“Oh,” she said. And she was disappointed in me. I only needed that one word from her to know it. “You know now. My daughter said you didn’t know. But now you do. That’s too bad.”
“I don’t know why you say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“But I mean . . . how do you know that?” I realized, the minute the words were out of my mouth, that I had just admitted she was correct. I stood there with my neck craned away and felt my face burn.
“You think after seventeen years I don’t know the look on somebody’s face when they know? I wish I didn’t, kid, but I know it better than I know the inside of my own eyelids. And when I close my eyes, most times I don’t even see the inside of my eyelids, I see those looks. Well, if you came here to ask me about it, or offer your opinion on it, you’re out of luck. I’ve been there and done that, and I’m not going there again for anybody. It may be news to you, kid, but to me it’s anything but. I don’t exist to help you get things settled in your own head.”
When I was sure she was done, I adjusted my neck into a more normal position, nearly facing her, and defended myself with the truth.
“I didn’t come for that. Not at all. I was only about to knock on your door because it looked like your daughter had left again, and I was just going to ask if you were okay or if you needed anything.”
I waited, but she didn’t speak. I didn’t dare look at her face to try to get a bead on what she was thinking or feeling.
So I added, “Did she go back?”
“Yeah. She’s gone. Not that I blame her. She’s got an eighteen-month-old son. Babysitting me hardly fit in with her plans. So, okay, I’m not the best at apologies. Not my strong suit. But anyway, sorry I didn’t give you credit for trying to be helpful. Hope you can see your way clear to let that go by.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I felt all the tension leave my body, and I was stunned by how much tension it had been. I felt like I could float away after it lifted out. “So . . . do you need anything?”
I braved a glance at her face. Fortunately, she was looking away. Off toward the cabin, as though it helped her think.
“Milk was sour when I got home,” she said. “It was a little close to the line when I left, but if I’d been home, I could’ve finished it. And if I was feeling better, I could’ve gone out for more.”
“I could bring you back a quart of milk.”
She looked right at me, and for a split second I looked right back. And in that second, something was established. Some wall was broken through. We were no longer two wild animals who would spook and flee at the sight of each other, or try to claw each other apart for our own safety. We had made the initial connection on the assembly line of trusting each other.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll go inside and get you a dollar.”
When I got back with the milk and her change, she took it from me, but didn’t say much. I mean . . . she did say thank you. But not much more. She carried it inside. To put away in the fridge, I guess.
I waited on the porch with the dogs, but I wasn’t sure why. And I wasn’t sure if she’d meant for me to. I had asked her what she needed. She’d told me. I’d brought it to her. That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
I sat down on the edge of the porch, poking around inside myself for the reasons I didn’t feel like I could leave. It was a sort of generalized paranoia. Something bad would happen to the lady if I left. And then for the rest of my life I’d have that thought in the back of my head. Or maybe it would be a ball of feelings in my gut. What if I’d played that day differently? What if I hadn’t left her alone?
For the first time I truly understood how Connor felt.
Also it might’ve been a look through the window into what the lady had been going through for seventeen years. What if I’d called in sick that day? Had that extra cup of coffee? What if I’d pulled the bus over, even though that would’ve made the kids late for school?
I heard her footsteps on the porch boards behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. The dogs jumped to their feet and wagged at her in greeting.
“I can’t help noticing you’re not gone,” I heard her say in that deep, rumbly bass voice.
“No, ma’am. I guess I’m not.”
She sighed deeply. It sounded like she was playacting some irritation she didn’t entirely feel.
She sat beside me on the edge of the porch, and the dogs settled around us. One in between, one on the other side of her. For a few minutes we all stared out into the woods and didn’t say a word.
She’d gotten dressed while I was running to the store, thankfully, and was now wearing denim overalls over a red plaid flannel shirt. Heavy work boots that laced up at the ankle.
“I keep forgetting to ask you their names,” I said after a time.
I felt alarm rise in her, even though I’m not sure how a person can feel a thing like that. But I did feel it. I’m just not sure by what means.
“Whose names?”
“The dogs. I still don’t know their names.”
The fear seemed to settle out of her. Drain away. I wondered if she had thought I was asking about Wanda
