Anne Tyler - Morgan's Passing

"Bonny, this is Emily Meredith," Morgan said.

Bonny went on waiting.

"Emily and her husband run a puppet show," Morgan said.

"Oh, really?" It hadn't occurred to Emily that Bonny wouldn't have heard of her. (She had heard of Bonny, after all.) She felt a little hurt. She held out her hand and said, "How do you do, Mrs. Gower." Bonny shook her hand. She said, "Well, are… you here to see Morgan? Or what?"

"She's here to see you" Morgan told her.

"Me?" Morgan said, "What happened was, my car was stolen, but then I stole it back, by and by, but still there was so much excitement, what with Robert Roberts and all…"

"You mean, you asked her to come inside the house?"

"Oh!" Emily said. "Well, of course I don't want to interrupt your work."

"It's all right," Bonny said. "Why don't you roll down your pants leg, Morgan?" She turned to lead them up the walk.

"But, Mrs. Gower-"

"Stay, stay," Morgan urged, from a bent position. He flattened his cuff around his ankle. "She's just surprised. You've come this far; stay!" Emily followed Bonny up the steps. She felt she had no choice, although she would rather have been anywhere else. They passed a clay pot in which herbs were growing-chives and maybe marjoram or thyme. Emily looked at them wistfully. Under other conditions, she thought, Bonny might very well have been someone she was fond of, but they'd got started wrong. It was Morgan's fault. He was so thoughtless and abrupt She felt irritated by his dishpan-shaped helmet, bounding along beside her. "Notice Bonny's roses," he said. It could have been a hint-a clue to Sonny's soft spot-but Bonny said, without turning. "How can she? They're not blooming yet." The three of them entered the hall. On the radiator were a stack of library books with scummy plastic covers, a watering can, and a box of Triscuits. Emily had to watch her step through a little turmoil of shoes and sneakers, and by then they'd reached the living room. "Look!" Morgan said, pouncing on a vase. "This is what Amy made at camp, the summer she was ten."

"It's very pretty," Emily said. It was lopsided, and a crack ran down from the rim, "I wish you could meet her, but she lives in Roland Park now. You can meet Mother and Brindle, though."

"Brindle's out shopping for a wedding ring," Bonny said.

"A ring! Yes, I've told Emily all about that. And see, here's Molly's picture on the mantel. Isn't she beautiful? It's from her school play; they say she has a talent for acting. I can't imagine where she got it. There's never been an actor in our family. What do you think of her? Bonny, don't we still have Jeannie's wedding album?" There was something feverish, about him, Emily thought. He darted around the room, rummaging through various overloaded shelves. Emily and Bonny stood in the doorway watching him. Once they happened to glance at each other; but when Emily saw Bonny's expression-oddly hooded-she looked away again. "Please," she told Morgan, "I ought to be going. I'll just catch a bus and go, please."

"But you haven't met my mother!" he said, stopping short. "And I wanted Bonny to get to know you; I wanted you two to… Bonny, Emily was in the paper today."

"Was she?"' Bonny said.

"Where's the paper? Did you throw it out?"

"I think it's in the kitchen."

"Come to the kitchen. Let's all go! Let's all have some coffee," he said. He raced away. Bonny straightened from the door frame to follow him, and Emily trailed behind. She wished she could just vanish. She thought of ducking out soundlessly, slipping away before they noticed. She dodged a mobile of homemade paper sailing ships and stepped into the kitchen.

The counters in the kitchen were stacked with dirty dishes, and several animals* feeding bowls cluttered the floor. One wall was shingled with yellow cartoons and news clippings and hockey schedules, recipes, calendars, photographs, telephone numbers on torn corners of paper, dental appointment cards, invitations — even someone's high-school diploma. Emily felt surrounded, flooded. Over by the back door Morgan was plowing through a stack of newspapers. "Where is it? Where is it? Did it come?" he asked. "Aha!" He held up a paper. He laid it flat on the floor, licked his thumb, and started turning pages. "News… editorials… crafts revival in Baltimore!" Peering over his shoulder, Emily saw Leon's sober face. He seemed to be staring at her out of another world. "Bonny, here's Leon. Emily's husband," Morgan said. "And here's her daughter, Gina. See?"

"Very nice," said Bonny, setting out coffee cups.

"You know," Morgan said thoughtfully, "I once looked a little like Leon." Bonny glanced at the photo. "Like that man there? Never," she said. "You're two totally different types."

"Well, yes," he said, "but there's something about the eyes, maybe; I don't know. Or something around the mouth. Or maybe it's the forehead. I don't know." He stood up, abandoning the paper, and pulled out a chair from the table. "Sit down, sit down," he told Emily. He took a seat opposite, as if demonstrating, and fixed her with an urgent, focused look till she sat too. She felt trapped. The dishes on the counters towered so far above her that she imagined they might teeter and topple, swamping her. A typewriter stood in a puddle of orange juice on the table, with a sheet of paper in the carriage… resolution was passed by a show of hands, she read, and Matilda Grayson requested that… Bonny placed a carton of cream in front of her and a crumpled sack of Pantry Pride sugar.

"Were you working on something special?" asked Emily, motioning toward the typewriter.

"Yes," Bonny said. She handed Emily a cup of coffee and sat down next to her.

"Um… what do you do for a living, Mrs. Gower?"

"I'm Morgan's wife for a living."

"Oh, I see."

"Yes," Bonny said, "but do you see that it's a full-time job? It keeps me busy every minute, I tell you. Oh, from outside he seems so comic and light-hearted, such a character, so quaint, but imagine dealing with him. I mean, the details of it, the coping, stuck at home while he's off somewhere, wondering who he thinks he is now. Do you suppose we couldn't all act like that? Go swooping around in a velvet cape with a red satin lining and a feathered hat? That part's the easy part. Imagine being his wife, finding a cleaner who does ostrich plumes. Keeping his dinner warm. Imagine waiting dinner while he's out with one of his cronies that I have never met-Salvation Army bums or astrologists or whatever other awestruck, smitten people he digs up." Emily set her cup down.

"You think 1 don't appreciate him. You "wonder why he married me," Bonny said.

"No, no," said Emily. She looked across at Morgan, who seemed unperturbed. He was tipping contentedly in his chair, like a child who is confident he's the center of attention, and puffing on a cigarette. Twisted ropes of smoke hung around his head.

"Emily," Bonny said.

Emily turned to her.

"Emily, Morgan is the manager of a hardware store." Emily waited but that was the end of it. Bonny seemed to be expecting her to speak. "Yes," Emily said, after a minute.

"Cullen Hardware," Bonny said.

"She knows that, Bonny," Morgan said.

"She does?" Bonny stared at him. Then she asked Emily, "You don't think he's a… rabbi or a Greek shipping magnate?"

"No," Emily said.

She decided not to mention how they'd met.

Bonny pressed her fingers to her lips. There were freckles, Emily saw, dusting the back of her hand. After all, she was a pleasant woman; she gave a little laugh. "You must think I've lost my mind," she said. "Crazy Bonny, right? Morgan's crazy wife, Bonny."

"Oh, no."

"It's just that I worried you might have been… misled. Morgan's such a, well, prankster, in a way."

"Yes, I know about that."

"You do?" Bonny said.