American Music - Jane Mendelsohn [76]
I don’t have anything for you, the girl said to the turtles.
I might have something, the woman said. Would you like me to check?
The little girl twisted her head to the side and tilted it up and looked at the woman for the first time and said yes without smiling or saying please or thank you. The woman didn’t mind.
She opened her pocketbook and found some crackers wrapped in a napkin.
Here, why don’t you take these.
All right.
The girl broke off some bits of the crackers and tossed them down to the water where the turtles glided toward them and snapped them up.
They were hungry, the woman said.
They’re always hungry, the little girl said.
Do you come here often? the woman asked.
On weekends, the girl said. She looked up again at the woman. Her hair was soft and dark and brown. She was wearing pretty earrings with little rubies in them.
Once when I came here a man told me you’re not supposed to feed the turtles because it’s bad for them and could make them die. I wouldn’t want to hurt them but they do look hungry so I almost always end up feeding them.
Then she told the woman about her school, how she liked to paint, about her parents, how they always made the same kind of sandwiches every weekend. But they were good.
She asked if the woman had any more crackers. The woman glanced off to the side and saw that the girl’s parents were occupied and said let me see and knelt down and said let’s check in my pocketbook.
When the woman opened her pocketbook again the little girl saw something inside that interested her. What’s that? she said, pointing to it. A camera, the woman said. Oh, the little girl said. Do you have any more crackers?
The woman didn’t and the girl looked disappointed. But then she recovered and said, Sometimes an egret comes. He was here before, but then he flew away.
He’ll come back, said the woman.
I know, said the little girl.
The two of them stood together looking out at the water.
You’re a very smart and interesting little girl, said the woman.
The girl’s face brightened. People usually only told her that she was pretty or good.
Thank you, she said. Then she smiled at the woman.
The woman was about to say something else when the little girl said, Oh that’s my mother waving to me. I have to go now.
Good-bye, said the girl.
Good-bye, said the woman. The woman waited awhile for the egret to come back. She waited a long time, and it never did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When Honor showed up on Anna’s doorstep she was carrying her infant son in a sling. Anna opened the door and on her face was a look of suffering and longing and welcome.
I see you’ve brought someone with you, she said.
History repeats itself, said Honor.
If you don’t watch out, said Anna.
They ate dinner in silence, except for the noises made by the baby, the sudden gulps of air and exhalations of pleasure that accompany the beginning of life. In the quiet Honor felt stirrings of the beginning of her own life and Anna did too. A feeling that in stillness they could find more than momentary relief, more than a sudden abatement of despair. Here was a chance for something other than happiness. Something like harmony.
•
She had said good-bye to Milo thinking that she would see him the next day, that they would continue planning their new life. She realized in retrospect that this had been her fantasy. He had not really given her much reason to believe. But she had believed anyway. She had come to the hospital the next day—the nurses had not been able to reach her—and that was when she had seen his room, which was already empty of him. She opened the door and a pure whiteness filled the space completely and she looked for him in the shadows but there were no shadows. Someone came up behind her and quickly closed the door.
On the way home and for a long time she would see him and hear him and speak to him. They had so many unfinished conversations. She saw his face, heard his voice, felt his skin, and sometimes she relived their times together.
He is lying face down on the table with a sheet over him, in