Anne Tyler - Breathing Lessons

"Oh," Maggie said.

There was a pause.

What was it Ira was whistling? Something from that record Leroy had played this evening; the lyrics were on the tip of Maggie's tongue. He scooped up a run of diamonds and shifted them to a king.

"You know," Serena said, "whenever Max went on " business trip we'd have so much to tell each other when he came home. He would talk and talk, and

/ would talk and talk, and then, you know what we'd do?"

"What?"

"We'd have a great big horrible fight."

Maggie laughed.

"And then we'd patch it up, and then we'd go to bed together," Serena said. "Crazy, wasn't it? And now I keep thinking: If Max were resurrected this minute, hale and hearty, would we still have our horrible fight just the same?"

"Well, I guess you would," Maggie said.

She wondered how it would feel to know she had seen Ira for the very last time on this earth. She supposed she would have trouble believing it. For several months, maybe, she would half expect him to come sauntering in again just as he had sauntered into choir practice that first spring evening thirty years ago.

"Um, also, Serena," she said, "I want to apologize for what happened after the funeral."

"Oh, forget it."

"No, really, both of us feel just terrible."

She hoped Serena couldn't hear Ira in the background; It made her apology seem insincere. Lately it occurs to me, he was whistling cheerily, what a long, strange trip it's been ...

"Forget it; I flew off the handle," Serena told her. "Widow's nerves, or something. Pure silliness. I'm past the stage now where I can discard old friends without a thought; I can't afford it."

"Oh, don't say that}"

"What, you want me to discard you?**

"No, no . . ."

"Just joking," Serena told her. "Maggie, thanks for calling, I mean it.

It was good to hear your voice."

"Anytime," Maggie said.

"Bye."

"Bye."

Serena hung up, A moment later, so did Maggie.

This ice cream wasn't even edible anymore. She had Jet it turn to soup.

Also she was feeling overstaffed. She looked down at herself-at the bodice of her slip stretched tight across her breasts. "I'm an elephant," she told Ira.

He said, "Not again."

"Seriously."

He tapped his upper lip with a forefinger and studied his cards.

Well. She rose and went into the bathroom, stripping as she walked, and took her nightgown from its hook. When she dropped it over her head it shook itself out around her, loose and cool and weightless. "Whew!" she said. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. A trail of underclothes led from bedroom to bathroom; she picked them up and stuffed them into the hamper.

Sometimes, after an especially trying day, she felt an urge to burn everything she had worn.

Then while she was arranging her dress on a hanger, she was struck by a thought. She looked over at Ira. She looked away. She hung the dress in her closet, next to her one silk blouse.

"Goodness," she said, turning toward him again. "Wasn't Cartwheel dinky."

"Mm."

"I'd forgotten how dinky," she said.

"Mmhmm."

"I bet their school is dinky too."

No response.

"Do you suppose the Cartwheel school offers a good education?"

"I really couldn't say," Ira said.

She closed the closet door firmly. "Well, I can say," she told him. "It must be a full year behind the schools in Baltimore. Maybe two."

"And naturally Baltimore's schools are superb," Ira said.

"Well, at least they're better than Cartwheel's."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I mean most likely," Maggie said.

He picked up a card, moved it onto another, then changed his mind and moved it back again.

"Here's what we could do," Maggie said. "Write and ask Fiona if she's given any thought to Leroy's education. Offer to enroll her down here in Baltimore and let Leroy live with us nine months of the year."

"No," Ira said.

"Or even twelve months, if it works out that way. You know how attached children get to their classmates and such. She might not want to leave."

"Maggie, look at me."

She faced him, hands on her hips.

"No," he said.

There were a lot of arguments she could have mentioned. All kinds of arguments!

But she didn't, somehow. She dropped her hands and wandered over to the window.

It was a warm, deep, quiet night, with just enough breeze to set the shade-pull swinging. She raised the shade higher and leaned out, pressing her forehead against the gritty screen. The air smelled of rubber tires and grass. Snatches of adventure music drifted up from the Lockes' TV next door. Across the street, the Simmonses were climbing their front steps, the husband jingling his house keys. They would not be going to bed yet; no chance of that. They were one of those happily childless young couples with eyes for only each other, and no doubt they were returning from dinner in a restaurant and now would . . . do what? Put on some romantic music, maybe something with violins, and sit conversing graciously on their spotless white love seat, each raising a wineglass made of that thin, extra-breakable crystal that doesn't even have a lip around the rim. Or maybe they would dance. She had seen them dancing on their front porch once-the wife in spike heels, with her hair swept up in an igloo shape, the husband holding her slightly apart in a formal, admiring way.

Maggie spun around and returned to the bed. "Oh, Ira," she said, dropping down beside him, "what are we two going to live for, all the rest of our lives?"

She had dislodged a stack of his cards, but he kindly refrained from straightening them and instead reached out one arm and drew her in.

"There, now, sweetheart," he said, and he settled her next to him. Still holding her close, he transferred a four of spades to a five, and Maggie rested her head against his chest and watched. He had arrived at the interesting part of the game by now, she saw. He had passed that early, superficial stage when any number of moves seemed possible, and now his choices were narrower and he had to show real skill and judgment. She felt a little stir of something that came over her like a flush, a sort of inner buoyancy, and she lifted her face to kiss the warm blade of his cheekbone. Then she slipped free and moved to her side of the bed, because tomorrow they had a long car trip to make and she knew she would need a good night's sleep before they started.