A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [11]
A white car came down the street. It pulled up in front of Gordon’s house. He watched from the side of the window as a stocky woman in a big purple shirt got out. Delores Dufault opened her back door and removed a large white basket. With the doorbell’s sharp ring, his hair stood on end. Go away. Please, just go away. He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want to see her. Not yet. Not tonight. No. Not ever. This wild panic was completely illogical, yet so sharp in his chest that he could barely breathe. On visiting day he’d always come down to see her, even when he didn’t want her there. But for this there were no rules, no assigned seats, no regulated time. He wasn’t prepared. What would he say? Where would he sit? What would she expect? What did she want? After a few minutes, the treads creaked under her footsteps. Her car door closed. He sighed with relief as she drove away. He sat back down on the couch, then waited a long time before he opened the door. On the threshold was a large basket of cookies, brownies, and still-warm banana-nut bread. She had written a note on the back of a checking deposit slip:
“Welcome home, Gordon! Sorry I missed you. Call when you get a chance. Delores.”
The telephone rang and he jumped. He groped along the coffee table for the portable phone, then pushed a button and said hello, baffled when the television came on and the phone kept ringing. He hurried into the kitchen.
“Hello?” he shouted into the wall phone. “Hello?”
“Gordon! You’re home? Where were you?” It was Dennis.
“I couldn’t find the phone!”
“Couldn’t find it? What do you mean, you couldn’t find it?”
“It’s too dark. I couldn’t find it at first!”
“Dark! Why’s it dark?”
“The lights aren’t on!”
“So turn them on, and why are you yelling like that?”
“I don’t know,” he answered sheepishly. At Fortley he’d had to shout into the phone to be heard over the din.
“Delores called. She said she was just there, but she didn’t think you were home.”
“I must have been sleeping.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told her.” Dennis sounded skeptical. “She said she brought you some things. You better get them in before somebody takes them. They’re out on the porch.”
“Yes. Yes, I will.”
“Oh, and Lisa says not to forget about Friday.” Dennis paused. “So are you going to call Delores?”
“Well, not tonight.”
“Look, just call her, will you? Thank her for coming over. Is that such a big deal?” Dennis sounded irritated.
Gordon said he would call, but not right now. He was too tired. He wanted to go to bed.
“So then they say, ‘Fine, Doe. Put in the extra time if you want, but we’re not. We’ve got lives to attend to.’ ”
With every chuckle her ruddy face glowed more. Delores Dufault was an incessant talker, yet after she left, Gordon could hardly remember anything she had said. Their visits always began the same way, with his squirming irritation as she told him how glad she was to see him again and how much his friendship meant. The garish colors and wild patterns she wore made him feel dizzy. Her shirt collar glittered with jet beads. Her long, squared fingernails were purple with yellow stripes painted through them. Everything glistened—her hair, face, teeth—but with a jangly sparkle that made her seem silly and oddly sad.
No sooner had he hung up the phone with Dennis than she was ringing the doorbell again. He was tiptoeing up the stairs when he thought of the long drive to Fortley. It was especially hard in winter along winding, mountain roads, as Dennis had told him often enough, though Delores had never complained. Once Dennis and Lisa had children, they couldn’t come as often. Before Delores’s first visit alone, he had written countless letters telling her not to come, that it was a difficult ride to an ugly, depressing place. Actually, he found any visits strained and unsettling. Small talk had never come easy, especially an hour