Ben was rendered speechless. He walked across the yard and leaned against a crab apple tree with the phone to his ear.
—Just in terms, Jeff went on, —of any irregularities that might, you know, eventually cause problems in terms of work performance? I mean I’m not her supervisor, you know, I mean actually she’s mine, technically. This is more from a, you know, wanting to help her out kind of situation. That I’m asking.
—I’m sorry, said Ben. He was surprised, even shocked at the suggestion that Ann had begun to be remiss in the work that she had always done impeccably. She had always been a good librarian, neat, organized, accessible, kind, at least the way he saw it.
And then there was the claim she had just made to him, that resurrected A-bomb scientists from World War Two were lurking in the bushes.
Possibly she was suffering from post-traumatic stress. It would not be surprising, given the violence of the schizophrenic man’s death.
But he put that aside, as he had trained himself to do when protocol demanded an impersonal response.
—What are you asking me? Whether my wife and I are having marital difficulties?
—No! said Jeff, —no, I didn’t mean that, totally. Just if there’s anything going on, like maybe illness in the family.
—I don’t quite understand, sorry. Are you calling because you have something to ask me? Or tell me?
—Oh, said Jeff. —Well I guess both. Just that she hasn’t been keeping her normal, the work hours she’s normally committed to, is the thing. Which as you know, she’s always been real prompt, I barely even saw her take a sick day before now. So I was wondering if there was a, say, mitigating circumstance.
—May I ask why you’re speaking to me about this instead of to her?
There was a brief silence, during which Ben thought he could hear a carrot being bitten into and ruminated. Or possibly celery.
—I kind of did but it didn’t seem to be getting results.
—I see, said Ben. The guy was an asshole. And now Lynn was approaching across the back patio, a deliveryman pushing a handcart behind her with what appeared to be—yes.
A stone cherub. It held aloft a large cluster of grapes.
—So I just thought I would make sure, you know, before I bring it up with anyone or whatever, I mean if that comes up. I mean the absenteeism issue.
—I’m sorry, said Ben, —I appreciate your concern but I can’t help you. I don’t discuss my wife’s personal life with her coworkers without her knowledge. I will say no, there have been no deaths or illnesses in the family since her parents died. Beyond that you’ll have to take up this question with her. And let me just say for the record that calling me was completely inappropriate.
—Huh, said Jeff.
—OK? So I’ll have to go now, I’m at work, said Ben.
Lynn, standing on the edge of the patio in high heels, was waving at him frantically, as though she was marooned on a desert island and he was flying overhead, her sole chance of rescue.
—If you, could you at least do me a favor, though, too?
Ben suppressed a sigh. —Doubt it, he said.
—If maybe you could give me a couple days’ lead before you let her know that I called? Just because then I could bring it up with her again, like, myself. It’s that I’ve, like, been having—
—No, said Ben. —Weren’t you listening to me? I don’t keep things from her. Again, I think it was wrong for you to call me about this.
—That’s hardcore, said Jeff. —But whatever I guess.
—Good luck, said Ben. —I hope you work it out.
He pressed END as Lynn, impatient, actually stepped off the patio and into the deep earth of the south rock garden, freshly turned and aerated. Her stiletto heel sank deep instantly and she stumbled, shrieking.
Behind her the deliveryman stepped up and grabbed a windmilling arm.
—Are you all right? asked Ben, drawing near, pocketing the cell phone.
—That’s my bad ankle! I’ve had physical therapy on this ankle six times! raged Lynn, and flapped angrily at the deliveryman with her free hand as she sat down hard on the flagstones.
—Are you going to need an ambulance? asked Ben.
She looked up at him sharply, but seeing only polite concern had no recourse.
—No, no, no, she grumbled. —I just need to not fucking step in fucking mud.
She pulled a shoe off to reveal gold toenails and a heel broken, dangling.
—Uh, so where do you want this? asked the deliveryman.
—Damn it! That was a Badgley Mischka!
She hurled the shoe into the soil again.
—That, uh, the statue is for the back—? inquired Ben.
—In with the—somewhere back there! Near the hummingbird garden! she said angrily, massaging the ankle, and he nodded at the deliveryman.
—Past that acacia, go along the path there to the right, he said. —You can leave it beside the birdbath. Can I get you some ice?
—Help me inside, said Lynn. —I’ll put it up first.
She hopped beside him, steadied on his arm, lurching into his side with every hop. At the back doors he hesitated to slip off his work boots and Lynn leaned insistently on his shoulder, as though he was furniture.
—Just take me to the chaise over there, she said.
He deposited her on a pink chaise lounge and headed to the kitchen. Crescent-shaped ice rained out of the refrigerator into a glass, and he wrapped the crescents in a dishcloth.
Back in the cavernous living room she had draped herself artfully on the chaise, tasseled cushions behind her head, one leg over the back, her skirt hiked up to mid-thigh.
—I don’t know that you’ll be able to balance these on the ankle like that, said Ben. —Maybe we should move you to the chair and pile the cushions on the footstool?
Grudgingly she dropped her leg from the back of the
