Ben Greenman - What He's Poised to Do - Stories

The fist tightened and took some of the creases out of the scarf. “I found it,” he said, “in here. With Dave’s things.”

“Why would he have my scarf?”

“That’s what I’m asking myself, Susan. Why would he have your scarf? And why would it be in the space between his bed and the wall?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You don’t know,” he said. “Do you know why he would write you a note saying that you would always be special to each other?”

“No,” I said.

“And do you know why some of the guys downtown made jokes when he moved in here?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, then you certainly don’t know why those guys would say that once upon a time Dave and you were sneaking around?”

“No,” I said. “What guys?”

“Ed,” he said.

“Ed?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “He used to talk about you and Dave to anyone who would listen. He sounded proud. I think he imagined that you and Dave might end up together.”

“When we were kids, maybe he liked me. Maybe he made up a story and told his father. But there’s never been anything between me and Dave,” I said.

“Am I a fool?” he said.

“No,” I said.

It must have been the wrong thing to say because he stepped forward and hit me. Berne had never hit me before, so I didn’t really understand what was happening. When I figured it out, I also thought that the scarf would cushion the blow. But his knuckle was poking out through a wrap, and it caught me right on the cheekbone, and I fell backward.

Berne stood over me. He was trembling. Then he unwrapped the scarf and threw it into the air. It opened up and came down slowly, like a parachute, and before it hit the ground he was gone from the barn.

I STAYED IN THE BARN for hours, sleeping on Dave’s board bed until Sarah came over. I was crying, surprised that I was crying, but I stopped when she showed up. She took one look at my black eye and walked right out. I started crying again. “Stop that,” she said, ducking her head back inside. “I’m just going to get something.”

She came back with a makeup case and started putting foundation on my eye. “What a bastard,” she said. “What a fool.”

“He’s not a fool,” I said.

“If you don’t think so, maybe you’re one, too,” she said.

The makeup was cool on my skin.

“Why do they call it black and blue?” I asked.

“Is this a riddle?” she said.

“No. I just want to know. It has red in there and brown, and when it heals, it will go to green and yellow.”

“Tell me again what happened?” she said.

I told her. When I got to the part about the note from Dave, she asked me what it said. I said I didn’t remember exactly. “I mean, did it say where he was going?” she said. I shook my head no. She kept on with the makeup.

When I got to the part about the scarf, she stopped and closed up the makeup case.

“What?” I said. “Do I look okay now? Because I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of going back in there looking like I got hit.”

“I have to tell you something,” she said.

“What?” I said.

“I have to tell Berne something, too,” she said.

“What?” I said.

“It was my scarf,” she said.

“What was your scarf?”

“The scarf he found was mine.”

“It was mine,” I said. “I lost it. Did you take it from me?”

“No, Susan. You showed yours to me, and I liked it so much that I went and got the same one.”

“So how did it end up in here?” I said.

She didn’t say anything.

“Tell me,” I said.

“I was here,” she said.

“When? Since when are you and Dave speaking?”

“We’re not just speaking,” she said.

“I see,” I said.

She could tell from my tone that I didn’t believe her. “What?” she said. “You think I’m trying to cover up for you? I’m telling you. Dave and I are having a little thing.”

“A little thing?” I said. “Isn’t he your son?”

She must have heard something funny in my voice because she took me by the chin and looked me straight in the eye.

“My god,” she said. “You’re jealous.”

Then she marched on up to the house to set the record straight.

WHEN I CAME IN, Berne was standing by the kitchen table. Sarah was standing by the door. Both of them had crazy looks in their eyes. I didn’t know who had said what or who had done what, but I did know that there was a kitchen knife out on the counter about midway between them. The air was tight, like any moment one of them might go for the knife. I didn’t think they would. But you never know when family is involved. They stood facing each other like that for a long time. “So,” Berne said finally. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to believe what’s true,” said my sister.

“I believe what I know,” Berne said. “And I have had enough of hearing what’s true and what’s not true from this family, from you and from your sister and from your husband.”

I didn’t dare say anything. I just kept edging toward the knife until I was the closest of the three of us. If there was sudden movement, I could lunge for it and throw it into the trash can, or run away with it, or threaten to do myself in unless they stopped fighting. I was concentrating so hard on the knife that I didn’t see Berne take a step toward me. I flinched, expecting another blow. Instead, he let out a soft cry. “I’m sorry,” he said. “If you tell me to believe you, I should believe you. That’s where my father went wrong.”

“Your mother was lying, Berne.”

“That was only half of the problem,” he said. “The other half was that he didn’t believe her. There are two sides to every story, and you always have to listen to the other one.”

I took a deep breath against his chest and held him tight. He felt like a good man to me, a man who had acted in error and was trying to set things right.

“Laurel?” I said.

“Laurel,” he said, and squeezed me close to him.

MY SISTER LEFT TOWN. She called me and told me she was leaving, and I knew from her tone that it wasn’t just melodrama. “I’m going to Lincoln,” she said.

“Are you looking for Dave?” I said.

“No,” she said. “At least I don’t think so. I just need to go somewhere for a while that isn’t here.”

Laurel was born six months later. Right up until the end, I thought she would be a boy. Berne never wavered on his prediction of a girl. When Laurel was only four months old, I got pregnant again. Now, I told Berne, I’ll be able to use the boy’s name.

“How do you know it’s not another girl?” he said.

“You think it’s another girl?” I said.

“No,” he said. “I think you’re right. I think it’s a boy.”

I dreamed about the boy who would be Laurel’s little brother. I even had a name picked out. But then I got a card in the mail from my sister. I hadn’t talked to her in months. The card had a photo that slipped out when I opened it; in the picture, she was standing by a window, holding a little baby that looked just about the same age as Laurel. She and the baby were as beautiful as a painting. Can you imagine? Sarah wrote. Ed would be so proud. Not that he’ll ever know. Or Dave, for that matter. I haven’t seen him since I got to Lincoln. I heard he went to Boston or Philadelphia. So it’s just me and my family.

You know what’s funny? she wrote. I’m the mother and the grandmother. How many women can say that?

I miss you, she wrote, and I love you.

I called the phone number on the card.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” Sarah said.