A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [134]
“What do you mean, maybe someone drank it?” he asked from the doorway.
“Over the weekend, I don’t know.” She eased past him.
“Don’t tell me he was here again, that Loomis character?”
“It was the weekend, so what does it matter who was here?” she said, taking the vodka from the bin, where it had been covered by ice cubes. “Here.” She handed it to him.
“No, I know. You’re right,” he agreed, eyeing the precise measure of vodka and vermouth. “It’s just I worry about you, Doe, that’s all. A woman alone in the city here, you’ve got to be careful.” He mixed the martini gently, with the sterling-silver stirrer she’d bought him last Christmas. Every year she’d filled his stocking with gifts he’d always leave here. “He may act like a nice guy, but don’t forget what he did.” He added a jumbo Spanish olive, gave a quick stir, then took a sip.
She refused to discuss Gordon, not just because it hurt so, but because Albert seemed so titillated by the relationship. “Actually, I’ll probably be moving in a few months. I need a bigger bedroom. For May Loo. And a yard for her to play in,” she said, smiling as always with talk of the child.
“So you’re really going to do it, huh? You’ve thought it all through, the ramifications, I mean, trying to raise her on your own and the whole, you know, different race thing?” he said almost squeamishly.
“Yes, I’ve thought it all through,” she said, bristling. She had forgotten that demeaning tone. And how inferior he could make her feel until she was second-guessing her every move.
“Raising kids, it’s not as easy you think, you know,” he said with a grunt as he stretched out in front of the television, stocking feet on the hassock. Even the oversize television had been bought to get him to come more often. “You gotta have the right instincts, and some people just don’t. They think it’s food and shelter and everything else’ll just fall into place. . . .”
She went into the bedroom to change. When she came out and went into the kitchen, he was still talking, now about his own parenting skills. He spoke in that hushed tone that came when he felt most profound. One of his biggest complaints about his wife had always been her flightiness. She had no depth, no interest in anyone’s opinions about anything, most especially not his. Delores turned the water on low. She was peeling an onion under the faucet when he came into the kitchen, looking irritated. He asked if she’d heard what he’d said. Most of it, she said, quickly turning off the water.
“I was telling Cheryl about you wanting to adopt, and she reminded me of her cousin Sandy and how she got turned down because of her fiancé. I told you about him, the ex-con? Remember? The rape? Statutory, but still. You see where I’m going with this, right? You’ve gotta be so careful. It’s like anything else, like with the business. It’s all about presentation. This perfect image you have to create. You can’t be having Gordon Loomis hanging around here. I mean, a convicted murderer, how’s that look to people? But especially an adoption agency? Is that the message you’re trying to send here? I don’t think so. Plus, I should think you’d be a little nervous yourself.”
“I can’t believe you told Cheryl. How could you do that?” She could just picture the two of them with nothing between them, nothing to share but titters about her. And Gordon.
“So I told Cheryl, so what? She could care, so what’s the big deal?”
“It’s a very big deal. To me.” Eyes stinging, she stared, knife in one hand, wet onion in the other. It took all her effort to put them down.
“Aw, come on, Doe. Don’t be mad. I’m thinking of you, that’s all. And of me too, I’ll admit it. I mean, I know how you feel, it’s like Cheryl said, ‘Tick, tick, tick,’ the whole biological-clock thing, so don’t be making any foolish, fast moves here, thinking all of a sudden you’ve gotta go find a job, a guy, move, and get