31
Louis mowed his lawn and then mowed Addie’s and dumped the grass out of the rear catcher into a wheelbarrow and Jamie pushed it around back and tipped it out in the alley onto the musty pile there and came back for more. When they were finished Louis sprayed off the mower with the hose and put it away in the shed.
In the corner he lifted the lid from the nest box.
Do you think we’ll ever see those mice again?
We might, Louis said. We’ll have to keep watching.
I wonder where they went. I wonder if the mother ever found them.
They went into Addie’s kitchen and drank iced tea and then went out into the side yard in the shade and played catch. Addie came out with them. Bonny raced back and forth chasing the ball and jumping in the air and grabbing it up when it hit the ground and ran in circles until they caught her.
At noon Louis went home and Jamie kept the dog with him at Addie’s and ate lunch with her, talking quietly, and then he and Bonny went upstairs to the back bedroom and the dog lay sleeping at the foot of the bed in the warm room while he played with his phone and called his mother.
I’ll be seeing you soon, his mother said. Didn’t I tell you? I’m coming back home.
What does Dad say?
He says that’s good. We both want to try again. Aren’t you glad?
When will you come?
In a week or two.
Will you live in the house?
Of course. Where else would I live?
I don’t know. Maybe some other place?
Honey, I want to be with you.
And Dad.
Yes, and Dad.
32
A few nights later Addie and Louis and Jamie went out to the Wagon Wheel restaurant on the highway east of town and sat at one of the tables near the big windows. There was a view of the wheatland out to the south. The sun was going down and the stubble was beautiful in the lowering light. After they ordered their dinner an old man walked over and sat down heavily in the vacant chair. A big solid-looking man in a long-sleeved shirt and new jeans, his face very red and wide.
Louis said, You know Addie Moore, don’t you, Stanley?
Not as good as I’d like to.
Addie, this is the famous Stanley Thompkins.
I ain’t too famous. More like infamous.
And this is Addie’s grandson Jamie Moore.
Let me see your grip, son.
The boy reached out and shook the old man’s thick hand and the old man winced and Jamie stared at him.
I heard you two was seeing each other, Stanley said.
Addie’s willing to put up with me, Louis said.
Makes me think there might be hope for somebody else in this life.
Addie patted his hand. Thank you. It is a hopeful thing, isn’t it.
You know anybody wants to curl up with a old wheat farmer?
I’ll start looking, she said.
I’m in the phone book. I can be reached.
So what’s happening? Louis said.
Oh, you know, the usual. My boy got the wheat in and took off for Vegas. He couldn’t stand having a little money in the bank. Took some gal with him too from over at Brush. I never met her. I guess she’s good looking.
Why didn’t you go with them?
Oh hell. He looked at Jamie. Scuse me. I never got much out of sitting around with strangers messing with cards. If you was to have a game of poker at your house or somebody else here did, that would be a different story. You’d know who you was playing with and it would be more fun. But I’m no good in cities anyway.
How did your wheat do?
Well, it was pretty good this year, Louis. I don’t want to say this out loud. But this was one of the best years we’ve had in a long time. The rain came at the right time and there was a lot of it and we never got no hail on our place. Our neighbor to the south did. But we was just lucky all around.
The waitress brought the plates of food.
I’m keeping you from your supper. He stood up and reached out to shake the boy’s hand again. Now take it easy on me. The boy tentatively took his hand and barely touched him. Okay, I’ll be seeing you.
Take care.
Good to meet you, Mrs. Moore.
After they’d finished eating they rode out to the country and drove to the Thompkins place northeast of town and stopped and looked at the stubble fields in the starlight and they all looked thick and even.
He must have done pretty well, Louis said. I’m glad of it. He’s had bad years too. Everybody has.
But not this year, Addie said.
No. Not this year.
33
He died during church on a Sunday morning, Addie said. You know that.
Yes, I remember.
It was in August, it was hot in the sanctuary and Carl always wore a suit even in summer even on the hottest days. He thought it was what he had to do as a businessman, as an insurance agent. He had some notion about keeping up appearances. I don’t know why or for whom it mattered. But it mattered to him. Halfway into the preacher’s sermon I felt him leaning against me and I thought, He’s gone to sleep. Well, let him sleep. He’s tired. But then he slumped forward and bumped his head hard on the back of the pew in front of us before I could catch him. I reached for him but he just kind of folded forward out of the pew and dropped onto the floor. I bent over, I whispered to him, Carl. Carl. The people around us were watching him and the man sitting next to him slid over in the pew to try to help me lift him up. The preacher stopped talking and other people got up and came to try to help. Call the ambulance, someone said. We got him lifted off the floor and laid him out on the pew. I tried breathing into his mouth and pumping his chest but he was already gone. The ambulance men came. Do you want to take him to the hospital? they said. I said, No, take him to the funeral home. The coroner will have to come before we can move him, they said. So we waited for the coroner and then finally he came and pronounced Carl dead.
The ambulance took him over to the funeral home and Gene and I followed them in the car. The funeral director left us with him in the back room where it was sort of formal and quiet, not the room where they do the embalming. I said I didn’t want him embalmed. Gene didn’t want him embalmed either. He was home from college for the summer. So we sat in the room with his father’s body. Gene wouldn’t touch him. I bent over his face and kissed him. He was already cold by then and his eyes wouldn’t stay shut. It was eerie and strange and very still in the room. Gene never did touch him. He went out of the room and I stayed there for a couple of hours and pulled a chair up beside him and leaned over and held his hand and thought of all the times that had seemed good between us. And eventually I told him good-bye and got the director and told him we were finished for now and that we wanted his body cremated and made the arrangements. It was all too sudden. I was in some kind of trance. I think I was just in shock.
You would be. Of course, Louis said.
But even now I can see it all clearly and feel that kind of otherworldliness, the sense of moving in a dream and making decisions that you didn’t know you had to make, or if you were sure of what you were saying.
Gene was terribly upset by it. He wouldn’t talk about it though. He was like his father in that. Neither one of them ever talked about things. Gene stayed here for a week then went back to college and was allowed into his apartment early and he stayed there the rest of the summer. It would have been better if we could have helped each other but that didn’t happen. I don’t think I tried too hard myself. I wanted him to stay but I could see it wasn’t helping either one of us. We were just avoiding each other and when I tried to talk to him about his father he said, Nevermind, Mom. It doesn’t matter now. Of course it did matter. He had a great buildup of anger and resentment toward Carl and I don’t think he’s gotten free of it to this day. It’s partly what affects his connection with Jamie. He seems to be repeating what happened between him and his own father.
You can??
?t fix things, can you, Louis said.
We always want to. But we can’t.
34
On a Sunday they sat at the kitchen table over their morning coffee. There was an advertisement in the Post about the coming theatrical season at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. Addie said, Did you see they’re going to do that last book about Holt County? The one with the old man dying and the preacher.
They did those other two so I guess they might as well do this one too, Louis said.
Did you see those earlier ones?
I saw them. But I can’t imagine two old ranchers taking in a pregnant girl.
It might happen, she said. People can do the unexpected.
I don’t know, Louis said. But it’s his imagination. He took the physical details from Holt, the place names of the streets and what the country looks like and the location of things, but it’s not this town. And it’s not anybody in this town. All that’s made up. Did you know any old brothers like that? Did that happen here?
Not that I know of. Or ever heard of.
It’s all imagined, he said.
He could write a book about us. How would you like that?
I don’t want to be in any book, Louis said.
But we’re no more improbable than the story of the two old cattle ranchers.
But this is different.
How different? Addie said.
Well, it’s us. We don’t seem improbable to me.
You thought so at first.
I didn’t know what to think. You surprised me.
Don’t you feel okay now?
It was a good surprise. I’m not saying it wasn’t. But I still don’t understand how you got the idea of asking me.
I told you. Loneliness. Wanting to talk in the night.
It seems brave. You were taking a risk.
Yes. But if it didn’t work I’d be no worse off. Except for the humiliation of being turned down. But I didn’t think you would tell anyone about it so it would be just you and me who would know if you did turn me down. But everyone knows now. They have for months. We’re old news.
We’re not even old news. We’re not even news of any kind at all, old or new, Louis said.
Do you want to be news?
No. Hell. I just want to live simply and pay attention to what’s happening each day. And come sleep with you at night.
Well, that’s what we’re doing. Who would have thought at this time in our lives that we’d still have something like this. That it turns out we’re not finished with changes and excitements. And not all dried up in body and spirit.
And we’re not even doing what people think we’re doing.
Do you want to? Addie said.
That’s entirely up to you.
35
Toward the end of August Gene drove over the mountains and out to Holt on a Saturday to take his son home. He arrived at his mother’s house late in the afternoon and came up and hugged them both and then walked down the street with Jamie and the dog.
Don’t you like her?
Of course I do.
You don’t ever touch her. You haven’t petted her once.
He leaned down over the dog and patted her head and talked kindly to her and they went on around the block then back up to Addie’s house through the alley. They ate supper and at night Gene slept with Jamie and the dog together in the same double bed in the back bedroom. Louis stayed away.
In the morning they packed up Jamie’s clothes, toys and baseball stuff and the dog dish and food. Then the boy said, I have to say good-bye to Louis.
We need to go.
Just for a minute, Dad. I have to.
Don’t take too long then.
He ran over to Louis’s house but he wasn’t home. He opened the door and called inside and ran through the rooms. He came back crying.
You can call him later, his father said.
It’s not the same.
We can’t wait. It’s going to be late already by the time we get home.
Addie hugged him hard and said, Now you call me, you hear? I want to know how you’re doing and how school is. Jamie was clinging to her. She gradually loosened his hands. Just be sure you call me.
I’ll call, Grandma.
She kissed Gene. And you be patient.
I know, Mom.
I hope so. You call me too.
They started up, the boy and the dog together at the window in the back seat looking at her standing on the curb. The boy was still crying. Addie watched the car until it turned out of sight. By the time it was dark Louis had not come over to her house yet so she called him. Where are you? Aren’t you coming over?
I didn’t know if I should.
You don’t understand yet, do you. I don’t want to be alone and brood like you do working things out by myself. I want you to come over so I can talk to you.
Let me clean up first.
You don’t need to clean up.
Yes, I want to. I’ll be there in an hour.
Well, I’ll still be here, she said. I’ll be waiting.
He shaved and showered as he always did and in the darkness of evening walked over past the neighbors’ houses and she was sitting on the porch waiting for him and she got up and stood on the steps and kissed him for the first time where people could see them. You’re so wrongheaded sometimes, she said. I don’t know if you’ll ever learn.
I never thought of myself as a slow learner. But I must be.
You are when it comes to me.
I know what I think of you and how much you mean to me. But I can’t get it in my head that I mean anything like the same to you.
I’m not going into that again. That’s your problem, not mine. Now let’s go upstairs.
In bed they held each other in the dark and she said, I don’t know how it’s going to work out.
Are you still talking about us?
I’m talking about my son and grandson and the boy’s mother. He was crying when he left. Do you know why?
Because he’s going to miss you.
Yes, she said. But he was crying because he didn’t get to say good-bye to you. Where were you?
I went out to drive around in the country and then I decided to drive over to Phillips to eat lunch and didn’t get back till late afternoon.
He went to your house to see you before he left. That’s how much he cares for you.
I care about him too.
I just hope Gene and his wife can do better. Maybe they’ve learned something over the summer. I’m already worried about them.
What did you tell me? Something about not being able to fix people’s lives.
That was for you, she said. Not for me.
I see, Louis said.
Oh I feel better already talking with you here next to me.
We haven’t even said much of anything yet.
But I do feel better already. I thank you for that. I’m grateful for all of this. I feel very fortunate again now.
36
After Jamie had left they tried to do what the town thought all along they’d been doing but hadn’t. By now Louis had long begun undressing in the bedroom, he got into his pajamas and was faced away from the bed where Addie was lying under a cotton sheet, and then he turned toward her and without his knowing she had drawn the sheet back and was lying naked on the bed in the low light of the bedside lamp. He stood looking at her.
Don’t stand there, she said. You make me nervous.
Don’t be, he said. You look lovely.
I’m too heavy around the hips and stomach. This old body. I’m an old woman now.
Well, old woman Moore. You’ve won me completely. You’re just right. You’re how you’re supposed to look. You’re not supposed to be some thirteen-year-old girl without any breasts and hips.
Well, I’m not that now if I ever was.
Look how I’ve turned out, he said. I’ve got this gut on me. My arms and legs are thin old man’s arms and legs.
You look good to
me, she said. But you keep standing there. Aren’t you going to lie down? Are you just going to stand there all night?
Louis got out of his pajamas and slid into bed and she moved over closer to him and took his hand and kissed him and he turned on his side and kissed her and touched her shoulder and touched her breasts.
It’s been a long time since anyone did that, she said.
It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this.
He kissed her again and touched her and then she pulled him closer and he lifted in the bed and lay kissing her face and neck and shoulders and moved over and started to move and then stopped after a short while.
What’s wrong?
I can’t stay hard. I’ve got the old man’s complaint.
Have you had this trouble before?
No. But I haven’t tried this for years either. The limp time has come, as the poet says. I’m just an old son of a bitch now.
He lay back and settled beside her in the dark.
Do you feel bad? she said.
Yeah, a little. But more than anything I feel I’ve disappointed you.
You haven’t. It’s just the first time. We have all the time ahead of us.
Maybe I ought to try some of those pills they advertise on TV.