Дуглас Кеннеди - Five Days

‘Hey there,’ I said, all smiles as I got out of the car. He looked at me sheepishly.

‘It’s the first cigarette in over a week,’ he said.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Good day?’

‘I took the job.’ He was staring down at his feet as he said this.

At that moment I felt relief and a terrible sense of guilt. Because I knew that the last thing Dan wanted to do was accept that offer in the stockroom. Just as I knew that he knew the breathing space that extra money would bring us. I tried to take his hand. He stiffened and pulled away, putting his hand behind his back, out of reach. I said nothing for a moment, then uttered two words:

‘Thank you.’

Four

MEATLOAF. DAN HAD prepared a meatloaf. He’d used his mother’s recipe — covering the loaf in Heinz’s tomato sauce and flavoring the beef with three cloves of crushed garlic (a recipe, he’d told me on several occasions, that was somewhat radical for Bangor, Maine, in the 1970s. when garlic was considered nothing less than foreign). He’d also made baked potatoes and a fresh spinach salad to accompany the meatloaf. And he’d bought a bottle of Australian red wine — Jacob’s Creek — which he told me that ‘the guy at the supermaket said was “very drinkable”’.

‘That’s high praise from a guy at a supermarket,’ I said. ‘I really appreciate you going to all this trouble. ’

‘Thought we should celebrate me landing the job.’

‘Yes, I think that’s worth celebrating.’

‘And I know you’ve got your book thing with Lucy at seven.’

‘That still gives us an hour — as long as the meatloaf is ready by—’

‘It will be done in fifteen minutes.’

‘Wonderful. Shall we open the wine?’

He reached for the bottle and screwed off the cap, pouring wine into two glasses. He handed me one and we touched them.

‘To your new job,’ I said.

‘I never thought I’d be toasting a job in a stockroom.’

‘It’s a supervisor’s job. ’

‘Assistant supervisor.’

‘Still, it’s a management position.’

‘In a stockroom.’

‘Dan. ’

‘I know, I know. It will ease up so much for us.’

‘And it will also lead to other things for you. I’m certain it’s just a temporary—’

‘Please stop trying to make me feel better.’

‘Should I try to make you feel rotten?’

He smiled. I came over and put my arms around him and kissed him straight on the mouth and whispered:

‘I love you.’

Instead of kissing me back, he hung his head.

‘That’s nice to hear,’ he finally said.

I put my finger under his chin and tried to raise his head. But he shrugged me off.

‘I need to check the potatoes,’ he said.

I stood there, feeling numb. Maybe I’m sending out the wrong signals. Maybe I’m telling him things subconsciously which he is interpreting as belittling or critical or.

‘Have I done something to upset you?’ I heard myself asking out loud. Dan closed the oven door, stood up and regarded me with bemusement.

‘Did I say that?’ he asked.

‘Do you feel I am not supportive enough or am conveying some sort of negative—’

‘Why are you bringing this up?’

‘Because. because. ’

The words were catching in my throat, as they were being intertwined with a sob.

‘Because. I’m lost.’

What he said next was. well, ‘unbelievable’ was the only word that came to mind.

‘That’s not my fault.’

Now the sobs were no longer trapped in my throat. Now I was sitting down in a kitchen chair, crying. All that I had been repressing for weeks, months, suddenly cascaded out in heaving sobs.

Then Sally wandered in.

‘Another happy night at home,’ she said.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ I said, forcing myself to stop sobbing.

‘Sure you are. And Dad’s fine too. And we all love each other. And everything is just great. And, by the way, I’m skipping dinner.’

‘But your father’s prepared a wonderful meatloaf.’

‘Since when was meatloaf ever “wonderful”? Anyway, just got a call from Brad. His parents have decided to eat at Solo Bistro down in Bath tonight and asked if I wanted to come along.’

‘It’s a little late for that,’ Dan said.

‘And why?’ Sally asked.

‘Because your dinner is in the oven.’

‘I’ll eat the leftovers tomorrow.’

‘Sorry,’ Dan said, ‘but I’m not allowing it.’

‘That’s unfair,’ Sally said.

‘Too bad you think that.’

‘Come on, Dad — Solo Bistro is a great restaurant. ’

‘Can’t say I’ve ever eaten there.’

‘That’s because you’ve been out of work and miserable for the last year and a half.’

‘Sally. ’ I said.

‘Well, it’s the truth — and you know it, Mom.’

Silence.

Dan slowly bent down and put the potatoes back in the oven. Then, standing up again, he turned away from his daughter as he said:

‘You want to eat with those people, off you go.’

Sally looked at me for confirmation. I nodded and she ran off out the door.

I heard a car pull up outside — and glanced out the window to see Sally heading towards Brad’s silver Mini convertible. He got out to greet her and give her a very full kiss right on the lips. She didn’t hold back either. At that moment I was absolutely certain that they were sleeping together. Not that this had come as a shock, as I was pretty sure this had been going on for a year. Just as I also knew that she had asked for an appointment with my gynecologist six months ago and just said it was ‘routine stuff’. Did that mean my daughter was on the pill or had been fitted for a diaphragm? Either way I suppose it was better than getting pregnant. Gazing at Brad — so tall, so lean, so deeply preppy in a town where preppy wasn’t a common look — all I could think was: He is going to break her heart.

I watched the car zoom away, and saw Sally put her arm around Brad as they headed off into the actual sunset. Immediately I thought back to the time when I was seventeen, on the cusp of everything, so determined to succeed. I reached for the wine bottle and splashed a little more in my glass. In the wake of Sally driving off Dan had stepped outside and lit up another cigarette. The joylessness in his eyes was palpable. Seeing him staring out at the world beyond I felt a desperate stab of empathy for him, for us. Coupled with the realization: He is now a stranger to me.

I set the table. I took out the meatloaf and the potatoes. I ladled sour cream into a bowl. I rapped on the glass of the kitchen window. When Dan swivelled his head I motioned for him to come inside. Once back in the kitchen he looked at the dinner ready to be eaten and said:

‘You should have let me do all that. I was making dinner. I didn’t want you to have to do anything tonight.’

‘It was no trouble at all. Anyway, I thought you might need a little time out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He came over and put his arms around me. As he buried his head in my shoulder I felt a momentary shudder come over him and thought he was about to cry. But he kept himself in check, while simultaneously holding me tightly. I returned the embrace, then took his face in my hands and said:

‘You know I am on your side, Dan.’

His body stiffened. Had I said the wrong thing again — even though I meant the comment to be reassuring, loving? Could I ever say the right thing anymore?

We sat down to eat. For a few moments silence reigned. I finally broke it.

‘This is wonderful meatloaf.’

‘Thank you,’ Dan said tonelessly.

And the silence enveloped us again.

‘For me, it really is one of the great modern novels about loneliness,’ Lucy said, motioning to the waitress that she should bring us two more glasses of chardonnay. ‘And what I loved about the novel was how it so brilliantly captured forty years of American life in such an economic way. I mean, I couldn’t get over the fact that the novel’s only two hundred and fifty pages long. ’