Anne Tyler - If Morning Ever Comes

He was dipping his arms into his robe and tying it and then folding up the bed clothes as he talked, stopping every now and then to gesture widely with one arm. There was something fascinating about that constant flow of speech. He was the way he had been the night before — big and graceful and always in the center of the room, chattering happily away in a steady stream that left his listeners virtually speechless. Even Ben Joe, who had been an incurable talker as a small boy and had once lost a family bet that he could keep totally silent for fifteen minutes straight, could find no place to break in.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Gary was saying. “I just think it’s worth commenting on it, is all. For years now I’ve been wondering at Joanne, wondering where she got her habits. You’ll have to admit they’re kind of odd. She’s the only mother I know of that used to keep waking the baby all the time, instead of the baby waking her. And making milk shakes in the Waring blender at two a.m. Now, where, I’d think, as I’d wake up and hear her whistling and the blender going and the dishes clattering, where did she learn to live like that? Well, I’m mighty glad to meet your family, Ben Joe. It’s good to see you.”

He stuck out one long, bony hand and Ben Joe, taken off guard, stared at it a minute and then shook it.

“Uh, how about that breakfast?” he asked.

“Sure thing.”

“I’ll get it.”

Ben Joe fled. He was glad to get out to the kitchen; Gary was much better than he had pictured him, but at the same time he felt inadequate around him. He couldn’t welcome him or say he was glad to see him or make one small response to all that puppy-dog friendliness because Gary was too busy talking to hear. Where had Joanne ever met him? He dropped an egg in the frying pan and stared out the window, trying to remember, but it seemed to him that Joanne had never said. She had simply announced that she was married. Well, Joanne never was one to tell much of her personal life. Her letters were full of things like how much wool cost in Kansas nowadays and what movies they had seen and how crabby Carol’s pediatrician was. Everyone in the family wrote like that when they were away; it was probably because of Jenny’s being the official letter writer. What else could you answer to a letter of Jenny’s except the price of wool in Kansas? Still, he wondered where Joanne had met Gary. He cracked the second egg into the frying pan and went to the refrigerator for orange juice.

Gary appeared the instant his breakfast was ready, rubbing his hands together. He was dressed in a plaid shirt that clashed with his hair and a pair of corduroy slacks and he looked exuberant.

“Boy oh boy,” he said, “I just love a big breakfast. They tell you what we had before bed last night? Pizza. A great big pizza with all kinds of stuff on — You seen Joanne?”

“She went out,” Ben Joe said. “Downtown, I think.” He cleared his throat. “I was just wondering where you and Joanne ever met up with each other.”

“Oh, she was dating a buddy of mine. This was when I was in the Marines, back east. She was one of those gals that flits around a lot. Danced with practically everyone at this dance and I was one of them. Keeping her with me, now, that was harder than just dancing one dance with her. And she didn’t like it that in civilian life I’m a salesman. Said salesmen always smiled even when they didn’t want to, so how could she trust me. That’s what she kept harping on, how could she trust me. And, besides, she thought I had no manners. You ever seen Joanne’s feet?”

“What?”

“Her feet. You ever seen them?”

“Well, of course,” Ben Joe said. “She’s always bare-foot.”

Gary nodded and shoveled half a fried egg in his mouth. “That’s why,” he said with his mouth full. “Why they look like they do, I mean. The rest of her is kind of slim, but her feet are wide and smooth and brown like a gypsy’s maybe, or a peasant’s. You see her barefoot and you’ll know what I mean. I always liked her feet. First time she ever met my mother she had little bare sandals on and her hair piled high and I was so proud of her I said, ‘Mama, this is Joanne Hawkes. See her peasant feet? ‘

“And after we were alone again, you should have seen the row. She kept saying, ‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life before; see my peasant feet, see my peasant feet?’ and kicked me in the shin with one of them peasant feet so hard I can still feel it if I think on it awhile. That’s why she said I was bad-mannered. That and this door-opening business. I believe in opening a car door for a girl when she gets in , mind you. But when she gets out , well, she just sits and sits useless in the car while you get out and plod all the way around to the other side …”

He held his hand out toward the cream pitcher and Ben Joe, mesmerized, placed it in his hand while he kept staring at Gary’s face.

“So, “ Gary said, “I went off on a fishing boat named the Sagacity one weekend with a fellow from Norfolk. Figured there wasn’t any use staying around right then. Joanne said she didn’t trust me far as she could throw a tractor and then went and accepted five dates for that weekend. Five , mind you. There was this about Joanne back then: seems she liked drawing people to her. Once she got them, she sort of forgot what she was planning to do with them, like. But if you drew away , she’d be out to draw you to her again. So when she heard I had left she got them to radio the Sagacity to come in again. Saturday, it was. They kept calling the Sagacity but the catch was this: it was a borrowed boat and me and my buddy, who was the captain, thought its name was the Saga City . We didn’t connect them, you see. Makes a difference. So the man told Joanne there wasn’t an answer and he didn’t know what could be the trouble, and she started crying and all; and by the time the mess was straightened out we were on dry land again and Joanne had her arms around my neck and said she’d marry me. That was quite some day,” he said.

Ben Joe nodded, with his mouth open. Gary laid his fork down and rocked back easily on the kitchen chair.

“So we got married and all, and of course Carol came along. You get to see that first picture we took of her?”

“It’s somewhere around the house right now,” Ben Joe said.

“Well, I’m glad. It’s a real good picture, I think. I was hoping you all thought so too. I always wondered why your mama didn’t come when Carol was born, or one of your sisters maybe. Almost a custom, you might say. But no one came.”

“Well, anyway, we were glad to hear about it,” Ben Joe said.

“That so?” Gary looked happy.

“Um …” said Ben Joe. He bent forward to lean his elbows on the table. There was a long string of questions he wanted to ask, like why was Joanne here now and why was Gary himself here, but he would hate to see that happy face of Gary’s get a closed, offended look. In the tiny silence he heard the front door open and a pair of high heels walk in, with little, soft baby steps beside them. He looked up at Gary to see if he had heard too, but Gary was musing along on some path of his own. The high heels climbed the stairs, and Ben Joe in his mind followed their journey to Joanne’s bedroom.

“I’d like to have a lot more children,” Gary said unexpectedly. “Dozens. I like kids. Joanne takes too good care of just the one. She needs a whole group of them. She’s always saying how Carol’s got to be secure-feeling, got to have no wonders about being loved or not. But this way she just makes Carol nervous — follows her around reading psychology books. Wants to know what her nightmares are about. I say let her alone — kids grow up all right. But that’s just like Joanne. She got in this Little Theater play once back in Kansas and had a whole bunch of lines to learn and got all worried about it. So did she just take a deep breath and start learning them? No sir. The night before the play opened I asked her did she know her lines and she said no not yet but she had got almost all the way through this book called How to Develop a Super-Power Memory . If that isn’t just like her …”