Twice, he kissed her. Once on the cheek, and once on the top of her head. On the top of her head, like he was her goddamn father! When the lights came up, Griffin rose rapidly. He wanted out of there, he didn’t want to see them anymore.
The ride home with Donna was silent, awkward. He walked her to the door and started to follow her in. But she stopped him, saying, “What are you doing?”
He smiled. “I thought I’d just come in and maybe we could take up where we left off.”
She nodded. “I see. Well, I’m not interested in being your means for revenge. I like you very much, Griffin, but I haven’t been with you tonight since we saw your wife. I don’t blame you; I understand. But don’t come in my house and use me to hurt her.”
He stood quietly for a moment. “It wouldn’t be that.”
“Maybe not all. But mostly.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry.” He took her hand, kissed it. “Next time, let’s rent a movie.”
She laughed. “Okay.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Forget it. I’ll see you another time.”
He drove home, overwhelmed with conflicting feelings. Primary among these was his anger with Ellen. Peter was so young! That had to be why Ellen had dyed her hair. She was having a full-blown midlife crisis, and everyone around her was having to pay the price.
He walked into the darkened house, switched on the kitchen light, and saw Ellen sitting at the kitchen table. They were both surprised. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was just going to ask you that.”
“I live here.”
“Well, so do I.”
“Why are you sitting in the dark like a crazy person?”
“I’m thinking.”
“I’ll bet you are.” He got a spoon, then went to the freezer and pulled out a half gallon of chocolate chip ice cream. Then he sat at the table with Ellen and began to eat it. “Why aren’t you spending the night with Lancelot? Or isn’t he toilet trained yet?”
“Very funny.”
“Jesus, Ellen. It’s really weird. You’re old enough to be his mother.”
“Not quite, Griffin.”
He spoke around a mouthful of ice cream. “Give me a break. What is he, twenty-one?”
“Twenty-seven.”
He rolled his eyes, took another huge mouthful of ice cream. Ellen got up for a glass, then poured herself a good-sized serving of wine. “It is not unusual for a younger man to be attracted to an older woman.” She sat down, took a sip of her wine. Then, quickly, another.
“And vice versa. Right, Ellen?”
“Yes. We find each other very attractive. That’s right.”
“So why aren’t you with him now?”
She looked into her glass. “We had a disagreement.”
“Really!”
She looked up, challenging him. “Yes. Really.”
He pointed to her glass. “Give me a sip, would you?”
She sat immobile, and he reached over and helped himself, then set the glass back in front of her, moving it with exaggerated care very slightly to the left so that it would be exactly where it was.
“I didn’t say you could have any of my wine,” she said.
“Didn’t say I couldn’t, either.”
She pulled his ice cream toward her, took a gigantic bite of it. Griffin rose, went to the cupboard and returned with a tablespoon for her. “Help yourself. I don’t mind sharing.”
“The hell you don’t.”
He stopped his spoon midbite. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you—”
“Nothing. I just said it. I just felt like saying it, okay? I felt like being mean.” She looked away from him and ran her hand through her hair, that old gesture. It was as close as she could come to an apology; he knew that.
They sat quietly for a while, eating ice cream, drinking wine. And then Griffin said, “Well, what did you fight about?”
“You, actually.” Ellen’s eyes had the bleary look they got whenever she drank. Griffin was feeling a quarter past mellow, himself. He was feeling…generous, in fact. He would listen to all she had to say about Lug Nuts and not get upset at all.
“He thought I was…preoccupied with you.”
“Did he.”
“Yes.”
“Were you?”
“No! I mean, I was a little…It was bizarre, seeing you there. With that Donna.” She took another swallow of her wine, finishing her glass. “You know, I hate that name. It’s such a non name. I mean, no offense, she was very pretty. And seemed very nice. Very nice.”
He scraped the bottom of the carton for more ice cream—it was almost gone. “Yeah, she is very pretty.” He held the carton out to Ellen. “Want the last of it?”
“No. I’m stuffed.”
“Hey, no pain, no gain.”
She smiled, then laughed out loud. He watched her, his teeth hurting from so much ice cream, then laughed with her. Then he said, “Let’s go out.”
She stopped laughing. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Want to go to Halsted Street and hear some blues?”
“We’ve never gone there!”
“I’m asking you if you want to go.” He brought his dishes over to the sink and washed them.
“Why do you always do that?” Ellen asked.
“What?”
“Why do you always have to immediately clean up every dish you use?”
“Well, what should I do with dirty dishes, Ellen? Decorate the house with them, as you do?”
“Yes! Yes, you should! Every once in a while, you should just let something lie there! You’re so…You need to just loosen up a little, Griffin.”
He stared at her, wondered if he were weaving a bit. Then he took her glass from her and brought it into the living room. “What do you think?” he called. “The mantel?”
She came into the living room, giggling a little. “The lamp,” she said. “Put it on the lamp.”
When he laid it carefully on the top of the shade, she applauded. “Good!”
The phone rang then, and Ellen’s face turned serious. “Something’s happened to Zoe.” She walked quickly into the kitchen, picked up the receiver, and said hello. And then she said, “Oh,” and turned her back to Griffin.
“No, I did not,” she said.
She was quiet for a while, listening. Then she said, “Well, I should think so. At least.” Her tone was soft, flirtatious.
“I can’t now,” she said, taking a quick look at Griffin, who sat near her at the kitchen table. “No, I can’t. Let’s just—”
She listened, laughed. “Oh, all right.”
She hung up and turned around. “I’m…going out.”
He sat motionless while she got her coat and her purse. Then he called out for her to wait a minute.
He came into the hall, where she had her hand on the doorknob. “Hold on, Ellen; I want to ask your opinion about something.”
He picked up the glass he’d laid on top of the lamp and hurled it at the fireplace. The sound of the glass breaking was high and bright and satisfyingly loud, an epithet in silica and silicates, a splendid piece of nonverbal communication, he thought. Quite economical, too—so much contained in so little. Wonderfully specific. “How’s that?” he asked. But by the time he turned around, she was gone.
Chapter 15
Griffin awakened to the sound of Ellen’s voice. It was low, musical. She was talking to Zoe—he heard his daughter’s high, excited responses. Apparently Zoe was back from her sleepover and wanted to go outside and play with the neighborhood boys. Ellen was negotiating with her to put the things in her overnight bag away first. “Put your dirty clothes in the hamper, put your toothbrush back in its holder, and put your duffel bag back in your closet. That’s all you have to do. That’s not so much, Zoe.”
Griffin heard the muffled thump of Zoe’s falling onto the stairs, her position of choice for
protest. She would be assuming the whine-and-sigh position, becoming the boneless mass of flesh she transformed herself into when she didn’t want to do something. It was a miracle, really; her weight actually seemed to increase—Griffin knew from the times he’d tried to pick her up when she was like this. “Come on, Zoe, let’s get going,” he’d say, and Zoe would hang lifeless from the circle of Griffin’s arms, nearly breaking them.
“Can’t you do it, Mom?”
“I told you to, Zoe.”
“Why do I have to do it?”
“Well. Whose things are they?”
“Yeah, but you’re the mother.”
“Yes, I am. So?”
A pause, and then Zoe said, “So it’s your job!”
“My job,” Ellen said, “is to teach you to take care of yourself someday. Now, do what I asked you to do, or you will not go outside.”
“They’re waiting.”
“Well, the sooner you do it, the less time they’ll have to wait.”
“Okay!” Zoe stomped up the stairs, slammed the door to her room.
Griffin got out of bed and went to knock at her door. “I’m doing it!” she yelled.
He opened the door, and Zoe said, “Oh.” She was sitting on her bed, the contents of her duffel bag spread out around her.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Mommy. She’s in a bad mood.”
“Is that right.”
“Yes.”
“What makes you say so?”
“Because she is so crabby.”
Griffin sat beside her. “And why is it that Mommy’s so crabby?”
Zoe shrugged, ran her toothbrush absentmindedly through her hair. “I don’t know.” She got up to throw her empty duffel bag into her closet. “She makes me do everything.”
“Like put your things away.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why she’s in a bad mood.”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
Zoe picked up her dirty clothes. “Will you put these in the hamper?”
“I think you can do that, Zoe.”
“I got other stuff to do, Dad!”
“I’ve got other things to do.”
“Fine. I’ve.”
“Well, you’d better do what you have to, so that you can do what you want.”
Zoe sighed, then gathered her clothes together and went down the hall to the hamper. Then Griffin heard her clattering down the stairs, saying, “Mom! I’m done!”
“You did everything?”
“Yes!”
“All right. Be home at noon for lunch. We’ll have pizza.”
“Okay. Oh—Mom, will you feed my ant?” A pause, and then, “All right, I know, You can do it, Zoe.”
“That’s right,” Ellen said. And then, “What’s the matter with you today, Zoe? Are you tired?”
“No! I just feel like taking the day off!”
“Ah. Well, another day, perhaps.”
The door slammed. Griffin went back to the bedroom and got his robe, his slippers. He was reluctant to go downstairs after what had happened last night; he was embarrassed about his behavior. After Ellen pulled away from the curb, he’d cleaned up the glass and taken it out to the trash. He’d stood outside for a while, looking up at the stars and shivering. Then he’d come inside and finished the bottle of wine he and Ellen had been drinking and gone to bed. He’d lain there, imagining the things Ellen would report to her sympathetic boyfriend, emphasis on boy. “And then he threw a wineglass across the room,” Ellen would say, and Peter would say, “What? What?”
“Yes,” she would say, nestled against his chest.
“If he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Motor Man would say. And then, in an act of supreme consolation, he would make love to her, so tenderly. Well, so what? What difference would one more time make? They’d been at it for a long time, now.
Griffin stood at the mirror, raked through his hair with his fingers. His mouth was dry, his head hurt, his eyeballs felt heavy in his skull. Hangover.
He came into the kitchen, where Ellen was. He nodded at her, then sat at the kitchen table.
“Coffee?” she asked, her back to him.
“No thanks. Zoe’s tired, huh?”
Ellen came to sit across from him. “I guess so.”
“You know, maybe we shouldn’t let her—”
“I’m moving out, Griffin.” Her voice was impossibly flat.
He stared at her, could not speak. Finally, he said, “Look, I’m sorry about the glass, okay? I don’t know why that happened. You know I never do things like that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not because of that, Griffin. I understood that. Actually, I was kind of glad to see you react to something. To me.”
He would never understand her. She liked him throwing glasses. Maybe she did have a brain tumor. “What are you talking about, Ellen? I didn’t react to you before? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, Griffin. You know, this whole thing is so…It’s so hard to talk about. But one of the reasons I want to leave is…Well, it’s true! You don’t ever react to me as me. I mean, you live your own, neat, circumscribed life. You have what you want; you see what you want to see. You are so impenetrably self-satisfied. I feel like this package you carry around and never open. You—”
He held up his hand. “Stop. I get the point. Just…stop. Stop telling me how I failed with you. Stop calling me a failure.”
“I’m not! I’m not calling you a failure! I’m just trying to tell you why we don’t work together, as far as I’m concerned.” He stared at her moving mouth, thought about how up and down their block people were having normal conversations, making plans for what to do that night. He heard the shouts of children, the barking of dogs. Birds gathered at feeders, clouds moved across the blue sky. And here he sat, disintegrating.
Ellen started to get up, then sat down again. “You know, you can have an opinion about us! You can tell me whatever you want! I’ll listen! What do you think, Griffin? I mean, truly.”
He was so amazingly tired. His headache had worsened. He stared at the tabletop. Then he said, “Didn’t we…sort of…have something last night, Ellen? Weren’t we having fun? Wasn’t it really comfortable, being together like that? Doesn’t it mean something, to have that kind of comfort?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet now.
“I mean, there we were, laughing and talking, and then you get this phone call from Opie and you just…leave.”
“Griffin. You and I get along, sometimes. We get along almost all the time. But that’s not enough.”
“So what does he do, Ellen? What is better with him? What does he give you that I can’t?” He asked this question, but he was thinking, Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me. Don’t say it.
She leaned back in her chair. “You know, I don’t think I even know, Griffin. It’s just that I…open up with him.”
“So to speak,” he said, bitterly.
“Yes. I do open up with him sexually. But also, I open up to him intellectually. He cares about what I think, about how I think, what I am.”
He stood up. It was crazy for him to sit here and ask such questions. The answers killed him, a piece at a time. He felt like vomiting. And his head. He moved to the window, looked out, asked, “When are you leaving?”
“Today.”
He turned around. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I think it’s better to do it on the weekend to give Zoe time to recover a little.”
“But you don’t have anywhere to go! I thought you said you weren’t going to move in with him!”
“I’m not.”
“Well, you can’t have found a place already.”
“I looked at a place a few weeks ago. I called this morning and it’s still available.”
When had she called? How could she do this, walk around full of such secrets? What kind of person did such a thing? Somewhere inside him, a vital seam threatened, then gave. He clenche
d a fist, made himself go blank.
“How much is this going to cost?” he asked.
“I have money.”
“From where?” Oh, God, please, not from him.
“Birthday money from my parents, things like that. I’ve been saving for a while.”
“You’ve been saving for a while.”
“Yes.”
She might as well have been telling him about the sixteen people she’d murdered and buried under the front porch.
He walked across the kitchen, then turned and stood at the threshold. “We’re going to tell Zoe today.”
“Yes. Good, I’m glad you agree we should tell her together.”
“We are going to tell Zoe, and then, immediately afterward, I want you the fuck out of here, Ellen.”
Her mouth tightened and she looked away from him, muttered something he did not hear and did not ask her to repeat.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a while, thinking. He shouldn’t have been in his pajamas when she told him. He should have been power-dressed—he should have at least been dressed. Everything he did lately was wrong.
So. This was the last morning he’d wake up to the sound of Ellen and Zoe’s voices. When Zoe was a baby and would awaken in the middle of the night, Griffin would lie in bed and listen to Ellen talking to her. He’d hear the creak of the rocker moving back and forth, he’d hear the little stories she would tell Zoe as she nursed her. She would make up tales about friendly giants who had weaknesses for chocolate cake, about cats who talked on the phone to other cats, about fairies who lived behind the walls of houses, in houses of their own. She would tell Zoe the names of all her relatives (and Aunt Lottie in Nebraska? She makes the most wonderful sugar cookies, Zoe, bigger than your whole head). She would tell Zoe the names of the flowers in the garden, of the trees that lined the block. She would sing nonsense songs that comforted with their words and melody, in the same way that a few simple notes, played on a piano in a certain way, could move you.
What Griffin liked best, though, was when Ellen told Zoe what they would do the next morning, all about Zoe’s bath and breakfast, her apricots and her yellow towel; how afterward they would take their usual morning walk to the grocery store, and maybe they would see Bennie the dog lying on McPherson’s porch, and how they would buy things for dinner—for Zo e and for Mom my and for Daddy. Always, it was that last detail that, however exhausted he might be, he stayed awake for, because it told him he belonged. And it told him he wasn’t dreaming, that the plain beauty of his wife talking to his baby daughter about the life they all lived together was something he really had, and could keep.