Anne Tyler - If Morning Ever Comes

“I know,” Shelley said comfortingly.

He smiled at her. She was sitting very straight and still, almost touching him, and listening completely to what he said. Anyone else he knew would be getting restless by now.

“You talk,” he said.

“I got nothing to say, Ben Joe.”

“Neither do I, seems like.” He bent to untie his shoelaces and slip the shoes off. Then he swung his legs up and settled his feet on the coffee table. “Tomorrow we’re going to see Jamie Dower,” he said. “He’s eighty-four. How do you reckon it would feel to be eighty-four? Do you think you’d realize you were that old? I don’t realize I’m twenty-five. I keep thinking I’m about eighteen or so. I don’t even know if Gram realizes how old she is. Somehow I think not, or she wouldn’t still be making a fuss about bygone things. Still keeping up the old war with Mom. She never did like her much. Grandpa, now, he thought Mom was wonderful. Said she had backbone. First time she came to visit here before she and Dad got married, she came down to breakfast saying she was thirsty and Grandpa poured her a glass of water. Only it turned out not to be water but moonshine, that clear kind that comes out of a Mason jar. Mom was right surprised but she drank it anyway, without coughing, and Grandpa said, ‘Honey, you’re no Yankee,’ and loved her like a daughter ever since. But Gram, she said all it proved was that she was no lady. Oh, hell, I’m getting off the subject. Whatever the subject was.”

“It’s all right,” Shelley said. “Don’t you worry, Ben Joe.”

“Me? I’m not worried.”

“Well. Anyway, it’s all right.”

She looked sad, and Ben Joe didn’t know why. He didn’t know what to do about it. He put one arm along the back of the couch behind her, not actually touching her but just protecting her, and looked at her face to see what was bothering her. There were lots of things he might do; he might say something funny and make her laugh, for instance. But for some reason he didn’t. He pulled his hand in tighter, around the curve of her shoulder, and then leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“Nothing’s worrying me,” he said.

She turned her face full toward him, and he put his other arm around her and kissed her mouth that was as familiar as if he had been kissing her only last night instead of almost seven years ago. Even the taste of her lipstick was the same — like strawberries. And she had the same way of hugging him; the minute she hugged him she stopped seeming scared and became soft and warm, first kissing him and then gently laying her cheek against his as if he were a child to be comforted. For a minute he relaxed against her, but then he began to feel a crick in his neck. He sat up straight again and cleared his throat.

“Um …”he said. He leaned forward a little, with his elbows on his knees. “I forgot about Horner,” he said.

“What?”

“Horner. I forgot about him.”

“Oh.”

He lit a cigarette and puffed on it a few times before he looked at her again. “Have you got an ash tray?” he asked her.

“I’ll get you one.” She stood up and crossed to the desk. She was the kind of person who rumpled easily; her hair was fluffed now and her lipstick was a little blurred. When she came back with the ash tray she said, “We’re not engaged , after all. I just go out with him some.”

“Well, still.”

“Of course, I like him and all …”

“Oh, sure. Sure, he looked like a nice person.”

“He is. He’s real nice, he really is.”

“Where did you meet up with him?” he asked.

“At my aunt’s house. She used to know his family.”

“That’s right. Joanne said he was from around Sandhill. I don’t know where she met up with him.”

“At a basketball game,” said Shelley, “when Joanne was still in high school.”

“How you know that?”

“Oh, John’s told me all about his past.” She settled back against the cushions, smiling a little now.

“His past? Does that include just meeting a girl at a basketball game? He must have been pretty thorough.”

“Oh, no, he dated her a while. But he felt—” She stopped, and looked into her half-empty glass.

“He felt what?”

“Oh, now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.”

“Come on, Shelley.”

She kept on staring at her drink, pressing the corners of her mouth down. Finally she said, “Well, I suppose he just met her at … at one of those ages when girls are in a sort of, urn, wild stage. I mean, rebellious. That’s what I mean. Rebellious stage.”

Ben Joe sat up straighter.

“Now, Ben Joe, I’m sure he didn’t mean to—”

“Who does he think he—”

“Ben Joe, I know he didn’t mean to carry tales. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, never mind.” He sat back again. “She was kind of a flirt in high school,” he said. “The way she dressed and all. I suppose if you just met her a couple of times you’d think she really was wild.”

“But—” Shelley looked down in her drink again. “Well, yes, Ben Joe, I’m sure that’s what he meant. You want another drink?”

“No.”

“There’s lots more.”

“No. People who just look at them on the surface, they’ve got no right to say what my sisters are like.”

“I know that.”

“Okay.”

She was still watching him, trying to tell if he was feeling better. He looked back at her blankly.

“Ben Joe,” she said finally, “have you got a girl in New York?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

“Not one steady girl. No.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Anyway,” she said, “I’m sorry I told you what I just did. I wouldn’t have you worried for anything.”

“I’m not worried.”

“All right.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and he settled down next to her again, fitting his head beneath her chin. Against his back he could feel her hands patting him softly, so lightly he could hardly feel it.

“The trouble is,” he said into her collarbone, “I’m reversible.”

The words were muffled. She pulled back a little and looked down at him and said, “What?”

“I don’t guess you’re hardly alive if you’re as reversible as I am. But the ir reversible people, they get someplace. Good or bad. Murder is irreversible, for that matter. Even if it’s bad, you can tell you’re getting somewhere definite. But me, I am reversible.”

“You silly,” Shelley said. “You talk like you’re some kind of raincoat, Ben Joe. Don’t get upset, now.”

He was pulled in next to her again, and soothed with the same small pats. Gradually he closed his eyes and let the full weight of his head rest against her chest.

He heard Shelley’s voice beginning above him, faraway and soft, saying, “You were the first person I ever wanted to ask me out. There’d been two other boys asked me out before, but I didn’t like them and I’ve forgotten now where we ever went or what we did. One was that fat little Junior Gerby, who was shorter than me, and the other was Kenny Burke, who was so greasy and hoody back in those days. Though later on he changed. His mama says he’s right nice now. She was always afraid he’d end up in Alcatraz. But when I started thinking about you asking me out, now that you weren’t just a little boy to play roll-a-bat with any more, I’d pray every night for you to ask me. I’d say, ‘Please, God, you let Ben Joe Hawkes ask me out and I will never ask for anything more as long as I live.’ Though I knew at the time it was next to impossible. There were three other girls after you and all of them prettier than me, though you never noticed and were always playing baseball and fiddling with your microscope. I took to shoplifting lipsticks, even if I did have plenty allowance, and trying on all manner of different shades in front of the mirror. Then I figured God was mad at me for it and I buried all my lipsticks in the backyard, where they are to this day.”