John Casey - Spartina

She said, “Maybe we’ll be like Miss Perry and Captain Texeira.” She stuck her head in and kissed him briefly. She said, “We’ll see. We’ll both be around for a while. You go on home and dream about launching your boat. I’ll come and take pictures. Around noon, right? It’ll be okay, I’ll bring Mary.”

As he drove down the narrow driveway he saw she’d whirled him around another way. He’d as much as said it was over. He especially felt the weight of his remark about Elsie and him having wired into each other when his father died, a remark that had slipped out but that he’d considered so light as to be secret to himself. He now heard it as so heavy and doltish that he jammed the brake on with disgust. No way Elsie hadn’t finished the thought for herself: And here’s Mary fresh from her father’s funeral to snip us apart. Elsie at first had protested, she’d said no, her schoolgirl crush started before that, before he knew anything about it. And yet she’d gone on to agree with him in some way, had gone on to send him home. And now he could feel himself turning, felt a pull that whirled him as neat as a wrestler’s trick.

He switched the engine off. It didn’t matter whether he was making it up. When he said she was good, she’d said no, she was about to screw his brains out.

If he’d been paying attention when he drove off, he might have seen her stop at the front door, her hand slow on the knob, just touching it. If he’d turned the motor off then, she would have turned.

Now she’d be brushing her teeth. Or finishing off her glass of wine. Maybe pacing the room. Maybe stepping outside once more, going down to the pond in her bare feet.

Dick walked back up the driveway, staying on the grassy crown so he wouldn’t make the gravel crunch. When he got to Mary’s little pickup he carefully skirted it, stepping along the edge of lawn, moving slowly so as not to rattle the forsythia tendrils that just touched the side of Mary’s truck. When he turned to face the house, he saw the lamp on the sleeping porch was on. Just turned on? He couldn’t see very clearly. The waist-high planking cut the lamp from direct view. The overhead moon shone down bright enough to dazzle the screen mesh. He moved beyond the forsythia, stopped behind a new-planted hemlock, still shorter than him. Mary was awake, he heard her voice. He saw Elsie leave the sleeping porch. He could wait until Mary went back to sleep. No. Elsie came back. She sat down beside Mary’s bed. He heard a scrape of chair legs. He could make out Elsie’s head through the screen. He started to leave, decided to wait until Elsie left. At this point all she had to do was turn her head to see him scuttling away.

His ear became accustomed to the insect drone, and he could make out Mary and Elsie talking about some friend of Elsie’s, a woman who’d been married to Jack Aldrich before Jack married Elsie’s sister.

The mosquitoes began to find Dick. Served him right.

Elsie’s voice. “… Lucy had an IUD all along. Jack’s an asshole in some ways, but he didn’t deserve that. The poor man was probably worried about his sperm count.”

Mary’s voice. He couldn’t hear what she said.

Elsie said, “Oh no. He wouldn’t do that. They make the man beat off in a Dixie cup. Anyway Lucy told me , after their divorce. But she still wouldn’t tell Jack. Lucy and I had a big fight. I told her she was a really hideous liar. She said it wasn’t a lie, she just hadn’t told him anything , and apparently he never asked, at least not directly. I haven’t ever had a fight like that with anyone else. I’ve quarreled with my sister, but that’s nothing. I have fights with Jack, I’ve told you about some of those, fun really. But I still feel terrible about Lucy Potter. So of course now , irony of ironies, now I get a letter from her. She’s getting married again. Wants me to be a bridesmaid.”

Mary’s voice.

Elsie said, “Well, sure. But the irony is that it’s the mirror image. If it’s true.”

Mary’s voice.

Elsie said, “I’ll tell him sooner or later, sure. That’s not the issue. Or, rather, it is the issue. Sooner still leaves a choice.”

Mary’s voice, loud enough for Dick to hear the words—“Oh, Elsie! Absolutely not! Don’t even think—”

Elsie said, “Don’t get mad at me. I’m not the one to convince. If … I mean, it’s all if. If I am. If I tell him right away.”

Dick understood that Elsie was pregnant. No if.

Her talk of adopting, her plan with Mary Scanlon. Her brightening up at the Mabel O’Brien story. And what was this about Elsie’s friend Lucy Potter? He didn’t figure that, but he didn’t need to.

From his crouch behind the hemlock he sank to his knees. Jesus H. Christ. He wasn’t as angry as he thought he might be. Elsie hadn’t lied to him yet — maybe that was it. He hoped it was a girl. There was that thought, quick as a shooting star.

But right away he felt the punishment of that: they wouldn’t be father and daughter.

He sank back on his heels and felt the envelope crinkle against his thigh. So what was that? A fee, a goddamn stud fee. Sly Elsie Buttrick. So the Buttricks could buy that too.

For a moment he was on the edge of tearing up the check. Or walking up to the porch.

He heard Mary Scanlon laugh.

He crushed a mosquito with his forefinger under his earlobe.

Trust Mary Scanlon to see the joke.

Mary was sitting up in bed now.

Elsie said, “I could apply for maternity leave, but then they might be able to fire me for moral turpitude. I’ll talk to a lawyer. But I think that the best thing is to pretend it’s adopted. That takes care of my career, and it would make things easier for Dick. I could go stay with my mother in Boston for the last five months. I’ll apply for educational leave, enroll in some courses. You could have this place to yourself for a bit. And you could look after building the wing for yourself.”

“Sounds nice — a few months in Boston,” Mary said. “Suppose you meet someone in Boston and suddenly decide to get married.”

Elsie laughed. “I don’t think so.”

Mary said, “Have you ever thought of getting married just to give the kid a name? Then you could be a divorcee.”

“I don’t see any likely candidates. Besides, I want the baby to have my name.”

“What if Dick wanted to marry you? I mean get divorced and—”

“Oh no,” Elsie said. “He wouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t want him to. I don’t want that, I don’t want this child to start out by ruining someone else’s life. As it is now, I don’t think anyone’s going to get hurt.”

“Maybe not,” Mary said. “The kid will be a bastard. Maybe that’s not being hurt. If Dick doesn’t find out, that seems hard, but I guess you could argue he’s not hurt. You could tell him it’s adopted, but he’s not a dummy, you know.… Or suppose you tell him. What then? Suppose he says get an abortion?”

“No,” Elsie said. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t. But I’ll have to see. I can’t imagine what he’ll feel like. What do men feel like? Suppose I tell him I picked him — won’t he be flattered? Isn’t it a good deal for a man? No diapers, no grocery bills. His genes getting a free ride.”

“Elsie. I don’t think it’s that easy, Elsie.”

Elsie’s head sank below the screen, then came up again slowly.

Elsie said, “But you’re still game? You’ll still be the godmother? Move in here with us?”

“Sure,” Mary said. “We’ll give the kid a nice home.” She laughed. “You know what some guys are going to think, just the two of us living out here in the woods? A couple of middle-aged dykes.”

“Let ’em. It’ll keep the riffraff out.”