John Casey - Spartina

Mary began to cry. Elsie put her arm around Mary. Mary pulled out her handkerchief and blew her nose, then she got up and poured herself another shot. Dick got up, and she poured him one too. She slipped off her shoes so she wouldn’t be taller than him, put her glass down, and held on to him hard.

Elsie said, “Are you a little jealous of Mabel O’Brien? I would be.”

Mary laughed. “Sure I am. But she never knew how he adored her. And look what she did for him at the end.”

Mary sat back down on the sofa. She made room for Dick between Elsie and her and patted the cushion. “She must be dead now. She was ten years older than the old man.”

Dick squeezed in. “What happened to her?” Dick said. “Her and her three boys?”

“I don’t know. Her father died, and she and her mother raised the three kids. She kept on till the mill closed, but what happened after that, I don’t know. Oh. Her mother worked as a maid for one of the few lace-curtain Irish families in town. So one time Mrs. O’Brien — Mabel’s mother — came into the parlor to clean up, and the daughter of the family and two girlfriends of hers were smoking cigarettes. Mrs. O’Brien said, ‘Shame on you girls. Nice girls don’t smoke cigarettes!’ And the daughter said, ‘How can you dare to say that to me, Mrs. O’Brien, when your own daughter has three children out of wedlock!’ And Mrs. O’Brien says, ‘That’s a different thing altogether! Mabel loves children!’ ”

Mary laughed, and it brought some color back to her cheeks, but at the same time she began to sag with fatigue. She finally leaned over toward Elsie, who put an arm around her.

Elsie said, “Spend the night, Mary. There’s a bed on the porch. We’ll have a good sleep and a good breakfast, and then we’ll go down to see them launch Dick’s boat.”

Elsie took Mary’s glass from her hand, and walked her to the sleeping porch. She sent Dick out to get Mary’s suitcase. Elsie took it in to Mary. Dick sat and listened to the two women talking softly. Then Mary passed through in her nightgown, her red hair straight down her back, her toothbrush in her hand. When she came back out, she gave him a kiss that smelled of toothpaste and whiskey.

Mary went to bed. Elsie came out. She sat beside Dick on the sofa, one leg curled under her. She finished Mary’s whiskey and blew out a long breath. She said, “I can’t tell if she’s okay or not. I don’t know what it’s like.”

“He was eighty-four,” Dick said. “She seems pretty clear about that. And she’s here with you.”

Elsie nodded. “Is the way she was the way people are at wakes? All those jokes? Was that a wake?”

Dick laughed. He said, “I’m sorry — I’m not Catholic.”

“Don’t tease me,” Elsie said. “I feel very odd.”

Dick was touched by Elsie. He took her hand. “Maybe you’re being too good again, feeling like you’re becoming Miss Perry.”

“Not as good as all that,” Elsie said. “I was about to screw your brains out when Mary came in.”

Dick shook his head. He still wasn’t used to her talking like that.

“It wasn’t just jokes,” Dick said. “You can tell she liked her old man.”

“That was nice, the story about Mabel O’Brien,” Elsie said. “I think I’d rather be as nice as Mabel O’Brien than as good as Miss Perry.”

Dick laughed at Elsie’s getting herself in the story somehow. Then he felt bad for her again. He said, “Maybe you are.”

“Why’d you laugh?”

“Here you are all grown up and you’re like a kid worrying about whether people think you’re nice.”

Elsie looked suspicious.

Dick said, “You’re nice — you don’t have to worry.”

“What I’d like is for you to like me even if I’m not nice,” Elsie said. “That’s one of the things I like about Mary. She just likes me whether I’m nice or not.”

“Well, sure,” Dick said. “That’s not so hard.”

Now Elsie laughed at him.

“I made you a little boat-warming present.” She got up and gave him a package. He opened it. It was a thermos bottle done up to look like a White Rock soda-water bottle.

“Thank you. I can use a thermos.”

“Look at the White Rock girl.”

Dick held the thermos out under the lamplight: the White Rock girl — kneeling on her rock, bare except for a little wisp of a skirt, and little dragonfly wings on her back.

“You don’t see?” Elsie said. “Look. That’s the pond. That’s the rock. And that’s me.”

“Jesus, Elsie.”

Elsie laughed. “I made this myself. Used an old label, put in my picture and used photo offset. It looks like the real thing, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does. Where in hell am I going to keep this?”

“On your boat.”

“Jesus, Elsie — I don’t know.”

“Look — if you didn’t recognize me, who will?”

“Who took the picture?”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Dick. Just tell me I look gorgeous.”

“You do. I don’t know though. I’m going to have Charlie and Tom on board sometimes.”

“They won’t be able to tell.”

Dick looked again. “I guess that’s right.”

“But you’ll know it’s me,” Elsie said. “Oh. Do you mind if I shoot some film tomorrow? I’ve still got Schuyler’s camera here.”

Dick was struck by how agile she’d suddenly become again. It was as though she was making herself the way she was with him before. It had crossed his mind that she might want to go outside with him, find a nice spot in the grass, damn the mosquitoes, full speed ahead. The idea had struck him, but he was relieved it somehow didn’t seem likely now.

He didn’t know whether he should speak plainly. He wasn’t sure she understood their sleeping together was over with. He didn’t dare ask what she thought. He was still bothered by the thermos — he looked at it again, a nice thermos, glossy with thin, even coats of varnish, the picture label set in nicely. The whole thing had taken some work.

“I really like this,” he said, “even though I don’t see where I’m going to fit it in. Do you see what I mean?” He put the thermos down and took her hand. “Jesus, Elsie, I don’t know what to do about all this. I could give up the going-to-bed part, but then what? There’s something I’m going to miss. I don’t want this to be like the one time I went to the West Indies. But my life is going to be on pretty regular courses. If I come up here to see you, there’s a chance I’d just float right up to you again. That day I picked you up in the rain I wasn’t planning on anything. I don’t say I hadn’t taken notice of you. But suddenly there I was.”

Elsie laughed. “Yes,” she said. “You’re a sweet man sometimes.”

Dick shook his head. “There’s two things I swore I’d never do. One is be caretaker for a summer house, the other is mess up my family.”

“You haven’t done either one. You went along with what May wanted when you borrowed money from Miss Perry and me. You know, even if May found out about you and me, I’ll bet her chief complaint about you would still be that you’ve been bitter, jumpy, pigheaded, and generally impossible. As marriages go, that’s about par for the course. And as men go, you’re not so bad. If you get a little nicer and more cheerful now that things are picking up for you, May’ll be okay.”

“You’re pretty damn free and easy.”

“I know,” Elsie said. “And that’s not even the worst thing about me.”

Dick laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Elsie said. “No one’s going to know. I’m going to be the soul of discretion.”

“But what are we—”

“We’ll see,” Elsie said. “Whatever it is, it won’t be bad.” She got up and walked him to the door. She came out to his truck. He put the thermos in the glove compartment and sat, hanging on the steering wheel. Elsie leaned in the open window.