A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [157]
Shocked by what he’d done, he looked down, his brow slick with sweat.
“You know Delores, Mum.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Delores Dufault,” Mitzi told Rena Stanley. “She’s quite a character. One of those flamboyant, larger-than-life women, she’s . . .”
Larger than his own stunted life, Gordon thought. He had told her secret, exposing her to strangers. Now Becca Brock had taken on foreign adoptions, a farce when there were so many needy children in this country. “It’s just another kind of racism.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Father Hensile said. “Foreign adoptions are just speedier, that’s all.”
“So why aren’t people trying to adopt African babies, then?” Becca Brock asked.
“Excuse me. . . . Excuse me,” Gordon repeated a little louder, dredging the words from the pit of his stomach. “I just thought, I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“Oh, no, Gordon.” Tom Harrington was quick to come to his aid. “Nothing like a little more fuel on Becca’s fire.”
“I resent that,” Becca Brock huffed with coy indignation.
They sensed his misery. Only his brother looked at him. “What I mean is, Delores hasn’t told anyone. I shouldn’t have betrayed her confidence.” Again lowered his eyes. Dennis seemed only more amused.
“Well, we won’t say anything, will we?” Lisa asked around the table.
“Well, no.”
“Of course not.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Besides not knowing the person,” John Stanley said, “I’ve quite forgotten the name.”
“That’s all right,” Rena Stanley assured Gordon. “You were just so excited for your friend.”
Now he felt worse. And foolish. The conversation quickly turned to golf. The teenage girl brought out more warm rolls. He was the only one who took one. Dennis pushed away his untouched dinner plate, a signal, Gordon realized, that everyone else was done. He set down his fork. If only Delores were here. She would have been in the thick of it by now, allowing him to fade into her presence.
“They’re very beautiful,” Father Hensile said. “The roses, they’re from your garden, aren’t they?”
“From my yard.” He had been staring at them. “They were my father’s. He planted them a long time ago.”
“Is gardening as relaxing as everyone says it is?”
“Yes. It is. It’s very relaxing.”
The doorbell rang. Lisa slipped out to answer it.
“I wonder why,” the priest continued. “It’s pretty hard work, right?”
“Not really.”
Roses are so beautiful and yet so hazardous, the priest said as he poured more wine. Hazardous. Gordon glanced up. An odd word to use.
“Did you ever wonder why roses have thorns?” the priest asked. “I can see why blackberry and raspberry bushes do—to keep birds and animals away from the fruit, but why roses?”
“Maybe for the same reason, but to keep people away. Until they’re ready. The roses, I mean,” he added nervously.
Lisa entered the dining room. Her mother’s expectant smile faded as Lisa leaned over and whispered in Dennis’s ear. He stood up at once. He said something. She nodded, went to touch her face, and her hand shook. She laid it on her shoulder and watched him leave.
“What is it, dear?” her mother asked.
“Emergency root canal?” her father called down the table, and she stared back, face frozen in placidity.
“Can you imagine,” Becca Brock sniffed. “The nerve of some people just showing up on your doorstep like that. My uncle was a doctor and, I’ll tell you, nobody ever did that!”
“He was a plastic surgeon, for goodness’ sake,” Marty crowed.
“Dennis shouldn’t have his number listed,” Mrs. Harrington said. “And it’s not very safe, either, dear,” she told her daughter, who had folded her napkin and now was lining up her water goblet and wineglass, side by side. “That’s how they do it, they call first to see if you’re home.”
“Even the thieves are high-tech.”
“You mean lazy!”
“They don’t want to confront you, just like you don’t want to confront them.”
“Well, Lisa and Dennis have a wonderful security system,” Mr. Harrington said. “Top of the line. Care-Guard. Same one as you, Marty.