Anne Tyler - A Spool of Blue Thread

“His voice!” Abby said. “Saying what?”

“I think he used to sing me a song when I was going to sleep. Or some guy did.”

“Oh, Stem, how nice. A lullaby?”

“No, it was about a goat.”

“Oh. And nothing else? No recollection of his face? Or something you two did together?”

“I guess not,” Stem said, without sounding too concerned about it.

He was an old soul, Abby told people. He was the kind of person who adapted and moved on, evidently.

He went through school without a fuss, earning only average grades but fulfilling all his assignments. You could imagine him as the butt of school bullies, since he was small for his age in the early years, but actually he did fine. It may have been his friendly expression, or his general unflappability, or his tendency to assume the best in people. At any rate, he got along. He graduated from high school and went straight into Whitshank Construction, where he’d been working part-time ever since he was old enough; he said he didn’t see the need for college. He married the only girl he had ever shown any real interest in, had his children one-two-three, seemed never to look around and wonder if he might be better off someplace else. In this last respect, he was the one most like Red. Even his walk was Red’s — loping, leading with his forehead — and his lanky frame, though not his coloring. You could say that he looked like a Whitshank who’d been left out to bleach in the open too long: hair not black but light brown, eyes not sapphire but light blue. Faded, but still a Whitshank.

More of a Whitshank than Denny was, Denny had remarked when he heard that Stem had joined the firm.

Although once, back when Denny was a teenager still living at home, he’d asked Abby, “What’s this kid doing here? What did you think you were up to? Did you ever consider asking our permission?”

“Permission!” Abby said. “He’s your brother!”

Denny said, “He is not my brother. He is not remotely related to me, and for you to tell me he is is like … like those pretend-to-be liberals who claim they never notice whether a person is black or white. Don’t they have eyes? Don’t you ? Were you so keen on doing good in the outside world that you didn’t stop to wonder if this would be good for us ?”

Abby just said, “Oh, Denny.”

Oh, Denny.

ON SUNDAY MORNING the study door was closed — Denny’s door — and everyone tried to keep the little boys from making too much noise. “Go play in the sunroom,” Nora told them when they’d finished breakfast. “Quietly, though. Don’t wake your uncle.” But even on their best behavior, exaggeratedly tiptoeing as they left the kitchen, they seemed to radiate disruption. They jostled and elbowed and poked one another and tripped over their own pajama cuffs, while Heidi ran frenzied circles around them. On the floor in the corner, Brenda raised her head to watch them leave and then groaned and settled her chin on her paws again.

Red was sleeping late too, so the others had no way of knowing how things had gone at the train station. “I tried to stay awake till the two of them got home,” Abby said, “but I must have nodded off. I can’t seem to read in bed anymore! I should have sat up for them downstairs. Another cup of coffee, Nora?”

“I can do that, Mother Whitshank. You sit still.”

It was going to be a while, evidently, before the two women settled just who was in charge of what. This morning Abby had put out toast and cereal as usual, and then Nora had come down and scrambled an entire carton of eggs without so much as a by-your-leave.

Stem was in his pajamas and Abby in her bathrobe, but Nora wore one of her dresses, white cotton with navy sprigs, and sandals that showed her smooth, tanned feet. For breakfast she had eaten more than all the rest of them put together, but so slowly and so gracefully that it seemed she hardly ate at all.

“I was thinking,” Abby said, “we might invite the girls and their families to lunch. I know they’ll want to see Denny.”

“Could we make it a late lunch?” Nora asked. “The children and I have church.”

“Oh, certainly. Yes, we could start at … one o’clock, would you say? I believe I’ll do a rolled roast.”

“If you put the roast in the oven for me,” Nora said, “I can see to the rest of the meal when I get back.”

“Well, I’m still able to manage a simple family meal, Nora.”

“Yes, of course,” Nora said serenely.

Stem said, “I’ll pick up whatever you need in the way of groceries.”

“Oh, Dad can do that,” Abby told him.

“Mom. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Well … but go to Eddie’s, then, where you can charge it to our account.”

“Mom.”

Luckily for Abby, Red walked in at that moment. (Abby disliked money discussions.) He was wearing his ratty old bathrobe and his mules that made a whisk-broom sound, and he was carrying his Fred Flintstone glass that he used for his nighttime water. “Morning, all,” he said.

“Well, hi!” Abby said, sliding her chair back, but Nora was already up and fetching the coffeepot. “Did Denny get in all right?” Abby asked.

“Yep,” Red said, sitting down.

Stem said, “Train on schedule?”

Either Red didn’t hear him or he felt the question wasn’t worth answering. He reached for the platter of scrambled eggs.

“There’s toast,” Abby told him. “Whole wheat.”

He dished out a large pile of eggs and passed the platter to Nora, who took another helping.

“If I have to see that statue one more dad-blamed time,” he said, “I’m going to hire myself a wrecking ball. It’s embarrassing! Other cities’ train stations have fountains, or hunks of metal or something. We have a giant tin Frankenstein with a heart that pulses pink and blue.”

“How was Denny?” Abby asked him.

“Fine, as far as I could tell.” He peered into the cream pitcher. “Is there more cream?”

Nora rose and went to the fridge.

“All we talked about was the Orioles,” he said, giving in at last to his audience. “Neither one of us believes they can keep this up till postseason.”

“Oh.”

“He brought three bags with him.”

“Three!”

“I asked him,” Red said, stirring his coffee. “I asked why so much luggage, and he said it was summer clothes and winter clothes.”

“Winter!”

“Winter took most of the room, he said. Thicker material.”

“How’d he carry all that?” Stem asked.

“Boarding, he used a redcap, he told me. But getting off again … Have you tried finding a redcap in Baltimore? After midnight? He managed okay, though. If I’d known, I would have parked the car and come inside the station.”

“Winter clothes!” Abby said to herself in a trailing voice.

“Good eggs,” Red told her.

“Oh, Nora made those.”

“Good eggs, Nora.”

“Thank you.”

“I guess I should empty the study closet,” Abby said. “But already I’ve had to find space for the things from the bunk-room closet, and the one in Stem and Nora’s room.” She was looking a little panicked.

“Relax,” Red told her, without looking up from his eggs.

“I hate it when you tell me to relax!”

Nora said, “I can empty that closet.”

“You wouldn’t know where to put things.”

“Nora’s a whiz at organizing storage space,” Stem said.

“Yes, I’m sure she is, but—”

“Hey, everybody,” Denny said, walking into the kitchen.

He was wearing paint-stained khakis and a String Cheese Incident T-shirt, and his hair was very shaggy, fringing the tops of his ears. (As a rule, the men in the family were fanatic about keeping their hair short.) He seemed healthy, though, and cheerful. Abby said, “Oh, sweetheart! It’s so good to see you!” and she rose to hug him. He returned her hug briefly and then bent to pet Brenda, who had struggled to her feet and shambled over to nuzzle him. Stem lifted one hand from where he sat, and Nora smiled and said, “Hello, Denny.”