“I have to ask you, though—don’t you get lonely?”
“Oh, well.” She laughed a little. “There is more in the world than a marriage and children, Mr. Griffin. More than a love relationship. I have friends. I sing in the choir at church. I travel, I read, I go to plays and concerts. I have a little gray cat that sleeps at the foot of my bed. I buy outrageously expensive cheeses and I eat them all. And you know, I still love that boy. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. He lives on in my heart. And in that way, I have love in my life, too.” She leaned forward, spoke earnestly. “You see? I feel lucky to have found such a love. So many people don’t.” She smiled. “You shouldn’t feel sorry for me!”
“It’s true that I used to.”
“Yes, a lot of people do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
He stood, straightened his tie. “You know, I’m really glad you told me all this, Evelyn.”
“I am, too.” She hesitated, then asked, “Was there anything else?”
“No. But…Evelyn? I just want to say that I think you’re pretty wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
“I really mean it.”
“I know you do. You’re a kind and honest man, Mr. Griffin. I’ve known it since the day I first met you.”
“Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I know. And here’s something else I know. Right now you need to get to a marketing meeting that started ten minutes ago.”
* * *
Ellen made beef stew. He smelled it before he opened the door. When he came into the kitchen, he found her at the table, drawing pictures with Zoe. He rubbed Zoe’s head. “Hello, you.”
“We’re drawing.”
“I see that.” It was landscapes they were focusing on: Zoe had drawn a mountain, the peaks craggy and imposing; Ellen had drawn a green field full of flowers. “Smells good,” he told Ellen.
“It seemed like a good day for it, even if it is so much warmer,” Ellen said, and there was a kindness in her voice he’d not heard in a long time.
“How long until we eat?” Zoe asked, and when Ellen told her twenty-five minutes, she said, “If I finish my homework before then, will you give me a dollar?”
“No,” Ellen said.
“Anything?”
“My admiration.”
“Okay.” She ran up to her room.
There was the sound of the stew beginning to boil, and Ellen went over to turn down the flame. He watched her hold back her hair, blow carefully on the spoon, then taste. “Mmmm. It’s good.”
“I saw Louise this morning,” Griffin said.
Her back stiffened. “Oh?” She did not turn around.
“Yeah. Stopped for breakfast, just for a change. She’s a very nice woman.”
Ellen went to the sink for a sponge, wiped down the counter. “Yes, she is.”
“She’s a friend of yours, huh?”
She turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Just that. Jesus, just that, Ellen.”
“Oh. Well, yes. She is. Listen, how was Zoe with you this morning? A little cranky?”
“A lot cranky.”
“Yeah, with me, too. I think it’s because last night I told her we wouldn’t be having Thanksgiving dinner together. But I guess we need to remember she used to have these days before, too.”
“I guess.”
“I got the job I was telling you about, Griffin. I start tomorrow.”
“Good. Now I can hear what it is.”
“Don’t make fun of it.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, don’t.”
“I said I wouldn’t!” Stuffing envelopes? Delivering newspapers?
“It’s just…as a waitress. At the pancake house on North Avenue. Louise told me you can make pretty good tips there.”
“The one next to the optician’s?” She nodded, and it was all he could do to keep quiet. The place was run-down, tacky looking. Oftentimes, there was a line of motorcycles outside, a group of beefy Hells Angels inside. He and Ellen had taken Zoe there once, Zoe having heard they made great chocolate chip pancakes. The waitresses were mainly teenagers; they wore brown dresses with puffy sleeves, orange ruffled aprons. And they had to wear silly little hats—puffs of transparent white, with orange and brown ribbons hanging down the back. On the day they went, their sullen waitress had lost her hat in the middle of Ellen’s blueberry short stack.
He looked at her, unsure of what to say. Finally, he nodded, in what he hoped was a noncommittal way. “Ah.”
“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me!”
“I’m not! But…” He sighed. “Is that really the best you could do, Ellen?”
She took off her apron, hung it on its hook. “I’m going.”
He moved beside her, put his hand on her arm. “Ellen. Wait a minute.”
She went to the closet for her coat and purse. “You don’t need to say anything, Griffin. I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you’d do this.”
“Do what? What did I do? I just think this job is beneath you, Ellen. Is that so bad? You’re too good to do it.”
“It is a job that will let me earn some money and still take care of my daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
“I don’t know how to work in an office, nor do I want to. This place will take me with no experience, and it’s better than McDonald’s. The answer to your question is yes, I did the best I could.”
Their life was a minefield. It probably always had been. He could not say anything to her without it turning into something else.
She opened the door, turned back. “This is why, Griffin. This, too.” She took in a deep breath. She was very close to tears. “I’ll pick up Zoe at school tomorrow and bring her home with me. I’ll bring her back Saturday. You work Friday night, right?”
“Right.”
“At your job as a Santa.”
He hung his head, and she shut the door softly behind her. What would he say when Zoe came down to dinner? Mommy had to go? Why not the truth? Why not, Dad hurt Mommy’s feelings, Dad is always doing that.
The phone rang and, miserable, he picked it up.
“Hi!” It was Donna.
“Hey. How are you.”
“Uh oh. Bad time, huh?”
“No. I’m all right. What’s up?”
“I’m just calling to see what your plans are for Thanksgiving. If you’re not busy, would you like to have dinner with me at Estelle’s?”
He said nothing.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry. Uh…Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’d really like to have dinner with you. We need to talk.”
It was as he was tucking Zoe in that night that she began to cry. She turned away from Griffin, pulled the covers up over her face.
“Zoe.”
She would not look at him.
He wrapped his arms around her. “I know.”
“No, you don’t!” Her voice was muffled, angry.
“Well, I just want you know I’m sorry you feel bad. I know how it is to feel bad. Are you thinking about Mommy?”
She said nothing, turned over and looked at him. “Why did she go?”
This question was too hard for him. The truth was too hard; lies were too hard. But he said, “She went because she needed to find something out, Zoe. It is something that she has to do all by herself. And even though she loves you very much, she had to leave you for a while to do it. I’m so sorry for how hard it is. I wonder if you could tell me some things to do that might help.”
She sniffed, wiped at her eyes. She had stopped crying already. “I want to see some pictures of her.”
“Okay.”
“Will you go get some?”
“Yes, I will.”
He went into the family room, grabbed an album, and brought it up to her bedside. “Want to look with me?” she said, and he said of
course he did, though he did not. He was afraid to look.
But there, she had opened to the first page. “Here’s where we went to Washington, D.C.,” she said. “I was six.”
“Yes,” he said. “We were feeding the ducks at that pond, you and I. Look at how pretty the cherry blossoms are.”
“But where’s Mommy?”
“She was taking the picture.”
“Oh.” She turned the page. “There’s one of Mommy.”
It was last summer. Ellen stood in the backyard at the picnic table. She was handing Zoe a plateful of food, and had turned to the camera as he had called her name. She was wearing an old T-shirt and some cutoffs, and her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She was smiling, her face flushed with pleasure. A daisy was tucked behind her ear. He remembered, suddenly, something Ellen had told him that night, long after Zoe had gone to bed. They’d been sitting on the porch steps sharing a beer, Ellen leaning back on her elbows. “I am living in the wrong time,” she’d said, suddenly. And when he asked her what she meant, she said, “I am fulfilled by the making of hamburger patties, by the care of my child. I like the smell of laundry detergent. I like listening to what Zoe says more than reading the newspaper. I don’t want to be a photographer or run for office. I don’t want to make a million dollars. I want to read poetry and novels and raise my daughter and make chocolate chip cookies.” And when he said there was nothing wrong with that, she told him he was the only one who thought so, and she wasn’t so sure he really thought that, either. He asked her why she would ever say such a thing and she said, “Well, you just don’t seem very…proud of me.” He started to say that he was, but she interrupted him, saying, “Don’t. It’s like my saying you never say you love me, and your saying it then. It doesn’t matter, then. It doesn’t count.” It was so clear, this memory. Every word. The smell of the grass that night, newly cut that afternoon. The way the heaviness in the air had lifted, after it had been so muggy all that week. And the nagging irritation that came from what she said, the way he’d felt, Oh, Christ, now what? Because it had been just a nice summer night, and then she’d had to start something. Was that wrong of him? Was it?
Zoe ran her finger down the side of Ellen’s face. “Let’s put this picture on my nightstand. Can I take it out?”
“Of course.”
She took the photo out from behind the plastic and leaned it against her lamp. “Okay,” she said. “You can go now.”
He smiled, kissed the top of her head. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Anything?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay. Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Am I feminine?”
He had no idea what to say. But, finally, “Yes, you are,” he said.
“Okay. Good night.”
“Zoe?”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” she said. But he felt she did. It was just that she was beginning to keep things to herself. Well, her mother’s daughter.
He closed her door, began walking toward the stairs. Her mother’s daughter, unless she were her father’s. Was it him? Was there something about him that told females that he would not be receptive?
He went back to Zoe’s room, opened her door. “Hey, Zoe?”
“Yeah?” Already her voice was sleepy.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Silence. And then, “…Yeah.”
“Well, I just wanted to remind you of that. You can tell me everything.”
“Okay. ‘Cept I don’t want to, Dad.”
“Well, that’s…all right. I just wanted to tell you that you can.”
“Okay. Good night, Dad.”
Chapter 20
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Ellen called Griffin at work. “I can’t pick up Zoe at school,” she said. “My car is…I don’t know, there’s something wrong with it.”
And? If Peter was a mechanic, why didn’t he fix it? “Well, what is it? Some big deal, expensive thing?”
“I don’t know, yet. I’ll take care of it. But the thing is, you’ll need to bring Zoe over here. Can you do that?”
“I could.”
“And…I’m at work. Would you mind picking me up and giving me a lift home as well?”
“You’re at work now?”
A beat of silence. He felt her embarrassment come over the phone like a scent you walk into. He started to say that he didn’t mean anything by asking, he was just making conversation, but then she said briskly, “Yes, I’m at work. Can you just do what I asked you to do?”
“I said, yes.”
“No, you didn’t. You said you could.”
“Well, I will. Is that clear enough for you?”
She hung up. He sighed, went out to Evelyn’s desk to tell her he’d need to be leaving early today. “You could go right now,” she told him. “There’s nothing pressing this afternoon.”
He stood there, frowning slightly. Then, “Maybe I will,” he said. He went into his office for his coat and briefcase. On the way out, he said, “Don’t eat too much turkey, Evelyn.”
“Oh, I never do. I hate turkey. I always eat prime rib.”
He stopped, turned around. “Do you?”
She shrugged. The phone rang, and she waved him away, saying to the caller, “I’m sorry; he’s left for the day.”
When he stepped outside, he took a deep breath of the cold air. The sky was getting clouded over. An excuse to hurry.
Zoe disagreed with Griffin over what she should pack. She claimed she needed only one set of clothes. “But you’ll be there for three days!” Griffin said.
“So?”
“So you need at least two outfits.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t wear the same thing every day!”
“Why not?”
Griffin sighed. “Because it might get dirty.”
“Then Mommy can wash it.”
He stared into her clear eyes, so like Ellen’s. Then he said, “Fine. But you have to bring clean underwear for all three days.”
“I know. And you don’t need to be here. I can pack by myself.”
As they pulled out of the driveway, Zoe asked, “What does it look like, where Mommy lives?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t been there, yet. But we’re going to pick her up at work, first.”
“We are?”
“Yes. You knew she had a job, right?”
“Yeah. At the pancake house.” She was looking out the window, her knee bouncing rapidly.
“What do you think about that?” Griffin asked.
She turned toward him, stopped her knee. “About what?”
“About Mommy’s job.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. She gets to eat for free. She gets tips every day.”
“Uh huh.”
“I guess it’s good.” The knee again. “Is it?”
“Oh, sure, it is.” He turned on the radio, and Zoe immediately tuned it to another station.
“Hey!” Griffin said. “Why did you do that?”
“It’s old-mannish, your music.”
“It’s what?”
“Old-mannish!”
“I see. Tell me, Zoe, are you a little nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous?”
“No reason. Never mind.”
“It’s just Mommy! Jeez! Why would I be nervous?”
All right, question answered.
When they arrived at the restaurant, Griffin turned into the parking lot, checked his watch. A few minutes early. He cut the engine, looked out the windshield at the darkening sky. “Looks like rain.”
“Snow,” Zoe said.
“How do you know?”
“My teacher said. She knows the weather all the time. She calls it on the telephone.”
They sat quietly for a while, and then Griffin said, “Let’s go in and get her.”
“Can I wa
it here?” Zoe asked. “With the radio on?”
What had happened? Had she become a teenager in her sleep? “Don’t you want to go in?”
“I want to listen to the radio. Even Mommy lets me wait in the car alone.”
“She does?”
“Yeah. When she’s coming right back and she can see me and if the doors are locked.”
“Well, I will be coming right back. Okay.”
When Griffin pushed open the door to the restaurant, he saw Ellen right away, standing directly across the room. Her back was to him. She was totaling up a bill—she tore it off her pad, and laid it facedown on the table where two grossly overweight men sat. One of them looked at it, then called her back as she was starting to walk away. “This isn’t right,” Griffin heard him say.
Ellen took the bill, looked at it again. The man waited, then said, “Check your addition, honey.” He adjusted the toothpick in his mouth, winked at his tablemate.
Ellen added again, and he could see the faint blush on the back of her neck. Then, “Sorry,” she said, and handed the bill back to the man. He shook his head. “Here’s the mistake,” he said, and gave the bill back to her again. “Christ’s sake,” he muttered.
Two tables away, a young woman wearing multiple bangle bracelets waved her hand in the air. “Excuse me! Do you think I could get more coffee today?” Ellen started toward her and the man with the incorrect check grabbed her arm, saying, “Hey! What about this?”
Griffin started toward her, then went back outside, instead. He wouldn’t let her know he had seen this. When he got in the car, Zoe turned the music she’d been blasting down to a normal level. “Where’s Mommy? Isn’t she coming?”
“She’s on her way.” He turned the radio back up, bobbed his head in time to the music, and Zoe rolled her eyes, turned to look out the window, and began to sing softly along.
He saw Ellen come out the door, tooted the horn, and she began walking quickly toward them. She was wearing new waitress shoes, and when she slid into the car next to Zoe, he could see the perfect circle of catsup stain on one of them. “Have you been waiting long?” she asked.
“Just got here, really.”