A Map of the World - Jane Hamilton [173]
“It’s good to see you,” I managed.
We admired the children and expressed astonishment at their growth. Inside, the girls went directly to the play corner, where they had old-fashioned desks and a pot full of coloring books. Theresa settled herself into our booth, first smoothing her skirt over her rump and then sitting down. She leaned forward and said, in an undertone, “Can you believe what happened? Aren’t you still in shock? Sometimes I just can’t believe it. Sometimes I say to myself, No. I just have to say No!”
At first I thought that what was different about her was her new feverish pitch, her record-breaking speed. Other than that it seemed as if she was rattling on in her regular old way. She was working twenty hours a week, she said, and no more, because she meant to devote herself to Audrey. “You can’t get the time back,” she said, looking at her menu. She was going to have her tubal reversed at the beginning of November, with a doctor in Milwaukee who had a ninety-percent success rate. Dan was making an effort to be at home more and they’d been planning a lot of family activities. “I’ve got my hopes pinned on a baby,” she whispered. “Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. We’ll heal faster with new life, I just know we will.”
I said how nice that would be.
I could see by the way she kept turning the pages of her menu without reading that she wanted to move away from the subject of Lizzy. Lizzy was near—we both felt it. As we talked of increasingly smaller and smaller things, the thick hovering form of the little girl became more oppressive. Theresa understandably would certainly have rather been at home; she wasn’t quite engaged, going through the motions of breakfast and friendship. When our food came and we had the business of eating to preoccupy us she casually asked, “Will the whole—deal take up your time now?”
“I think Rafferty’s trying to leave me alone for a while,” I said. “He was so angry at first. Howard didn’t tell him about the farm until after the closing. Rafferty always maintained that the property was our anchor, our greatest asset; it proved we were not going to turn tail and run. Howard went over to the office the Monday morning after I got home, to break the news. I’ve gathered that Rafferty gave him a dressing-down. Paul and I talk details and stay away from the farm issue. I think he’s worried that Judge Peterson is going to be against us. He’s always very reassuring, but all the same I know he thinks that the judge might bar our key witnesses.”
“Oh God—”
“No,” I said. “I don’t worry much. I’ve always, from the start, felt that the thing just had to play itself out, that Howard and I are only two of the many powerless players.”
She sat across from me eating her bacon biscuit with the sort of intense concentration that’s required for taxes and higher math. She had her head bent over the plate and she chewed as if she was inspecting her food for something that might better have been observed under a microscope. “I’ve struggled a lot lately to keep from feeling helpless,” she finally said.
I nodded, knowing that it must require tremendous energy to keep up her unfailing good cheer. I nursed my coffee along staring out the window and she continued to work at eating. We had suddenly and unexpectedly fallen into a silence. We had run out of material, gone dry. We used to tell each other the kinds of private stories I had never planned to tell anyone. We didn’t know how to start up again; we didn’t know what to say. The silence had descended upon us like a hex.
“God,