Anne Tyler - Noah's Compass

They were traveling in circles, Liam thought. They were like hamsters on an exercise wheel. Day after day they hashed all this out-Eunice showing up puffy-eyed at six a.m., or telephoning in an urgent whisper from Ishmael Cope’s office, or arriving straight from work already talking as Liam opened the door to her. How about if this very minute she went to live on her own? she asked. Then would it be all right for them to marry? And what sort of interval would he require? A month? Six months? A year?

“But still,” he said, “the fact would remain that you were married when I met you.”

“Well, what can I do about that , Liam? I can’t un-ring the bell!”

“My point exactly.”

“You’re impossible!”

“The situation is impossible.”

They argued so long sometimes that the apartment grew dark without their noticing, and they neglected to turn on the lights until Kitty walked in and said, “Oh! I didn’t know anybody was here.” Then they would hasten to greet her, using their most everyday voices.

It was Liam’s own fault that this was dragging on. He knew that. He could have said, “Eunice, enough. We have to stop seeing each other.” But he kept procrastinating. He told himself that first they needed to talk this over. They had to get squared away. They didn’t want to leave any loose threads trailing.

Pathetic.

At the end of their conversations he generally had a headache, and his voice was fogged and elderly-sounding from overuse. But really there was no end to their conversations. The two of them just went on and on until they’d worn themselves out, or till Eunice broke down in tears, or till Kitty interrupted them. Nothing was ever resolved. The week crawled past, the weekend came, another week began. Everything remained the same as the day he’d found out she was married.

What did this remind him of? The final months with Millie, he realized-their repetitive, pointless wrangling during the period just before she died. Now he could see that she must have been severely depressed, but all he knew then was that she seemed dissatisfied with every facet of their life together. She would carp and complain in a monotone, going over and over the same old things, while the baby fussed in the background and, yes, the light in the apartment slowly faded, unnoticed. “You always…” Millie said, and “You never…” and “Why can’t you ever…?” And Liam had defended himself against each charge in turn, like someone hurrying to plug this leak, that leak, with new leaks eternally springing up elsewhere. Then often he would give up and leave-just walk out, feeling bruised and damaged, and not come back until he was sure that she had gone to bed.

Although Eunice and Millie were not the least bit similar. Eunice had more energy; she was more… defined, Liam supposed you could say. Yet somehow she gave him that same feeling that he was the person responsible. She had that same way of looking to him to straighten out her life.

As if he were capable of straightening out anybody’s life, even his own!

He said, “Eunice. Sweetheart. I’m trying to do the right thing, here.” But what was the right thing? Was it possible, in fact, that he was being too rigid, too moralistic, too narrow-minded? That the greater good was to make the very most of their time here on earth? Yes! Why not? And he felt a flood of joyous recklessness, which Eunice must have guessed because she sprang up and crossed the room to throw herself in his lap and wrap her arms around his neck. Her skin was warm and fragrant, and her breasts were squashed alluringly against his chest.

Did she sit like this in her husband’s lap?

Her husband’s name was Norman. He drove a Prius, from the first year Priuses were manufactured. He had a twin sister, Eunice said, who was developmentally disabled.

Liam set Eunice gently aside and stood up. “You should go,” he told her.

Louise phoned on Friday morning and asked if he could watch Jonah. “My sitter has up and eloped,” she said, “without a word of notice.”

“Did she marry Chicken Little?” Liam asked.

“How do you know about Chicken Little?”

“Oh, I have my sources.”

“I could strangle her,” Louise told him. “Tomorrow’s Homecoming Day at our church and I promised I’d help decorate. Dougall says just take Jonah along, but that way I’d be more of a hindrance than a help.”

“Sure, bring him here,” Liam said.

“Thanks, Dad.”

In fact, he welcomed the diversion. It would be something to think about besides Eunice. He felt the two of them had spent this past couple of weeks in some cramped and airless basement.

Louise was beginning to look noticeably pregnant. Thin as she was, she had no place to hide a baby, Liam supposed. She wore a short skirt and a skimpy tank top, and her collarbones stuck out so far you could almost wrap your fingers around them. Behind her, Jonah trailed listlessly with an armful of picture books. “Hi there, Jonah,” Liam said.

“Hi.”

“Are we going to be coloring again?”

Jonah just gave him a look.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of bed today,” Louise murmured.

“Well, never mind; we’ll be fine,” Liam said. “Should I give him lunch? How long will you be gone?”

“Just till noon or so, I hope. It depends how many others turn up. We’re in charge of decorating the Communing Room; that’s where they’re feeding the Homecomers.”

Communing Room, Homecomers… It was almost a foreign language. But Liam was determined to avoid any appearance of disapproval. “Is this like Homecoming Day in high school?” he asked in his most courteous tone. “People coming back who’ve graduated or moved?”

“There’s nothing high-schoolish about it, Dad!”

“No, I just meant-”

“This is for sinners who’ve come to see the error of their ways. Which is a far cry from graduating, believe me.”

“Yes, of course,” Liam said.

“I don’t know why you have to try and pick a quarrel about these things.”

“It must be my contrary nature,” Liam said meekly. He followed her to the door. “Did you bring any snacks?” he thought to ask. “I don’t have all that much around that Jonah will eat.”

“He’s got Goldfish in his knapsack.”

“Oh, good.”

He saw her out and then returned to the living room. Jonah was still standing there, holding his armful of books. They studied each other in silence. “Well,” Liam said finally. “Here we are, I guess.”

Jonah heaved a deep sigh. He said, “I don’t think Deirdre’s going to take me to the State Fair now.”

“Why not? She could still do that.”

“She got married.”

“Married people go to the fair.”

“But my mom won’t ever speak to her again.”

“That’s just talk,” Liam said. “You know how your mom talks.”

“I didn’t really like Chicken Little anyway,” Jonah said confidingly.

“You didn’t?”

“He cheats at soccer.”

“How can you cheat at soccer?” Liam asked.

Jonah gave one of his shrugs. “I don’t know; he just does,” he said. “It’s very inappropriate.”

“Well, tell you what: let’s read some of those books you’ve brought. What did you bring?”

Jonah held the pile out. Dr. Seuss, Liam saw, and another Dr. Seuss, and a Little Bear book… He said, “Good! You choose which one we’ll start with.”

Before they could sit down, he had to help Jonah out of his knapsack. Then they settled in an armchair, Jonah squinched tightly into the few remaining inches on Liam’s right side. Jonah was wearing gym shoes today, incongruously large red high-tops. They stuck straight out in front of him, and the left one kept knocking into Liam’s right knee. He really should buy a sofa, Liam thought for the hundredth time. The image of Eunice came to mind, and he had a sudden hollow feeling.