Above The Thunder Part 18

Flynn picked him up. "His name is Baby Jesus," Flynn said. She decided that this must be his name, since she couldn't find the little figure that went with Mary and Joseph in the house barn. She a.s.sumed Baby Jesus was with Gladys Knight somewhere, underground where the Pips used to be.

"What?" Anna said. "What are you naming him?"

"Baby Jesus."

Everybody at the table laughed at her.

"You can't call a dog that, sweetheart," Anna said.

"Why?" Flynn said.

"Why don't you call him Buddha?" Jack said. "He's fat like a Buddha."

"He's fat like a Buddha now, but he's going to be big as all outdoors," Anna said. "He's from a far-flung kennel specializing in large Border collies." She winked at Marvin, who laughed.

Flynn fed turkey to the dog, who was already helping himself to her plate as they sat together on the couch. "May we be excused?"

Anna nodded to her, uncorked the sixth bottle of wine for the evening. The heavy drinking didn't feel entirely celebratory. Jack and Stuart, unlike the energetic pair she remembered meeting, seemed strained and tense; Mike had left as soon as the plates were cleared. Greta didn't even look up when he said goodbye. Even Marvin, normally the one Anna counted on for his gift of small talk, was dreamy and abstracted. Only Greta seemed happy-radiant, in fact, in the presence of the little girl she was planning to rename Agnes, after her mother, but who was Lily for now.

"You can put her in my room for a nap," Anna said, when she saw Lily was getting sleepy. Greta nodded and stood.

"This was a lovely evening, Anna," Jack said, and smiled at her.

Anna took his hand and squeezed it. "I hope I'm not hearing 'but we really have to go' next. Because there's pie and coffee. And leftovers for the midnight snack after the movie."

"Oh? There's a movie?" Jack said, leaning forward.

Marvin turned to look at her. She hadn't planned on any movie; it just came out of her mouth the minute it popped into her head. "Yep. A Thanksgiving tradition around here. Fiddler on the Roof." Anna didn't especially like this movie-one of several videos left in the hall closet by the previous tenant-but she didn't want the evening to end.

As the day wore on, the idea of moving, of selling this townhouse grew from a possibility to a certainty. This wasn't the right environment for Flynn. Anna had been worried about her all day, concerned about the look in Flynn's eyes, a wild-eyed look, as though she was buried under the weight of sorrow or fear-Anna couldn't say which.

Anna started the movie, then went to check on Flynn. She was sitting up in bed, the puppy in her lap, and reading the Bible aloud. Anna smiled. The dog was pretty cute. It wore an expression of worried concentration, as if he was truly concerned with the message of the book of Revelation.

Back in the living room, Anna gathered up the dessert plates and coffee cups and took them into the kitchen. Greta followed her, grabbed a dishtowel. "Oh, don't do that," Anna said. "There's not a lot."

"Why not? Lily's asleep. And I'm not into musicals much. Sorry."

"Neither am I. But isn't it great? No obnoxiously loud football game."

Greta took a plate from Anna's hand, and it slipped to the floor and shattered. She burst into tears.

"It's fine. It wasn't even mine. It was here when I got here. It couldn't have been uglier."

"Sorry."

"Leave it. I'll clean it up later." Anna dunked her hands in the hot, lemony water. "What's the matter, dear?" Just then, she heard Flynn laugh-laugh! How long had it been?-and Jack's teasing voice. She wanted to rush in to see the pink flush that was surely on her granddaughter's face. She had Poppy's laugh, Anna decided, looked like her mother when she giggled, which she was doing now. Anna smiled, felt a flutter of happiness.

She looked over at Greta, knew what Greta was going to say before she said it.

"I'm leaving him. As soon as Lily's adoption papers are final. I had him followed." Greta's face was ashen.

"Where's he been?"

Greta laughed bitterly. "It's humiliating. All along I'd been preparing myself for some hot young thing, some whiplash blonde or buxom brunette, but this. It seems I'm competing with flowers for my husband's attention."

Anna turned the water off. "What?"

"All those times he's been gone. Hours and hours, claiming he's just driving around...."

"Yeah. Where was he?"

"The botanical gardens. Sitting for hours among the gerbera daisies and Eleanor roses."

Anna laughed in surprise.

"Yeah, that's what I did when the investigator told me. The P.I. said, 'Is your husband a religious man, Mrs. Allen? Because I watched him and his lips were moving like he was talking to the flowers, then I realized he must be praying.'"

"I've never heard of anything like this before," Anna said. "Well, but it's not entirely bad, is it?"

"How can it be in any way good? My husband would rather stare at a bunch of plants than at me. He should be home helping me paint Lily's nursery. Sometimes I think the only reason he agreed to adopt Lily was that she was named after a flower. 'Stargazer Lily' he calls her. Christ."

"Wow," Anna said. "Wow. You mean to tell me all those hours, all those missing hours, he's been hanging around gardens and parks?"

"Yes. There were two weekend trips. Business trips, Mike said. That's where the investigator thought he would nail him. He followed him to a cabin near the border of Maine. But no other woman, just more botany. Two days he spent bundled up in parkas staring at the vegetation." She took the saucepan from Anna's hand.

"My G.o.d," Anna said. "Did you confront him?"

"Partially. I feel like a fool. What do you say? 'I know you've been seeing the birches. I know about Daisy and Rose'? I did tell him that a friend saw him at the botanical gardens when he claimed to be at a business lunch."

"What did he say?" Anna emptied the water carafe into the fern on the windowsill.

"He said it made him less lonely to sit among beautiful things. I don't even want to consider the implications of that statement."

They fell silent. "Mysteries," Anna said finally. "What little mysteries people are."

Flynn came into the kitchen just as they were finis.h.i.+ng up the cleaning. "Baby Jesus had an accident."

"Okay," Anna said. "I'll be right in. Go take him outside. He needs to go out every hour."

Anna found all three men on the couch engrossed in the movie. It was the scene of the eldest daughter on her wedding day, the father bemoaning the pa.s.sage of time with the melancholic "Sunrise, Sunset."

"How's the movie?" Anna asked, but all three of them were so engrossed in it that they didn't look away, which Anna found comforting. The best kind of answer, she always thought, had no sound.

Five days before Christmas, Jack still didn't have plans for the holidays. Most days he stayed in, baffled and amazed at how few friends he had; all of his friends.h.i.+ps in the past, the ones he and Stuart shared as a couple, were nurtured and sustained by Stuart. Jack hand't appreciated Stuart's gracious elegance until now, how making guests comfortable was an art unto itself. He had one friend, two, if he counted Anna, whom he had talked to a handful of times since Thanksgiving and who promised to visit just as soon as she could. Jane came over every week, every Wednesday, with a briefcase full of work for Jack from the firm. Sick as he felt most times, he couldn't bear idleness, so he arranged with Hank Sherman to be hired on as a consultant. It was easy work and Jack could determine the pace. He had only to study the portfolios of the accounts handled by the new young hires and offer his a.s.sessment of their investment strategies.

He was working on the accounts when Jane came over at six o'clock. He invited her in, hoped the scent of vanilla he had simmering in a saucepan would mask the odor that had gotten progressively worse. The drains in the kitchen and bath were perpetually blocked, and the tenants all around him seemed to be cooking with heavier and heavier spices. Even his bath towels smelled of curry.

He turned off the overhead fluorescent light and lit some candles. "How's the weather out there?" he asked, as Jane walked in.

"Snowy. We're supposed to get a storm tonight."

"Have a seat." Jack picked up the stack of manila folders from the couch, moved them to the coffee table. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Nothing, thanks. I actually can't stay too long. Leila and I have plans tonight."

"How is Leila?" he asked from the kitchenette area where he decanted a bottle of wine and took down two gla.s.ses.

"She's good. We're good. She sends her regards to you. As does Stuart."

Every week Jack resisted the temptation to ask about him. They hadn't spoken since the day Jack moved in-almost a month ago now.

"He's doing well. We had dinner with them last night, as a matter of fact."

Jack froze for a second. He handed the winegla.s.s to Jane who took one polite sip and put it down. "Them?" Jane hesitated, but Jack rushed in. "That's all. No more. I'm glad he's seeing someone. He deserves to be happy."

Jane nodded. "I'll tell him you send your best."

"Who is he?" Jack said, before he could stop himself. The ironic thing was that he hadn't seen Hector since he'd moved out. He told himself that it was because he felt too sick, but lying awake at night, free to desire anyone, Stuart was all he wanted.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Jane said.

"No. I think I know anyway. It's that librarian. That guy Stuart works with." He picked up his winegla.s.s, drained it. "Well, anyway. That's his business now. Look, I'm having a party Christmas Eve. You and Leila are invited." He hadn't thought about having a party until just this instant, but why not? He could probably get four or five people to commit, which would be enough to make his tiny place look packed.

"I'd love to come, but we already have plans unfortunately," Jane said, and stood to go. She reached for her coat, kissed Jack on the cheek. "Call if you need anything." She picked up the stack of folders.

"I will," he said. He poured the rest of the wine into his gla.s.s when she was gone. He should have been more interested in people. Should have bothered a little more with the things that sustained friends.h.i.+ps. Was this how he would spend the rest of his days? He was going to have to force himself to do things, despite how sick he felt most of the time; otherwise he'd never have any human contact. Doctors' appointments and trips to the grocery store were not enough.

He lay back on the sofa, balanced his gla.s.s on his chest and listened to the Indian couple fighting next door, their nightly row that half the time sent the husband out till the wee hours of the morning. Jack preferred the loud arguing to the wife's solitary weeping, which, he heard now, was beginning. He sat up, blew out the candles and reached for his shoes.

He drove into Boston with no destination in mind. All the stores were fully decorated for Christmas. He stopped in front of the Gap where every year he bought Stuart a red sweater. He went in and chose one. He'd mail it after the holidays so Stuart wouldn't feel obligated to reciprocate. Maybe he should shop for Jane and Leila. Stuart got them something every year-Stuart gave presents to everyone-but he didn't have a clue as to the kinds of things they might want or need.

He wandered over to Cambridge, drifted toward some folk music festival under a giant tent in Harvard Yard. He wasn't much into this kind of music, but he was tired of walking. Gypsy-intellectual types buzzed around him. Cheryl Wheeler was singing now about fall coming to New England, though he couldn't make out many of the words over the street noise and the food vendors behind him.

He heard Anna before he saw her, heard her voice in line at one of the concessions: "Holy G.o.d, man, how long does it take to cook a hot dog? I've been in line long enough to break a habit, backslide, and recommit."

Jack called to her three times as she was moving slowly through the crowd, looking up at the musicians and hesitating, as though unsure about whether to stay.

His voice finally carried to her and her eyes looked in his direction and found his face. "Well, Jack! You have no idea how often I've thought of you. I've been meaning to call."

He embraced her, inhaled the fresh-air scent of her clothes, and a heady perfume of exotic florals. "How have you been? Where are you going? Have you been in the city awhile, or can you get a drink?" He laughed with her at his barrage of questions. "What I meant to say is, don't walk away from me, Anna, I couldn't bear it." He laughed again, but couldn't get the cavalier self-mocking tone that he wanted. "Don't tell me you're on your way somewhere."

"Well, isn't everybody on their way somewhere?" She took a bite of the hot dog. "I've been Christmas shopping like a madwoman, since we're leaving for Maine in the morning, that is, Flynn and I. Marvin will come later."

"Oh? Did you finally sell the townhouse?" Jack had seen the listing in the Sunday cla.s.sifieds last week. He tried to match strides with her, panting to keep up; she was the fastest walker he'd ever known, bar none.

She shook her head. "Marvin is going to live there till it sells. He'll come up to Maine on the weekends to visit."

"Good, that sounds good."

"I hope so." She stopped in front of a cla.s.sy-looking bar with polished bra.s.s railings and suited businessmen within. "Want a brandy?"

He nodded, followed her into a booth by the window.

"I'm so glad I ran into you. It's been so hectic I haven't had time to call anyone," Anna said.

"It's all right. I haven't called anyone either."

She raised her gla.s.s to his. "Cent anno. To the next hundred years, as the Italians say." She sipped. "I drink Grand Marnier only at the holidays. I love Christmas, don't you?"

He nodded, felt his throat get tight.

"Is everything all right?"

"Oh, hey, you know. Heartbreak, AIDS, joblessness, angry Indian neighbors, the usual."

He drank his brandy down, signaled to the waiter. He looked back to Anna and saw that she was watching him with the intensity Jack had seen in Flynn's expression. He thought of Flynn frequently, which surprised him because he didn't like children as a rule. But something about the girl and her worried look, her intelligent strangeness, reminded him of himself as a child, of feeling like he was guarding a secret without knowing what it was.

Anna lit a cigarette, looked at him through the coils of smoke. "I know you're probably as overextended as the rest of us, but I would love it if you would come to Maine for part of the holiday. My husband and I used to have an annual Christmas Eve party at our house in Maine, and I've decided to start it up again, though scaled way, way back. It'll be pretty sedate, but I'm getting caterers from Boston. Greta and her daughter will be there. Marvin, too."

"Really?" Jack said. "You're inviting me?"

"Will you come?"

"I would love to." He could have wept with grat.i.tude.

"Great. You can get as drunk as you want. The house is huge and the guest bedrooms are ready and waiting for the heavy revelers."

"How Gatsby-ish."

She laughed. "Yeah, right. Anyway, we're leaving tomorrow, Flynn and I. I'll give you directions and you can come anytime and stay as long as you want." She took a long sip of her drink, looked him in the eye. "I mean that."

When they parted, Jack watched Anna until she rounded the corner. Something about the way she turned her head from side to side, looking at this and that, made him think of Thanksgiving night when he and Stuart were leaving Anna's. Flynn was in the backyard making snow angels, her puppy balanced on her chest. "What do you know of heavenly bodies?" she said to Jack. "How many do you know?"

"Not enough, and too many at once," he'd said.

At home, he packed a suitcase, then another. Before he knew it, he had gathered together all that he'd brought. n.o.body should be expected to live here. He would find a new place after the holidays. Maybe Anna wouldn't mind if he spent a week or two, long enough for him to find a decent apartment that didn't speak so loudly of punishment.

That night, he slept peacefully for the first time in months. Anna was so gracious, even the thought of her like a warm shelter. He had never put much stock in kindness, never felt, until now, how small gestures of good will could bring such happiness. Things suddenly seemed bearable. He would call Stuart in the morning to wish him well.

PART TWO.