Say When (6 page)

“It’s so we can have time for other things, too, Zoe,” she said. “Like…our hobbies.”

“What hobbies?”

Ellen shifted in her chair. “Well. Like sewing. You know I like to sew, right? I’d like to take a class in quilting.”

“Oh. Robbie’s mom made him a quilt. Robbie Benderhurst.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, and it had
flowers
on it. When you make one for me, don’t put
flowers
on it.”

“I’d never do that.”

“What will you put on it?” she’d asked, her face full of such uncompromising belief and faith in her mother that Griffin thought he might weep.

Ellen smiled, full, Griffin thought, of her own kind of anguish. Then she reached over and touched Zoe’s face. “If I make you a quilt,” she said, “it will be full of stars and cars.”

“Hey, that rhymes!”

“Yes.”

“Put in some…hats and cats.”

“I’ll put in some whales and some sails.”

“…I don’t like boats, Mom.”

“Hmmmm. Well, I’ll put in whales and tails…of puppies.”

“Put in darts! And farts!”

“Zoe,” Ellen said. And then, “Better finish up, honey. Time to go to school.”

Zoe gobbled up the rest of her cereal, then put on her coat. Before she went out the door, she turned back to ask Griffin, “What’s
your
hobby, Dad?”

“Don’t know, yet!” he’d said, full of a false cheer.

Well, now he knew. Searching for a new woman, that would be his hobby.

Griffin headed back toward Sears. “I wondered,” he’d say, casually. “Would you have time to go for a cup of coffee with me? I have some questions about the job.”

When he got there, though, she was gone, her chair pushed neatly under the table. He could look for her, he supposed; she might be eating lunch. He looked at his watch. Better go back to work.

At the car, he stood looking out at the field where he’d flung his ring. He shouldn’t have done that. He’d bring it home, put it away. He might want it someday. For something.

He went to the area where he thought it had landed. Nothing. He walked in concentric circles around that spot. Nothing. Then he dropped to his hands and knees, combed through the grass. Gone.
Hey, look what I found! Cool! Think I can hock it?

He got back in the car, started the engine, and turned on the heat full blast. His knees were wet; he was freezing. He turned on the radio, tapped his hands on the steering wheel to the rhythm of “Jingle Bell Rock.” And then he turned off the radio and stared straight ahead at a November sky so devoid of color it looked to have been erased. In the distance, he saw a quivering chevron of Canadian geese. He would stay here to watch them fly by; he had always found them beautiful. But they were moving away from him, disappearing even as he watched.

T
he porch light was off when he came home—he had trouble getting his key in the door. When at last he opened it, he poked his head into a dark house. “Zoe?” No answer. He wiped his feet on the mat, came in and shut the door, hung up his coat. “Ellen?”

He went into the kitchen, turned on the light, and saw a note on the kitchen table:

He raced back out the door, drove the six blocks to the hospital, left his car directly outside the emergency entrance. As soon as he came into the waiting room, he saw Ellen sitting in an orange plastic chair against the far wall. She was holding her purse in her lap, staring into space. Then she saw Griffin and stood up, smiling. “It’s okay; she’s all right; they’re just ruling out a minor concussion. They took her for an X ray—her arm hurts. They don’t think it’s broken, but they’re just making sure. She’s all right, thank God.”

Over the intercom, Griffin heard a request for him to move the car immediately; he was blocking the emergency lane.

“Go ahead,” Ellen said. “I’ll be here—she won’t be back for a while—they just took her down.”

“What
happened?”

“She fell out of the tree house. You’d better go and move the car.”

“What was she doing up there? It’s winter!”

Ellen shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you
call
me?” he asked, and she said, “Move the car, Griffin. I’ll talk to you when you come back in. She’s all
right.”

Griffin found a parking place close by, then ran back inside. Now Ellen was standing by the door. “Come over here,” she said, leading him to a deserted alcove full of vending machines.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Griffin. Lower your voice.”

“Don’t you—”

“I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to take the
time.
I didn’t know how badly hurt she was. I just wanted to get her to the hospital. I figured I’d call you from here when I knew what was going on.”

“But you
didn’t
call me.”

“I
did.
I called your office, and Evelyn said you’d gone. Then I called your cell just a few minutes ago, and there was no answer.”

“I left it in the car. I came in the house, I saw the note and I—What was she doing up in that tree house, Ellen? Why weren’t you watching her?”

She stared at him. “I don’t watch her every second she’s outside, Griffin. I didn’t know she was going up in the tree house. Why did the
floor
come apart? Why don’t
you
keep that thing
safe?”

Now neither of them spoke, until Ellen finally said, “Look. It’s nobody’s fault. Let’s go back out there—she’ll be back from her X ray soon.”

They sat down, not looking at one another, not talking, until a white-coated young man appeared in the hall, saying, “Mrs. Griffin?”

“Here,” she said, standing, and she and Griffin walked quickly toward the man.

“I’m her father,” Griffin said. “Frank Griffin. I’m her father.”

“Yes. Well, your daughter’s arm is fine. No breaks.”

“Are you the doctor?” Griffin asked. This man couldn’t be a doctor.

“Yes, I’m Doctor Quasha.”

“You’re…a full doctor?”

The man smiled. “I am.”

“Are you a specialist?”

“I’m not, but I can assure you that your daughter doesn’t need one. Let me bring you back to her.”

Griffin followed Ellen and the doctor into a small examining room. On a cot that made her look even smaller than she was, Zoe lay on two pillows, her arms crossed over her belly. “I’ll be right back,” the doctor said.

“Hi, Dad,” Zoe said, and Griffin moved over to take her hand.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Fine.”

“Anything hurt?”

“Just my head. And my arm. And my leg, a
little.”

“What were you doing up in that tree house, Zoe?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t go up there anymore until I fix it. I saw the other day that the floor was rotting.” Beside him, he felt Ellen stiffen. “I’ll
fix
it,” he said, for the benefit of both her and Zoe. “But don’t go up there anymore until spring, all right?”

“I’m not.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I’m
not.”

Dr. Quasha came back into the room, carrying a metal clipboard. “So, Zoe. How’d you like to spend a night here at the Hotel Hospital?”

“Why?” Ellen and Griffin asked together, and then came Zoe’s pale echo: “Why?”

The doctor smiled. “Strictly routine. Just need to do a twenty-four-hour observation.”

“Can’t we do it at home?” Ellen asked.

“It’s better if she stays here. You can bring her home at this time tomorrow.”

“I’ll stay here with her, then.”

“I will, too.” Griffin said quickly. He resented Ellen saying it first. He would have said it first if he’d only been given the opportunity.

“You’re both welcome to stay,” the doctor said. “Unfortunately, we only have room for one cot in the room.”

“I’ll stay,” Ellen said.

Griffin moved closer to Zoe. “I will, too.”

Ellen looked quickly at him, then away. “Why don’t I go home and get some things for you to do?” she asked Zoe. “What would you like me to bring you?”

“I
don’t know.”

“A surprise, then,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

When Ellen got back, Zoe had been sleeping for about half an hour. She signaled to Griffin to come outside into the hallway. “God. Scary, huh?” She smiled.

“Yes.” His eyes moved over her face. Zoe’s mom—they looked alike.

“I guess these things happen all the time—we’re lucky we’ve never had to bring her to the ER before.”

“I guess.”

“I think every boy in her class has been here. Miles Altman broke his wrist last week. Jason Burns was in here for stitches after he cut himself. And—”

“It’s not okay, Ellen.”

She stepped back from him, crossed her arms.

“What are you talking about?”

“If you’re not going to take better care of her—”

Her face hardened. “Don’t you dare, Griffin.”

“Don’t I dare what?”

“You know what. You
know
what.” She turned away, started back for Zoe’s room.

“Ellen!” Damn it, he was sorry. He hadn’t meant to do that. They were just starting to…to what? To come back together? No. No, they weren’t, and he knew it, and that’s why he’d said that. To hit back.

A
few days later, Griffin stopped for Kentucky Fried Chicken on the way home. It was his night to be home with Zoe, who was still basking in the increased parental attention her hospital visit had afforded her. Ellen’s and Griffin’s anxiety had tempered somewhat, since they’d had to set Zoe (and thereby themselves) straight on the fact that her fall hadn’t been
that
big a deal. She’d apparently told the kids at school she’d been unconscious and was rushed to the hospital, and her teacher had called Ellen, concerned because one of the other kids had said Zoe had been in a coma—did she have juvenile diabetes?

Griffin got a deluxe order—all white meat. He got extra biscuits, because Zoe liked them for breakfast. But when he walked in the door, he smelled dinner cooking. Ellen was in the kitchen, making gravy. He stood still for a moment, watching her, the chicken warm against him. “You made dinner?”

She nodded, her back to him.

“What’d you make?”

“Pot roast.”

“Uh huh. Do I get any?”

She turned around, dripping whisk in hand. “Griffin, I don’t know why you insist on overdramatizing things. If I make dinner and you are here, of course you can have some.” She gestured toward the chicken he was holding. “Unless you want
that.
I don’t care.”

“I got this because how in the hell am I supposed to know from one moment to the next what’s going
on
around here, Ellen? One night I come home and there’s no dinner. The next time there
is
dinner.”

Ellen walked past him, stood at the foot of the stairs. “Zoe!”

A crashing sound, then, “It was
nothing,
Mom, it’s
okay!”
And then, “…Yeah?”

“Dinner.”

Ellen walked past Griffin again and began putting things on the table: Butter on a flowered saucer she had found in an antiques store when they went to New Orleans, just before Zoe was born. A.1. sauce and catsup for Zoe to make the “dream sauce” combination she put on virtually everything. Ellen poured milk for Zoe, water for herself. Griffin might as well have been invisible except that Ellen had, in a fit of generosity, put a plate and silverware on the table for him. Griffin set the bucket of chicken on the table, and when Zoe skidded into the kitchen, her sneakers squeaking, he pulled the lid off and said, “Hey, look, Zoe—your favorite.”

Ellen stood motionless. Then she said, “The pot roast is for dinner.”

“Or chicken,” Griffin said. “Which would you like, Zoe?”

Zoe slid into her chair, surveyed the food. “How come we’re having both?”

“For fun,” Griffin said. “Want some chicken?” He took his fork, pulled out a piece. “Here, you like the breast.” He laid the chicken on Zoe’s plate.

Ellen, silent, took her place at the table, placed her napkin on her lap.

“I like pot roast better,” Zoe said. “Do I have to have both?”

“No,” Griffin and Ellen said together. They looked at each other, then away. Griffin put Zoe’s chicken back in the bucket. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s just save this for lunch. It’s great for lunch, right?” He put the chicken in the refrigerator, then sat down again at the table.

It was quiet for a long moment. No one helped themselves to anything. Then Zoe looked at her hands and said, “Oh. I forgot to wash.” She pushed back her chair. “Oops! Sorry.”

“For what?” Ellen asked.

“Scraping.
You always tell me not to scrape because it scratches the wood. And I always forget.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, that’s right. Remember next time.”

“Okay.” She headed for the downstairs half bath, turned on the water.

“Don’t do this, Griffin,” Ellen said quietly.

“Do what?” He loaded his plate with meat.

“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t make it worse.”

“Pass the gravy. Please.”

Zoe came back and sat down, began piling food on her plate. “Are you excited to meet my teacher, Dad?”

“What do you mean?” He looked at Ellen. “Are we meeting her teacher tonight?”

“Oh. Yes. There’s a little get-acquainted conference. You know, that ten-minute thing they do. We’re scheduled for…it’s seven-forty, I believe.”

Griffin put his fork down. “When did you find out about this?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “They sent home a note with Zoe the other day. It’s not a big deal, Griffin. I don’t think we both even need to go.”

“I’m going.”

“Well…you know, I thought
I
would.”

Griffin looked at Zoe, busy preparing her sauce. “I’ll go, too.”

“I didn’t call a sitter.”

Zoe looked up. “I don’t
need
a sitter.”

“Yes, you do.”

“For
ten minutes?”
She looked at Griffin. “Dad,
do
I?”

“Zoe, I want you to do me a favor, okay? My shoes are killing me. Would you go up and get my slippers for me?”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

After Zoe left the room, Griffin reached over to take hold of Ellen’s upper arm. “Let’s get this straight.
Anything
about Zoe is done together.
Anything
that comes up about her, you tell me. As soon as you know it.”

She pulled her arm away angrily. “Stop it! I forgot to tell you, that’s all. I didn’t withhold it intentionally. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Zoe comes before those things.”

“I know that!” She cut her pot roast into small pieces, then smaller.

“Here, Dad.” Zoe handed him the slippers, sat back down at the table, and looked from one of them to the other. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Ellen stared down at her plate, shook her head.

“Bad day at work,” Griffin said.

“Again?” Zoe asked.

“Yeah,” Griffin said. “Again.”

“We’ll be gone about twenty minutes,” Ellen told Zoe as they were leaving. “You can call us, or you can call next door if you need anything. Karen knows you’re alone. You know her number, right?”

Zoe sighed. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

Zoe recited the numbers in an exaggerated monotone. “All right?”

Ellen nodded. “Don’t do anything but your homework. Don’t—”

“I
won’t,
Mom!”

“You won’t what?”

“I won’t do
anything
but my
homework.
But Mom, can I just do one other little thing?”

Ellen pulled on her gloves, checked her watch. “What?”

“Can I play with matches?”

Ellen didn’t laugh, though Griffin did. She hesitated, as though she might stay home, and Zoe pushed her out the door. “Go! I’m all right! Jeez, Mom, you always think I’m such a baby!”

Ellen closed the door, tried it again to make sure it was locked. Then she started off down the sidewalk, moving quickly. “I don’t think we should leave her alone.”

“She’s fine.”

“She’s only eight.”

“She’s
fine.”
Griffin looked up at the clear sky. It was cold, but pleasantly so. “Nice night,” he said.

Ellen sighed. “Look. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this conference. I really did forget.”

“Yeah, all right.”

They walked on, their strides matching. Behind one of the windows they passed, an old lady stood in her housecoat, looking out at the street. She would see them and think they were fine, Griffin thought, a nice young couple out for a walk.

“Zoe likes her teacher this year,” Ellen said. “I’m surprised, because she’s really strict. She took away Zoe’s baseball cards the first day, for trading in class. But then she gave them back.”

“Yeah, well, Zoe gets along with everyone.”

Ellen smiled. “I know she does.”

Griffin stopped walking. “Ellen…”

She kept on. “We don’t have time, Griffin.”

He caught up with her, and they walked the rest of the short distance to the school in silence. In the space of two blocks, Griffin thought of several things he wanted to tell Ellen. About how much colder it was going to get over the next few days, and didn’t Zoe need a new coat? That this morning he thought he’d seen signs of his hairline receding—was it? He wanted to tell her what Evelyn had said about reading the Bible when she couldn’t sleep, and he wanted Ellen to wonder aloud about that. He was sure she would. Ellen could take a piece of information like that and use it to create a whole scene. She might say about Evelyn that she saw her in a blue flannel nightgown, propped up on one pillow, her bedside lamplight falling onto delicate, see-through pages. Yes, she would say something just like that, talk about Evelyn’s thin lips moving as she comforted herself with those ancient stories. The place would be marked by a ribbon, perhaps. Evelyn’s knees would be raised. Or would they? Without knowing, Ellen would know.

He wanted to ask Ellen if she could think of a verse that actually might provide comfort to a sore soul. The weighty announcement from the angel to the virgin? The more poetic version of the world’s beginning? He wanted Ellen to tell him what she imagined the rest of Evelyn’s bedroom to look like, the rest of her house, with its kitchen cupboards and its linen closets, its arrangements of furniture and figurines. Were there plants in ceramic pots? Handwritten letters on a hall table? Was there a cat? A newspaper delivery every morning? The old Ellen would have told him, and he, assuming that kind of verbal fantasy would always be available to him, would have mostly ignored it. He saw that, now. He saw, too, how much he had actually enjoyed those rich musings, and he saw how Ellen’s imagination had inspired him. Without her stories, he would lose his own.

Mrs. Pierce was the kind of teacher Griffin liked best: middle-aged, bespectacled, dignified; clad in a brown tweed skirt, a cream- colored, bow-tie blouse, and a brown cardigan sweater. Griffin couldn’t see her shoes, but surely they were brown pumps, well broken in, with creases on the outside and something from Dr. Scholl’s on the inside.

She was seated at her desk in a corner of the classroom, two chairs facing her. As Ellen and Griffin came in, she stood up and smiled.

It always seemed so strange to Griffin to be in a classroom at night. The room was too quiet; the lights seemed more yellow than usual. The children’s desks were lined up neatly, expectant looking, all but inhabited by the spirits of those who claimed them during the day. Colorful workbooks were stacked in one corner. A tan-and-white guinea pig stared blandly through the walls of her glass cage. Zoe said she bit everyone. Her name, according to a sign taped onto the cage, was Queenie, but Griffin happened to know that the kids called her Meanie.

Mrs. Pierce extended her hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Griffin? I’m Zoe’s teacher, Mrs. Pierce. Won’t you please sit down?” Her voice was clear, strong, and she looked them in the eyes. Griffin sat straight before her, kept himself from bouncing his knees. She was the kind of teacher who inspired one’s best posture. Ellen, Griffin noticed, was sitting straight herself, her knees pressed together, purse centered on her lap.

“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Pierce said. “This is, as I’m sure you remember from past years, just a brief conference. We’ll have a longer one in January. But this is an opportunity for us to meet, and for me to answer briefly any questions you might have about Zoe. A wonderful girl, by the way—quite the baseball fan!”

“Yes,” Griffin said, smiling.

Then it was quiet. Griffin looked at Ellen. She always handled things like this, she’d think of what to say next. She’d find out what they needed to know, and she’d tell Mrs. Pierce what she needed to know about their daughter. Zoe was a tomboy, yes, but she was also sensitive—very much aware of others’ feelings. She seemed to have a great interest in history—had Mrs. Pierce noticed that, yet? You had to make sure Zoe understood the math—she wasn’t one to ask questions.

But it looked as if Ellen was not going to say anything. She sat quietly, staring at the floor. Griffin was about to say that Zoe really seemed to be enjoying school this year, when Ellen suddenly looked up and cleared her throat. “I wonder if this would be a good time for us to let you know…to tell you about some changes that are going to be occurring in Zoe’s life.”

Griffin looked quickly over at her. She couldn’t be! It wasn’t this official yet. But then he heard Ellen go on to say, “I have told my husband that I want a divorce.”

Griffin leaned forward, spoke quietly. “Well, we haven’t actually decided anything yet. Formally. I have no idea why my wife—”

“Griffin…” Ellen broke in.

“Ellen.”

She looked back at Mrs. Pierce. “I’m sorry. I just thought you should know that we’ve decided to separate. I know these things can affect a child’s performance in school.”

Mrs. Pierce nodded slowly. “Yes, they certainly can.”

Had she sighed, saying this? Griffin wondered. Had he heard her sigh? He looked into her face for some sign of disapproval, but she gave nothing away.