Richard Russo - That Old CapeMagic

Then he looked away again, and Griffin could tell he was following the errant shot’s trajectory in his mind as it sliced off into the dark woods, out of sight, where he could hear it thocking among the trees.

“I know this really isn’t the time or place,” said Brian Fynch, dean of admissions and Joy’s boss. The rehearsal dinner was over, and people had been encouraged to reconfigure over dessert. Griffin had been seated with Andy’s family, a smaller group, all of whom seemed a bit cowed by the size and sheer decibel level of Joy’s family (Jane and June were both shriekers). For his part, Griffin had been grateful to be seated with them.

Fynch was a tall man, and his suit was well tailored and expensive looking. He seemed comfortable in it, as men who wear suits every day often are. His haircut was early Beatles, sweeping bangs at the eyebrow line, ridiculous, Griffin couldn’t help thinking, for someone his age, a few years younger than Joy, and Griffin immediately dubbed him “Ringo.” Joy had introduced him as her “friend” (the very word Laura had used on the phone when she told him her mother would also be bringing someone to the wedding). “Jack” was how he himself had been introduced to Fynch, as in Jack, of whom you’ve often heard me speak and weep and curse . He chided himself: But come on, Griffin, get a grip . Joy had probably said nothing of the sort. In fact, be grateful . She’d have been well within her rights to introduce him as her soon-to-be ex, which would have been worse. He didn’t realize he’d been half hoping she’d introduce him as her husband (which he still was , after all) until she didn’t.

At any rate, he and this “friend” had been chatting amiably for the last ten minutes. Ringo claimed they’d actually been introduced last spring (“No reason for you to remember”) when he came on board. Came on board? his mother snorted. What is he, a pirate? (Silent when he and Laura were in the maze and also during dinner, she was feeling gabby again and seemed to have even less use for Brian Fynch than her son did. Normally her opinion wouldn’t have mattered, but she did know her academics.) Ringo loved the college, he went on, as if someone had been spreading vicious rumors to the contrary, and he hoped it would be the last stop on what he termed his “long academic journey.” Long and pointless, perhaps, but hardly academic . It was a wonderful opportunity, really, the kind that came along once in a lifetime. His “team” in admissions was first-rate, though its star, “just between us,” was Joy. (Oh, you smarmy bastard , both son and mother concluded in the same instant.) In fact, Ringo wished he had a half dozen more just like her. This fairly ambiguous remark he delivered with such convincing innocence that Griffin wondered if maybe he and Joy were just friends. He’d been attentive and solicitous to her all evening, but there was certainly nothing to suggest any intimacy between them, though of course she wouldn’t have permitted such a display at her daughter’s wedding.

“I wouldn’t bring it up, believe me, but Dean Zabian heard I was going to be seeing you this weekend, and I promised I’d ask if your situation for the coming academic year had clarified itself.”

It was possible, Griffin supposed, that things had come about just as Fynch claimed. The dean of faculty might well have asked him to inquire. But the far more likely scenario was that Fynch was a sly meddler, an insinuator who’d sought out the dean, not vice versa. Zabian could be forgiven for growing impatient for Griffin to make up his mind, but he more likely would have asked this favor of Joy rather than Ringo. And of course if he really wanted to know, the person to ask was Griffin himself.

“Of course everyone’s hoping you’ll be returning in the fall,” Fynch was saying, “but if you can’t-”

“I understand,” Griffin said. “Tell Carroll I won’t hang him up much longer.”

“It’s not like your replacement’s a washout or anything,” Fynch continued, oblivious that he’d been given full permission to discontinue this particular conversation. “The department could probably limp along for another semester or two, but as Dean Zabian put it, ‘She’s no Jack Griffin in the classroom.’”

Griffin smiled, now certain that he (and his mother) were right about Ringo’s character. The implied omniscience, the overfamiliarity, the flattery… what a putz. He thought of the elderly woman he’d spoken to in Truro this time last year who’d been looking for the right occasion to use fart-hammer . Well, here it was.

With relief, he noticed that a young man wearing a blazer with the hotel’s insignia on the pocket was conferring with Joy, who turned to point him out. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, making a show of taking out his checkbook. At this Ringo turned on his heel and fled, apparently convinced he could provide no further service.

“Mr. Griffin?” said the young man, who appeared to be holding an invoice. “Maybe we should go someplace more private?”

He nodded agreeably and let the checkbook slide back into his jacket pocket. “What are we going to do?”

Turning bright purple, the fellow looked even younger and, Griffin realized too late, clearly gay.

By the time he’d settled up and returned to the private dining room, the mostly teenaged waitstaff was busy clearing away the last of the dessert dishes and tossing stained tablecloths into portable hampers with more energy and enthusiasm than they’d exhibited earlier in the evening. They probably had a party to go to, Griffin supposed. Hard to believe that Laura herself was past all that now, the anticipation of a young night and its many possibilities. The rehearsal guests had all gone out onto the porch, below which, on the lawn, a drunken game of volleyball was under way, with just enough light from the porch to play by. Andy’s family, many of whom had traveled a long way that day, had evidently decided to call it a night, so it was just Joy’s that remained.

Harve, looking tired and agitated, sat at the far end of the porch, near the top of the long, sloping wheelchair ramp. He’d nodded off during the later stages of the dinner, though he refused to admit it, even after snorting violently awake, which caused Jared and Jason to reenact the event for the edification of the children at the designated kids’ table, after which they were all snorting awake and falling out of their chairs. The old man was now struggling to get up out of his chair, apparently determined not to be wheeled down the ramp past the volleyballers. Griffin sympathized, though Dot apparently didn’t. With an assist from Joy’s sister Jane, she pushed him back into his seat and told him, unless Griffin was mistaken, to behave. Whatever Harve said back caused her to spin on her heel and head indoors in the general direction of the ladies’ restroom, leaving Jane to reason with her father.

Joy was at the far end of the porch, talking to her other sister, June, and June’s husband, but Griffin could tell she was monitoring the situation. According to Laura, the whole family-Harve and Dot, her mother, Jane and June and their families, Jason and Jared-was sharing the large cottage at the water’s edge apart from the main hotel. Its dark outline was visible against the night sky, its windows glowing warmly yellow. No doubt it would remind Joy of the house they’d rented when she was a girl. Jane and June had probably remembered to bring board games, and after Harve and the smaller children were put to bed, the rest of them would stay up late playing Monopoly and Clue, swapping all the old nostalgic family stories. Griffin, who’d heard these too many times, nevertheless felt a twinge of regret (admit it) at being suddenly outside the family circle. Would Ringo, ridiculous oaf that he was, be invited to the table tonight and given Griffin ’s Professor Plum game piece, his silver thimble? He’d made a point of telling Griffin that he was staying in the hotel proper, but that might just be for appearances. He now joined Joy and her sister and brother-in-law, and when Griffin saw him rest his hand lightly on the small of her back, it occurred to him that having just discharged his primary responsibility of the evening, he could slip away unnoticed and probably not be missed.