she was angry at him for making her remember that, and he was sorry he had asked. He is still surprised that she has moved in with him, surprised that he has agreed to leave New Haven and move to Colorado with her, into the house of a couple he vaguely remembers—nice guy, strung-out wife.
“Did you get a letter from Matthew and Bea yet?” he says.
“Oh, yes, Bea called this morning when you were at work. She said she had to call right away to say yes, she was so excited.”
He remembers how excited Bea was the time she stayed with them in the country house. It seemed more like nervousness, really, not excitement. Bea said she had been studying ballet, and when Matthew told her to show them what she had learned, she danced through the house, smiling at first, then panting. She complained that she had no grace—that she was too old. Matthew tried to make her feel better by saying that she had only started to study ballet late, and she would have to build up energy. Bea became more frantic, saying that she had no energy, no poise, no future as a ballerina.
“But there’s something I ought to tell you,” Penelope says. “Bea and Matthew are breaking up.”
“What?” he says.
“What does it matter? It’s a huge state. We can find a place to stay. We’ve got enough money. Don’t always be worried about money.”
He was just about to say that they hardly had enough money to pay for motels on the way to Colorado.
“And when you start painting again—”
“Penelope, get serious,” he says. “Do you think that all you have to do is produce some paintings and you’ll get money for them?”
“You don’t have any faith in yourself,” she says.
It is the same line she gave him when he dropped out of graduate school, after she had dropped out herself. Somehow she was always the one who sounded reasonable.
“Why don’t we forget Colorado for a while?” he says.
“Okay,” she says. “We’ll just forget it.”
“Oh, we can go if you’re set on it,” he says quickly.
“Not if you’re only doing it to placate me.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to stick around New Haven.”
“Then what are you complaining about?” she says.
“I wasn’t complaining. I was just disappointed.”
“Don’t be disappointed,” she says, smiling at him.
He puts his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. Sometimes it is very nice to be with her. Outside he can hear the traffic, the horns blowing. He does not look forward to the long drive West.
In Nebraska they get sidetracked and drive a long way on a narrow road, with holes so big that Robert has to swerve the car to avoid them. The heater is not working well, and the defroster is not working at all. He rubs the front window clear with the side of his arm. By early evening he is exhausted from driving. They stop for dinner at Gus and Andy’s Restaurant, and are served their fried-egg sandwiches by Andy, whose name is written in sequins above his shirt pocket. That night, in the motel, he feels too tired to go to sleep. The cat is scratching around in the bathroom. Penelope complains about the electricity in her hair, which she has just washed and is drying. He cannot watch television because her hair dryer makes the picture roll.
“I sort of wish we had stopped in Iowa to see Elaine,” she says. Elaine is her married sister.
She drags on a joint, passes it to him.
“You were the one who didn’t want to stop,” he says. She can’t hear him because of the hair dryer.
“We used to pretend that we were pregnant when we were little,” she says. “We pulled the pillows off and stuck them under our clothes. My mother was always yelling at us not to mess up the beds.”
She turns off the hair dryer. The picture comes back on. It is the news; the sportscaster is in the middle of a basketball report. On a large screen behind him, a basketball player is shown putting a basketball into a basket.
Before they left, Robert had gone over to Cyril’s apartment. Cyril seemed to know already that Penelope was living with him. He was very nice, but Robert had a hard time talking to him. Cyril said that a girl he knew was coming over to make dinner, and he asked him to stay. Robert said he had to get going.
“What are you going to do in Colorado?” Cyril asked.
“Get some kind of job, I guess,” he said.
Cyril nodded about ten times, the nods growing smaller.
“I don’t know,” he said to Cyril.
“Yeah,” Cyril said.
They sat. Finally Robert made himself go by telling himself that he didn’t want to see Cyril’s girl.
“Well,” Cyril said. “Take care.”
“What about you?” he asked Cyril. “What are you going to be up to?”
“Much of the same,” Cyril said.
They stood at Cyril’s door.
