Say When (18 page)

G
riffin dreamed he was in a bank, waiting in a long line. Soft music played in the background, an anemic version of “Penny Lane.” The carpet beneath his feet was thick, a lush blue-green color; the wall sconces glowed; the sounds of conversation were muted and friendly. The man in front of him suddenly brandished a gun and ordered the tellers to put their money on the counter before them. He was wearing all black, including a skullcap over a long, blond ponytail. Griffin realized it was Peter at the same time that the bank alarm began ringing. “Help me get the money!” he told Griffin, and Griffin did—walked slow-motion up to the tellers and collected neat stacks of bills to put into Peter’s paper bag. The alarm was deafeningly loud, but apparently useless; no one came to help. Peter ran to the door, turned, and threw his gun to Griffin. Then he was gone. Griffin stood still, openmouthed, the gun heavy in his hands. Everyone in the bank turned toward him and slowly raised their hands.

Griffin awakened, reached over to turn off the alarm. He always set the thing, but rarely needed it. Today, though, he felt dizzy with fatigue. He lay still for a moment, reconstructing the dream, details of which were already fading. Peter as robber, though; that detail was clear. Not too much work required there for interpretation. Although Ellen might tell him the dream wasn’t about Peter at all.

He put on his robe, went downstairs to make coffee and to turn up the heat. The sky was blue, the sun coming out strong, but there was frost etched delicately along the edges of all the windows. It would melt soon. He’d wake Zoe a couple of minutes early, bring her down to show her how pretty it looked.

Her room was dark and when Griffin raised the shade, she moaned, “Dad!
Don’t!”

He moved to stand beside her. Her eyes were closed tightly, the blankets pulled up to under her nose. She smelled of childsleep: a combination of hair and salty flesh and cotton. “It’s time to get up, Zoe. Come downstairs; I want to show you something.”

She opened her eyes. “What?”

Griffin pulled back her covers. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Angrily, she pulled the blankets back up. “Don’t! It’s freezing! And anyway, I don’t want to see
anything.”

He sat on the bed, put his hand to her shoulder. “Hey. What’s up? What are you so mad about?”

She closed her eyes again, lay still. It came to him that, given the circumstances, this was a stupid question to ask. She had a million things to be angry about.

“Zoe?”

“What?”

Griffin sighed. “Get dressed and come down for breakfast. You don’t want to be late for school.”

“I don’t care if I am.”

“I care. Now come on, get dressed.”

When Zoe appeared at the breakfast table, her spirits had not improved. She scowled into her bowl of cereal, ate a few bites, then pushed it all away. “What did you want to show me?”

“Nothing.”

Now she was interested. “What was it, though?”

“Nothing—really, Zoe. There was frost at the windows this morning. It was really pretty. I just wanted to show you.”

“You wanted to show me frost?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve seen frost before, Dad.”

“I know that. It was just very pretty.”

“I don’t think it’s pretty.”

“Well, you are entitled to your opinion. As am I.”

“I think it’s stupid.”

He stood up, cleared away her dishes, began rinsing them for the dishwasher. “Did you brush your teeth? Make your bed?”

Nothing.

He turned around. “Zoe?”

“I’ll do it! God, Dad, you treat me like a baby! You always have to ask me did I do this, did I do that!”

Griffin looked at the clock. “Well, here’s what I’ll ask you now, Zoe. Are you prepared to go to school late? Because unless you are out the door in five minutes, you will be. And you will not go out the door until your bed is made and your teeth are brushed.”

She stood, shoved her chair under the table. “In my house, there will be no beds, and no toothbrushes.”

“Fine.”

“You’re crabby and mean,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

Nothing.

“You’re the one who’s crabby,” he said.

She started upstairs, then called down, “Nobody cares about frost! It just
melts,
anyway!”

On the way to work, he passed a parking place directly across from the Cozy Corner. This was too rare to pass up—he’d stop in for some breakfast of his own. He hadn’t eaten anything at home owing to the extreme unpleasantness of his tablemate.

He found a booth in Louise’s section and ordered two over easy, hash browns, bacon. After Louise delivered it, she sat down across from Griffin. “How are you doing?”

He smiled, shrugged.

“Your wife’s not much better, either, huh?”

“Oh?”

“I’m not spilling any beans, but…”

He loaded up his hash browns with catsup, waited expectantly.

“How’s the kid doing?”

“She was crabby as hell this morning.”

“Yeah. It takes a toll.”

“I guess.” He took a swallow of coffee, asked casually, “So, Ellen’s been talking to you about things?”

“Yeah.” She stood up, put his bill on the table, facedown. “I hope things work out all right, Griffin.”

“Did she—”

“I gotta go.”

When he arrived, late, to work, Evelyn handed him a piece of paper saying, “Mrs. Griffin called. She said to give you this. It’s her new number.” Her face was carefully empty of expression.

He took the piece of paper from her, nodded, then asked, “Could you come into my office, please?”

“Yes, sir.” Now her forehead was wrinkled with concern. She followed him into the office, stood quietly while he closed the door.

“Sit down, please,” he told her, and she sat at the edge of one of the chairs before his desk. He sat opposite her. “Evelyn, Mrs. Griffin and I have…Well, we’re separated.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just today?”

“Yes, when she called with the number. I’m so sorry.”

“Did she tell you anything else?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. No, she did not.”

“Just gave you the number and that was it, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Well, she did ask me how I was.”

“Uh huh. And how are you, Evelyn?”

“I’m just fine, sir, thank you.”

“Evelyn?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me ‘sir.’”

“Yes, sir. Oh—sorry. It’s just a habit. The one before you, Mr. Crenshaw, he insisted upon it.”

“Who, Arthur?’

“Yes, sir. Yes.”

“Well. He was an ass. I just really don’t like being called ‘sir,’ okay?”

“Okay.”

“So.” He turned and looked out the window. More snow, the lazy, drifting variety, melting almost as soon as it landed; the weather was warming to an unseasonable high today. “Mrs. Griffin and I have separated.”

“Yes. As you said.”

He looked at her. “Evelyn, I have to tell you, I’m pretty fucked up.”

She flushed, looked down into her lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Just slipped out.”

“It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry, though.”

“It’s fine. I imagine this must be very difficult. I’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself for a while. And I would like to say how truly sorry I am. I like you both very much.”

“You like Ellen?”

“Yes, I do.”

“No kidding.”

She laughed, a soft sound. “Is that so surprising?”

“No, it’s just…Not many people know her, really. She’s kind of shy.”

“She is. But over the years, we’ve…We talk a little sometimes—recipes, books. She didn’t say much today. She did ask how
you
are, though. How you seem to be doing. I said you seemed just fine.” Her fingers flew up to the bow at her neck. “I hope that was all right!”

“It was perfectly fine. I’m glad that’s what you said. Even though it’s not true.”

“Well, you do look a little tired….”

“A few details slipping.”

“Nothing that hasn’t been taken care of, Mr. Griffin.”

“Ah, you’re a good woman, Evelyn. Tell me, were you ever married?”

She all but pointed to herself. “Me? Oh, no. No.”

“Why not?” His phone rang. He ignored it. They both did.

“I lost him.”

“Lost who?”

“The man I loved. He was killed in an automobile accident, on the way to pick me up. We were going to have a picnic by the river. I’d packed deviled ham, and I was so nervous he wouldn’t like it. And I’d made my first apple pie—it came out just right. But of course he never saw it.” She shook her head sadly. “My goodness, so many years ago—we were just nineteen.”

Griffin had a sudden image of Evelyn at nineteen: a short-sleeved white blouse and a belted full skirt, nylons and black flats, swaying to Fats Domino on the radio as she did her weekly ironing. She would have been plain, but invested with the stubborn beauty of youth. Bangs might have curled high on her forehead. She might have worn scarves tied around her neck, charm bracelets on her wrists, and, with the discovery of love, perhaps a new red lipstick.

“Were you engaged?” Griffin asked. The boy: earnest and hard-working. Polite. Shy, but less so than Evelyn. Focused on a three-bedroom rambler, a dependable station wagon.

“Oh, no. Didn’t have time for that. We had only a few dates before he…But I knew that if he’d lived, we would have stayed together. We fit. He was the one for me. When he died, that was that.”

“You mean, there were no more men after him?”

“No.”

“But you were nineteen!”

She shrugged. “He was the one.”

“Oh, Evelyn. There’s always more than one.”

Gently, she said, “No, Mr. Griffin. For some of us, there really is only one.”

She was remarkably self-assured saying this. Still, he asked, “But…don’t you regret not at least trying to find someone else? So that you could have had a husband to share your life with, maybe some children?”

Her face grew serious. “I suppose we all think about other roads, Mr. Griffin. But…I don’t know, maybe I can’t really explain this so that you can understand. But the love I had for that young man was enough, somehow. I knew right after he died that I would never feel that way again. I knew it. And I never did. So I wasn’t surprised by that; I was never bitter. It was just…my life, what was given to me. I accepted it. I cherished it.”

“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?”