Ann Beattie - Secrets & Surprises

Nobody could understand how Delores and Carl had made such good time driving, but they said they were speeding the whole way, and that one slept while the other drove. They came to Francie’s door late Sunday night — early Monday morning, actually — with Meagan thrown like a sack over Carl’s shoulder. “She had hiccups half the way here,” Carl sighed, sinking down in the nearest chair with Meagan still sprawled up against him.

“But what are you doing with your coats on?” Delores asked. “What’s going on?”

“We were on our way out. Freed has got to teach school tomorrow.”

“Freed!” Delores said, running over to him and throwing her arms around his neck.

“Do I know this woman?” Freed said, rubbing the palm of his hand down her spine after he hugged her. Freed and Delores had been lovers ten years before.

“My Pontiac was stolen,” Freed said. “Ask anybody.”

“What?” Delores said, looking around. “What’s the joke?”

“His car was stolen,” Perry shrugged.

“Do you want some coffee, Delores? Do you, Carl?” Francie said.

“I don’t care,” Carl said. “I’ll do anything.”

“I can’t let you two take off when I just got here,” Delores said.

“I’ll write out directions to my house,” Perry said. “The three of you can come up and stay with me.”

“That’s right,” Delores said. “You have that big house now.”

“Francie,” Carl said, “you look freakishly beautiful. You’ve kinked up your hair and your butt is unnaturally shapely.”

“T.W. was here,” Francie said to Carl, ignoring what he had just said. “He would have stayed around if he had known you would be here so soon, I know.”

“How’s your ex-husband, Francie? It looks like you decided to go on living after he pulled out. Last time I was here there wasn’t a chair to sit in. How’s Beth Ann, Perry? Might as well state all the shit that’s in my mind and calm myself down.”

Delores broke in, saying, “She has nightmares,” to Francie and pointing to Meagan. “They took her to Disney World and she screams in the night.”

Carl picked up a small bottle from the table and shook it back and forth absently. Meagan shifted on him and was still again. The bottle was Hard As Nails, which T.W. coated the middle fingernail of his right hand with, to keep the nail in good shape; to relax, when he was not playing electric music with the band, T.W. played the banjo.

“Did Anita have her kid yet?” Delores asked.

“No — she’s just four months pregnant,” Freed said. “How did you know about that?”

“She wrote me.”

“What did you do to your foot, Perry?” Carl said, standing.

“I broke it.”

“I can see that your foot is broken. Forgive me for speaking imprecisely: how did you break your foot, Perry?”

“I fell down. I was stepping off of a stone wall in the woods and my foot went out from under me in wet leaves beneath the wall.”

“Oh Christ, I’ve got to teach in the morning,” Freed said. “I hate to bust things up, but are we about to move?”

“I’ll spread out the sleeping bag for Meagan,” Perry said. He went down the hall and turned the radiator all the way on in the bedroom, unrolled the sleeping bag at the foot of the bed. He went back to the living room and got Meagan, who flopped into his arms without waking up. He carried her to the sleeping bag and put her inside and closed the top over her without zipping it. If she had nightmares, it wouldn’t do to zip her in. There were little flecks of dried skin on her eyelids, and beneath her eyes were bluish circles. Her face was a little sunburned from Florida. “Do you remember me, Meagan?” he whispered. He smiled at her and turned off the light. Meagan never moved.

“How’s T.W.’s band?” Carl asked when he came back into the room.

“Are you giving me a ride home or not?” Freed said.

“What are you going to do without a car?” Delores asked.

“I can borrow my neighbor’s truck. I don’t know,” Freed said. “Hopefully they’ll find it and it won’t be wrecked.”

“T.W. says they’re making money. He had a new demo tape down here that was very good.”

“Come on,” Freed said, pulling at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“One minute,” Perry said. He went into Francie’s bedroom and got the painting and hobbled out to the car with it. Freed came out the door behind him, and then Francie, carrying his crutches, saying, “Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?”

“I’m just carrying this out to the car.”

“I’m sitting in the car,” Freed said. “I’m sitting in the car until you decide to start driving it.”

“I hope they find your car, Freed,” Francie said.

“Del looks great,” Freed sighed, and pushed around the snow with the toe of his boot. “That’s all I need to see.”

“Oh — are you giving them directions to your house?” Francie asked Perry.

He closed the trunk and wiped the snow off his hands on his jeans.

“Just one second,” he said to Freed.

“Thank you for the weekend, Francie,” Freed said. “I’m going to sit here and freeze until he decides to get going.”

“He has to give directions—”

“I understand what’s being said, Francie.” He closed the car door, opened the window a crack to let the smoke from his cigarette leave the car. Freed was talking to himself in the car about how he was going to sit there until they got going.

Perry went into the house and found a piece of paper and wrote directions and a map. He gave it to Carl, who pocketed it and said, “Thanks. When are we welcome?”

“Any time,” he said. “Come up as soon as you can.”

“Thank you,” Delores said. “We can help you work on the house.”

He nodded. He could not remember ever seeing Delores do anything with her hands.

“Goodbye, Francie,” he said, giving her a hug. “Stop entertaining people and do your painting.”

“I can’t see,” Carl said. “I’m going to bed.”

“Go ahead,” Francie said. “Goodbye, Perry. Let me know where you hang the picture.”

He hugged her again and stepped to the side, still holding her. He was clowning, clumping in his cast to do the box step. The walkway was covered with snow. The flagstones underneath the snow were slick with ice, so he hopped down the grass, feeling the snow edging over the top of his low boots.

“It’s an odd match,” Freed said, shivering in the car. “Delores and Carl. I don’t get it.”

“Come on, close that window,” Perry said, starting the car.

“I’m smoking.”

“Wait’ll I get the heat on.”

Freed pitched the cigarette into the snow. “You think he’s still on reds?” Freed said. Before Perry could answer, Freed changed his voice. “You have to feel sorry for the little children,” he said, wobbling his head at Perry. “What will become of the little ones?” With the hood of his parka covering his head, he looked enough like a little old lady to make Perry laugh. “What the fuck did I do to deserve having my car stolen?”

Freed lit another cigarette. “Tonight when I saw Del I wished I had her back,” he said. “It makes me sad that I still don’t have any sense.”

“Delores is okay now.”

“She might look it, but she’ll never be okay. You think Carl is still swallowing pills?”

“If he is, they aren’t keeping him too alert.”

“They looked good. Tired, but okay. Del looked good.” Freed sighed. He pushed the tape into the tape deck, listened a second, then rewound to Gatemouth Brown doing “Take the ‘A’ Train.”

“You forgive me for cheering for the Red Sox?” Freed said. He opened the window a crack. “Where’s my car?” he said. “It could be anywhere.”