He drank from the water bottle. Pru thought of the bedroom she’d seen in John’s apartment, the one half-painted yellow. The nursery, she thought, sadly.
“I guess having a baby wouldn’t have saved us,” he said at last. “We would have gone back to being unhappy, eventually. But, you know, losing it just didn’t help. And that’s it, really. She moved out a little while later. Right before I met you.”
“But you could see it, right?” Pru said, after they were quiet for a while. “A way that something like that actually could have turned out differently? I don’t mean to sound callous, but I remember thinking that when Rudy and I were having such a bad time—this could be good. Somehow, this could make things better. Like you could show each other your qualities, you know?” She smiled a little. Her mother’s word, “qualities.” The night air must be getting to her. She never would have said that in the city.
He nodded. “I guess that’s right. I guess that’s why I feel like I have to let go. We just didn’t get there. I decided I’m going to give her whatever she wants. Let this thing end, in the best way we can.”
She could hear all kinds of sounds around them, the wind in the leaves of the trees, crickets and something that sounded like frogs. She heard a branch break and jumped, grabbing John’s arm. Someone named Jethro creeping through the bushes, a homemade knife between his teeth. No; probably just a squirrel.
When she touched his arm, he’d quickly reached to put his own hand over hers. It was as if he’d been waiting for it. She’d had the same response when they’d held hands earlier. It was hard to even think that in that moment the nature of their relationship had changed, it felt so utterly familiar. He took her hand in both of his and rubbed her cold fingers, as if to warm them.
He said, “I can’t believe it, still. I’ll be divorced.” He said “divorce” as though he was trying it out for the first time. It was awkward, listening to him talk about his heartbreak while stroking her hand. In another context, she would have dismissed him as something of a player. Here, in the dark van, under the blankets, it seemed perfectly natural.
“I’m embarrassed to say this, but divorce embarrasses me. It’s like telling everyone you’ve failed, each time you announce your marital status. I never thought of myself as someone who was proud, you know, of any kind of status. But I guess being married did mean something to me, being a husband. I guess with my parents both dead, and my sisters with their own families . . . Well, it felt like something of my own. We were married before anyone else in our circle. Married, in graduate school, everything seemed to be going according to plan. And then . . .”
“Kaplooey?” she supplied.
“Kaplooey.”
“Are you sure it’s going to end up that way?”
“I think it’s what she wants.”
“John,” she said. “What do you want? Where are you, in all this?”
He was quiet for a while. Pru moved closer under the blankets. They were pressed together, side by side. She thought maybe she was getting sleepy. She was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. Then he said, “I don’t want her to stay with me if she’s unhappy.”
“Do you get to be happy?” Pru asked, drowsily.
He was quiet for so long that Pru thought he’d fallen asleep. Then came his voice: “Yeah, there’s that. It’s just—I’m just not used to thinking in those terms.”
She started to drift off again. It was very quiet, and it had started to rain, very gently. She could smell John’s shirt next to her nose. Suddenly, they were both jolted awake. Something heavy hit the roof of the van, right above their heads. Something alive, and freaked-out. Whatever it was began scrambling around. It sounded like someone was trying to cut through the roof with a set of butcher knives.
“What is it?” Pru cried.
“Just an animal,” John said. “Don’t be scared.”
Whatever it was scrambled around some more. The sound was nails-on-blackboard awful. Pru had been so relaxed, in her sleep, but the sound made her whole body stiffen. She put her hands over her ears.
“I’ll go see what it is,” John said, standing.
“No!” said Pru. “What if it’s a bear?”
John listened for a little while to the thing. “It’s not a bear,” he said, at last. “A bear would be much heavier.”
“They make them small, too, you know.”
He opened the back door of the van before she could say anything and stepped out quickly. She heard him shout and clap his hands. Then his head reappeared, still attached securely, she noted, to his body.
“Raccoon,” he said, getting back into the van. “Cute little guy. He’s gone.”
She now had so much adrenaline rushing in her veins that further sleep was impossible. There were hours more to pass. The floor of the van was hard and bumpy under her, making comfort impossible. They kept up an idly meandering stream of patter, singing jingles from TV commercials they knew from when they were kids, remembering their favorite rock bands. John could remember all the songs on his favorite albums in their proper order, year of release, and cover art. She told him that her first concert was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers; he said that his was Queen and Thin Lizzy, on a double bill, and his father had taken him when he was fourteen. Pru told him how her father would change the words to songs, so instead of “When she’s weary, try a little
