Scott Spencer - A Ship Made of Paper

He is entirely at her disposal.Her every wish, it seems, is…no, not his command, but his opportunity to commit some further act ofpenance.

”Got me one ofdem penitent boyfriends,”Kate said to Lorraine over the telephone the other day.“Dem’s the best kind,”answered Lorraine.

Daniel finds Ruby in her room, brushing the bright-yellow hair ofa chubby-faced doll with a pug nose, a prissy mouth, and blue, unforgiv-ing eyes.Neither Daniel nor Kate would have bought such a toy for Ruby—they would rather supply her with little cars, plastic horses, building blocks, books—but she’d fallen under the doll’s spell at day care and the teachers let her take it home.“Are you about ready, Monkey?”

Daniel asks.He feels so guilty around Ruby that he has made his voice overly cheerful.

“I want to play with Ginkie,”Ruby says.She turns the doll around on her lap, gazes into its bright blue eyes.

“You can bring Ginkie with you, ifyou want.”

“No.She can’t go out.”Ruby has long contended that the doll is afraid to leave the house—it seems part ofa strategy to make certain that it never gets returned to the day care center.

“It’s going to be fun,”says Daniel.“And besides, there’s not going to be any grown-ups home, so you have to come along.”

“What about Mercy?”

“She’s busy.”

“Is she going to be at the party?”

“You never know.”

“Can I really take Ginkie?”

Daniel picks Ruby up, notches her onto his hip.The weight ofher balances him, somehow damps down the anxiety.

The three ofthem drive to the party, through a mild November afternoon.The sun is high and hazy in the pale-blue sky, it looks like a little stain on a shirt.The wreckage oflast month’s storm is still everywhere in evidence—collapsed old barns, fallen trees, heartbreaking wreaths on the side ofthe road where people lost their lives.

He drives slowly, not wanting to telegraph how anxious he is to arriveat the party.Kate, who since beginning her novel has taken up smok-ing again, lights a cigarette and cracks the window to let out the smoke.

“Don’t smoke!”Ruby cries out, the way they all do in unison at her day care center, duringAwarenessTraining, when the kids are introduced to all God’s dangers: Don’t smoke! Don’t drink! Don’t touch me!

Kate rolls her eyes, inviting Daniel to share her exasperation, but at the same time she reaches behind her and gives Ruby’s knee a humorous little squeeze.

“Are there going to be other kids at the party?”Ruby asks.

After a briefsilence, Daniel answers.“I don’t really know for sure.I imagine so.”

“I want Nelson to be there,”Ruby says.“Was he invited?”

“I don’t know who was invited,”Daniel says.He feels Kate’s eyes on him, and his voice wavers.

“Oh, I certainly hope Nelson is there,”Kate says, taking one last drag ofher cigarette and then tossing it out the window.“With his lovely par-ents.That would make everything special.”

“He’s nice,”Ruby says, stretching her arms and legs.The child seat seems suddenly a size too small for her.

“Oh, he’s fantastic,”Kate says.“The whole family.”

She glances at Daniel, notes his discomfort, and wraps her hand around the crook ofhis right arm, momentarily throwing his steering off.

They are riding through the village now, past the church in which the four ofthem heard the Messiah a few weeks ago.It seems like months, years.

She remembers Daniel and Iris, the little looks they traded.Was he al-ready fucking her? He claims not, but it’s probably ridiculous to assume scrupulous honesty from him.Maybe he was.Maybe Kate was already be-ing played for a fool.When she was young the thought ofsomehow being the butt ofa joke was at the absolute zenith ofher jealousy, nothing was worse than thinking someone might be reveling in putting something over on her.But now, to her surprise, the possibility that Daniel and Iris might have taken some grotesque pride in fooling her barely registers in Kate.It seems the most trivial part ofthe story.This is a story about sad-ness and loss, about getting a shocking wake-up call to put her house back in order, this is a story about what she had to learn in order to make things right again.She wonders ifshe is deluding herself, but that thought is sim-ply too painful.Instead she thinks: I should thank them, trying that one on for size.But no, it doesn’t fit, either.Too big.Or too small.Something.

They drive on the curving, bucolic blacktop that goes past Leyden’s riverside mansions.The estate next to Eight Chimneys, which for two hundred years had been known as Eliade, has finally been sold offby the dissolute progeny ofits original owners and is now called Leyden Farms.

A wooden roadside stand has been built across the road from the en-trance gate where bushels ofgolden delicious and Macintosh apples are sold—a puzzling bit offrugality on the new owner’s part.He is a middle-aged television producer, specializing in hospital dramas, and he paid close to eight million dollars for the estate.It’s difficult to see how the two or three hundred dollars made annually from selling apples could make much difference to him.Perhaps they’re a tax dodge.

A mile later, they come to the crumbling stone gates ofEight Chimneys.

The estate’s gatehouse sits at the edge ofthe road—a small stone house that is an architectural miniature ofthe mansion, and in even worse repair.

“These people are so crazy,”Kate says.“Everything is falling apart, it’s just chaos everywhere.”

“I’d think you’d like this sort ofthing,”says Daniel.“It’s sort ofsouthern.It’s Faulknerian.”

“IfI wanted to be in the South, I would have stayed in the South.I think people ought to take care ofwhat they have.I hate things going to wrack and ruin.And Daniel?This isn’t Faulknerian.Everything creepy and south-ern isn’t Faulknerian, just like everything annoying isn’t Kafkaesque.”

The long driveway between the road and the main house has somehow gotten worse since the last time he drove it.The potholes have dou-bled in depth, and now Daniel must dodge the crowns offallen trees—once he drives directly into one ofthe craters.When they reach the main house, there are only five cars in front, and one ofthem has no tires and has obviously been there for quite a while.

“You said it was going to be a big party,”Ruby says.

”It will be,”Daniel says.“We’re just a little early.”

“When’s Nelson coming?”Ruby asks.She hugs her doll close to her.

”I don’t know ifhe’s coming at all, Monkey,”Daniel says.“But there will be other kids, I promise.”

“You promise?”asks Kate, amazed.

”Yes,”Daniel says.And Kate shakes her head, clearly implying that Daniel, ifhe had the proper humility, would never make another prom-ise for as long as he lived.

They are met at the door by Susan, wearing a rust-colored corduroy jumper, such as you would see on a schoolgirl.Her graying hair is twisted into a long braid.Her face looks moist and dense, like the inside ofan apple.

“Hello, Kate,”Susan says, extending her hand.Her voice is frosty, edged with contempt.She is punishing him for his participation in Fer-guson’s and Marie’s scheme.“It’s nice to see you.We’re putting coats in here.”Then, turning toward Daniel,“Ifany ofthe politicians show up, I’ll leave them to you.I can’t stand politicians.”

She leads them into what had once been the conservatory, a large room with floor-to-ceiling casement windows.The room is empty, ex-cept for an antique telescope standing gawkily in a corner, and a long oak table upon which the guests can deposit their coats.“Isn’t this the room where Professor Plum did it, usinga…candlestick?”Kate murmurs to Daniel.Susan is walking a few feet in front ofthem, with her hand rest-ing on Ruby’s shoulder.