I lifted the cat, sat up, then put the cat back down beside me.
She said, “Would you like coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“If you’re hungry, I could make something.”
I shook my head. “If I want anything, I’ll get it. But thank you.”
She nodded and curled up in the big chair across from me, her feet tucked under her.
I said, “Would you like me to turn on a light?”
“If it’s what you want.”
I left the light off.
After a while the cat stood up, stretched, turned in a circle, and lay back down. He said, roawmph. Ellen said, “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“I don’t. He lives here because I’m easy to sucker for beer and food. Don’t try to pet him. He’s mean and he bites.”
She smiled, her teeth blue in the reflected moonlight.
“Besides that, he’s dirty and he carries germs.”
Her smile widened for an instant, then faded.
We sat some more. Outside, another police helicopter flew very low up the canyon and over the house. When I was little we lived near an air base and I was terrified that the airplanes and helicopters would scare away Santa Claus. Years later, in Vietnam, I grew to like the sound. It meant someone was coming to save me.
Ellen Lang said quietly, “I don’t know if there’s any money. I don’t know if I can feed the children. I don’t know if I can pay for the house or the school or any of those things.”
“I’ll check the insurance for you. If worse comes to worst, you can sell the house. You would sell Mort’s car, anyway. The kids can go to public schools. You’ll adapt. You’ll do all right and so will the kids.”
She sat very still. “I’ve never been alone before.”
“I know.” The helicopter looped back and disappeared toward the reservoir. I wondered if Joe Pike was watching it. “You’ve got the children. There’s me. When it’s over doesn’t mean you never see me again.”
She nodded.
“I’m a full-service op. I provide follow-up service and yearly maintenance just like Mr. Goodwrench.”
She nodded again.
“Just like the Shell Answer Man.”
She didn’t respond. This stuff would kill’m in the Comedy Store. Maybe she only laughed at cat jokes. I looked at the cat. He offered little inspiration.
“There’s even Janet.”
“Who reinforces my lousy self-image?”
“Keep you humble.”
She said, “You’re sweet, trying to cheer me up like this. Thank you.”
We sat. Ellen stared out the window. I stared at Ellen. Her hair was dry and brushed out and offset her small narrow face nicely. The pale light softened her features and I could see the girl back in Kansas, a nice girl who’d be great to bring to a football game on a cold night, who’d sit close to you and jump up when the home team scored and who’d feel good to hug. After a very long time, she said softly, “It must be beautiful, living up here.”
“It is.”
“Are there coyotes?”
“Yes. They like the hills above the reservoir.”
She looked at the cat. “I heard they take cats. I had a friend in Nichols Canyon who lost two that way.”
I touched the cat’s head between his ears. It was broad and flat and lumpy with scars. A good cat head.
She shifted in the chair. She was sitting on her feet, and when she moved she was careful to keep the robe over her knees. She said, “Tell me, how can you live with someone for so long and know so little about them?”
“You can know only what someone shows you.”
“But I lived with Mort for fourteen years. I knew Garrett Rice for five years. I was married to Mort for eight years before I even knew there were other women. Now I find out about drugs. I never knew there were drugs.” Her lips barely moved, matching the stillness of the rest of her. “He said it was me. He said I was killing him. He said he would lie in bed some nights, hoping I would die and thinking of ways to hurt me.”
“It wasn’t you.”
“Then how could Mort be that person, and how could I not know? His wife. What does that say about me?” A whisper.
“It says you trusted a man who didn’t deserve your trust. It says you gave of yourself completely because you loved him. It comments on Mort’s quality, not yours.”
“I’ve been so wrong about things. Everything’s been such a lie. I’m thirty-nine years old and I feel like I’ve thrown my life away.”
“Look at me,” I said.
She looked.
“When you marry someone, and put your trust in them, you have a right to expect that they will be there for you. The marriage doesn’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be perfect. By virtue of the commitment, your partner is supposed to be there. Without having to look around, you have to know they’re there. When you looked, Mort wasn’t there. Mort hadn’t been there for a long time. It doesn’t matter about his problems. He failed to live up to you. Mort lived the lie. Not you. Mort threw it away. Not you.”
Her head moved. “That sounds so harsh.”
“I’m feeling a little harsh toward Mort right now.” I took short breaths, feeling the booze still there. The big room had grown warmer.
We sat like that for several minutes. I was slouched on the sofa with my abdominal muscles forming neat rows leading up to my ribs. My legs were extended, my feet on the coffee table. I looked blue.
“I don’t mean to whine,” she said.
“You hurt. It’s okay.”
She brought her feet out from under her with a soft rustle, and sat forward. I heard her draw a deep breath and sigh it out. She said, “You’re a very nice man.”
“Unh-hunh.”
She said, “What happened”-she leaned forward out of the chair and touched my stomach-“here?”
When she touched me the muscles in my stomach and pelvic girdle and thighs bunched. Her finger was very warm, almost hot. I said, “I got into a fight with a man in Texas City, Texas. He cut me with a piece of glass.”
She moved her finger about an inch along the scar. I stood up, pulling her to me. She held on tight and whispered something into my chest that I did not hear.
I carried her upstairs and made love to her. She called me Mort. Afterward I held her, but it was a long time before she slept. And when she slept it was fitful and without rest.
24
The morning sky was a rich orange when I left the bed. Ellen was up, wearing the socks and the big terry robe. She had the washing machine going, doing two towels and the clothes she had been in since Ralph’s, and had started breakfast by the time I was showered and dressed.
“I called Janet,” she said.
“What a way to start your day.”
“I asked her to tell the girls that I was in San Francisco and that I’d have to be there a few days. Do you think that’s all right?”
“It’s smart if you don’t go home.”
She nodded.
“You could stay here.”
