has he been drinking in his room?

“Ah. I believe I’m hearing a no. After that little performance, I can’t blame you for thinking — whatever you must think. I am sorry. It was …” He shakes his head. Could he have Alzheimer’s?

“That’s not — Van, it’s perfectly fine if you want to take the car. I just thought I’d save you the trouble.”

“This is getting baroque,” he says.

“Really, it’s fine. Take the car, by all means.”

“I’m annoying you.”

“You’re not,” she says. “I just — you know, you’re welcome to take the car, okay? Do you know your way around?”

“What a question. Huh. You remember those old postcards? Ve get too soon oldt und too late schmardt? The dirty old man with the beard and the cane, all bent over, and this gal with a tight dress is walking—”

“I don’t, actually.”

“I’m dating myself,” he says. “Just in case anybody should look at me and miss the point.”

She sighs. “Van, you’re not that old.”

“Ah,” he says. “Now, there’s a woman who knows her lines.”

Holly watches from the living room window as he backs out of the driveway, then goes into the laundry room to put the clothes in the dryer. She takes out the lamb chops. In The Way to Cook she finds a marinade with olive oil, dijon mustard, garlic and rosemary; she puts the chops in to soak. She straightens up the kitchen, sponges off the countertops, gets down dinner plates, salad plates and wineglasses — which is a little crazed with so many hours to go, but anything to put off Madame Bovary. She turns the radio on, listens for a few seconds, then realizes it’s “Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks,” which they seem to play about forty times a week. She turns it off and goes back to the sofa. Charles’s first wife spits blood and dies as the buzzer goes off on the dryer.

When Van’s not back at four-thirty, she calls Seth at work. “What am I supposed to do?” he says. “Maybe he took a sentimental journey up to New Haven. The old goat’s probably lurking around Machine City trying to pick up coeds.”

“Coeds?”

“You’ve heard the expression? Look, if I’m going to get home by—”

“Okay, fine, thanks.”

“Did you need the car?”

“I wanted to run up to Hay Day to get bread and salad stuff.”

“So tell me what you need and I’ll stop by.”

“That’s so out of your way. I’m sure he’ll be back any minute. I probably worry too much.”

“Speaking of worrying too much,” he says, “how’s your finances? I paid the mortgage today, so I was hoping you could take care of the bills. I’ve been putting them in my top drawer.”

“Sure. No problem.” She’s got about six hundred left in her checking. After the bills, she’ll have walking-around money for another couple of weeks. The bad heat bills won’t start until next month. By which time she’d better think of something.

“I’m glad I married money,” he says.

Her line here is Me too. “Okay, I’ll see you soon,” she says.

At quarter after five the Saturn pulls into the driveway. Van comes into the kitchen, gives her a courtly bow and sets a Barnes & Noble bag on the counter: Sue Grafton and her cute overbite. “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,” he says.

“So how was the mall?” This is to put him on notice that she’s not without her own Sue Grafton detective skills.