most of the events referred to, he loved the way Jake talked. In fact, Jake accomplished a rare thing-he made Eddie laugh.
As I turned the pages, the sound of crows, squirrels, and leaves became muffled. I heard Wentworth raking but as if from a great distance, farther and fainter. My vision narrowed until I was conscious only of the page in front of me, Eddie looking forward to each day’s broadcast of “You Get It Straight from Jake,” Eddie laughing at Jake’s tone, Eddie wishing he had a father like Jake, Eddie. .
A hand nudged my shoulder, the touch so gentle I barely felt it.
“Tom,” a voice whispered.
“Uh.”
“Tom, wake up.”
My eyelids flickered. Wentworth stood before me. It was difficult to see him; everything was so shadowy. I was flat on my back on the bench. I jerked upright.
“My God, I fell asleep,” I said.
“You certainly did.” Wentworth looked amused.
I glanced around. It was dusk. “All day? I slept all day? I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
“Well, I barge in on you, but you’re generous enough to let me read a manuscript, and then I fall asleep reading it, and-”
“You needed the rest. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have dozed.”
“Dozed? I haven’t slept that soundly in years. It had nothing to do with. . Your book’s wonderful. It’s moving and painful and yet funny and. . I just got to the part where Jake announces he’s been fired from the radio station and Eddie can’t bear losing the only thing in his life he enjoys.”
“There’s plenty of time. Read more after we eat.”
“Eat?”
“I made soup and a salad.”
“But I can’t impose.”
“I insist.”
Except for a stove and refrigerator, the kitchen might have looked the same two hundred years earlier. The floor, the cabinets, and the walls were aged wood, with a golden hue that made me think they were maple. The table and chairs were dark, perhaps oak, with dents here and there from a lifetime of use. Flaming logs crackled in a fireplace.
I smelled freshly baked bread and, for the first time in a long while, felt hungry. The soup was vegetable. I ate three servings and two helpings of salad, not to mention a half loaf of bread.
“The potatoes, tomatoes, onions, and carrots, everything in the soup comes from my garden,” Wentworth explained. “The growing season is brief here. I need to be resourceful. For example, the lettuce comes from a late summer planting that I keep in a glass frame so I can harvest it in the winter.”
The fresh taste was powerful, warming my stomach. Somehow, I had room for two slices of apple pie, which was also homemade, the fruit from Wentworth’s trees. And tea. Two cups of tea.
Helping to clean the dishes, I yawned. Embarrassed, I covered my mouth. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s natural to feel sleepy after we eat. That’s what mammals do. After they eat, they sleep.”
“But I slept all day.”
“A sign of how much rest you need. Lie down on the sofa in the living room. Read more of my book.”
“But I ought to go back to my motel room.”
“Nonsense.” Limping, Wentworth guided me into the living room. The furnishings reminded me of those I saw long ago in my grandmother’s house. The sofa was covered with a blanket.
“I won’t be an imposition?”
“I welcome your reaction to my manuscript. I won’t let you take it with you to the motel, so if you want to read it, you need to do it here.”
I suppressed another yawn, so tired that I knew I wouldn’t be alert enough to deal with anyone following me to the motel. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.” Wentworth brought me the rest of the manuscript, and again I felt amazed that I was in his company.
The fireplace warmed me. On the sofa, I sat against a cushion and turned the pages, once more absorbed in the story. Jake announced that his sense of humor had gotten him fired from the radio station. He told his listeners that he had only two more broadcasts and then would leave Boston for a talk show in Cincinnati. Eddie was devastated. He hadn’t seen his mother in two days. All he had to eat was peanut butter and crackers. He put them in a pillowcase. He added his only change of clothes, then went to the door and listened. He heard footsteps. Somebody cursed. When the sounds became distant, Eddie did the forbidden-he unlocked and opened the door. The lights were broken in most of the hallway. Garbage was stacked in corners. The smell of urine and cabbage made Eddie sick. Shadows threatened, but the curses and footsteps were more distant, and Eddie stepped through the doorway.
The crackling in Wentworth’s fireplace seemed to come from far away, like the faint tap of a typewriter.
The hand on my shoulder was again so gentle I barely felt it. When I opened my eyes, Wentworth stood over me, but this time he was silhouetted by light.
“Good morning.” He smiled.
“Morning?”
“It’s eleven o’clock.”
“I slept thirteen hours?” I asked in shock.
“You’re more tired than I imagined. Would you like some breakfast?”
My stomach rumbled. I couldn’t recall waking up with so strong an appetite. “Starved. Just give me a moment to. .”
“There’s an extra toothbrush and razor in the bathroom.”
As I washed my face, I was puzzled by my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were no longer drawn. Wrinkles on my brow and around my eyes were less distinct. My eyes looked bright, my skin healthy.
At the kitchen table, I ate a fruit salad Wentworth prepared-oranges, bananas, pears, and apples (the latter two from his trees, he reminded me). I refilled my bowl three times. As always, there was tea.
“Is it drugged? Is that why I’m sleeping so much?”
Wentworth almost smiled. “We both drank from the same pot. Wouldn’t I have been sleepy, also?”
I studied him as hard as he had studied me. Despite his age, his cheeks glowed. His eyes were clear. His hair was gray instead of white. “You’re in your early eighties, correct?”
“Correct.”
“But you look at least twenty years younger. I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you do.”
I glanced around the old kitchen. I peered toward the trees and bushes outside. The sun cast a glow on falling leaves. “This place?”
“A similar compound in another area would have produced the same effect. But yes, this place. Over the years, I acquired a natural rhythm. I lived with the land. I blended with the passage of the sun and moon and seasons. After a while, I noticed a change in my appearance, or rather the
“That doesn’t seem compatible with your gun.”
“I brought that with me when I first retreated here. The loss of my family. . Each morning was a struggle not to shoot myself.”
I looked away, self-conscious.
“But one day crept into another. Somehow, I persisted. I read Emerson and Thoreau again and again, trying to empty myself of my not-so-quiet desperation. Along with these infinite two acres, Emerson and Thoreau saved my life. I came to feel my family through the flowers and trees and. . Nothing dies. It’s only transformed. I know
