American Music - Jane Mendelsohn [57]
I’m not sure I’m even ready for that, she said. She looked up at him. It seemed as though she was going to lean forward and then she didn’t. To take you away from her and start something I’m not certain about seems cruel. I can’t do that. Not to either of you. I’m not sure anymore I could do it even if I were certain.
The greasy fork sat askew on the pie plate. He picked it up and pointed it at the table.
What happened? What changed?
He looked intently at the fork.
Nothing changed. Everything changed. I still love you.
He laughed a little. He was still looking at the fork. So what will you do?
Now the snow was sticking to the cars and the lampposts. There was a fine dust turning everything silvery and hidden. The sounds of traffic were being muffled. The whistle of the air in the window seemed louder.
She pulled her hand out of her pocket and put something on the table.
I’ve been taking a lot of long walks lately, she said. I found this for sale and I bought it.
A camera? he said.
A Leica. I’ve been taking pictures.
That’s what you’re going to do?
I think so, she said. Do you want to look at it?
He shook his head. She put the camera back in her pocket.
Why can’t you do that with me?
Right now I think it’s the only thing I want to do.
He felt a slow heavy ache in his solar plexus. His eyes were tearing up. He stubbed out his cigarette in the pie.
What about …
I don’t know, she said. We have to talk about that.
He was crying.
How could you let it go this far? How could you let me tell Pearl?
I’m sorry, she said. But you also let it go long.
He wiped his face with his sleeve.
That’s true, he said.
May I? she said. She reached over and took his coffee cup. He nodded. She held it in her hands. For a moment he had a memory of her bathed in late-afternoon light. Her green eyes. Her hands around a cup. Her indifferent look. He felt it returning. He knew that the feeling in his solar plexus would never go away.
You act like you don’t know me, he said.
I love you, Joe, she said. It’s me; I don’t know. Not yet.
They talked for a long time. Through the fogging window they looked like two blurry figures on film, grainy and flickering and gray. When they stood to leave he took her by the elbow and their silhouettes slid down the long horizontal window of the diner like two shadows walking offscreen.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Milo sat on the bench wearing jeans and a jacket. He still wore the same boots. They were tan leather with dark brown laces and they were stained. He was looking down at them when she walked over to him. She stood right there for a long time and her shadow covered him from the winter sun. She would have been offended that he didn’t look up but she realized that he didn’t see her. He looked like he could see something in his boots. He looked like he was watching a movie on the ground.
After a while he looked up. His eyes were red. He said: These stories are killing me.
For the first time he asked her to come to his room. It was allowed now. He showed her his single bed. He had a drawing he’d made of her taped up on the wall and some other memorabilia and letters, but mostly the room was plain and nearly empty. They sat down beside each other on the little bed. They were still wearing their coats.
I think I’ve found you a place to live, she said.
That’s great, he said. He was looking down again.
What are you looking at? she said.
My boots, I guess.
What’s with the boots?
I told you a long time ago. They belonged to the guy who saved my life.
Why do you wear them?
So I won’t forget.
Sometimes it’s okay to forget.
Not this time.
All right.
She stood up and took her coat off and laid it on a chair. She sat back down.
This is going to sound strange, he said, but I really don’t want to leave this place.
That’s not so strange. You’ve been here a long time. You’re used to it. It must feel like home.
He closed his eyes.
Also, I’m thinking, his eyes were still closed and he was clenching his knees, what if it doesn’t work when we leave here?
Her hair swung