Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [39]
“If a coat could make you feel loved, this one would be all you need,” I said.
I wouldn’t quite call it a sulk, but Cary’s mood during the three-hour drive to Bristol was heavily subdued. He clenched the steering wheel more tightly than usual and stomped the accelerator like he was trying to teach a lesson to the other drivers as he passed them. I finally asked him point-blank what was bothering him.
He sighed and said, “Going back to Bristol dredges up a lot of memories.”
“Your mother is going to be very happy to see you,” I said. “Just think about that.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Elsie is a special person, Dyan.”
“Of course she is. She’s your mother.”
“That’s not what I meant. She’s been through a lot in her life. And there were many years when I didn’t see her. Years I’d like to make up to her. But it’s hard.”
“What happened that you didn’t see her for so long?”
“Oh, every family has its dramas,” he said. “It’s not really that interesting . . . here we are!”
“Not in Bristol already?”
“No. We’re coming to the Old Lamb Teahouse, one of my favorite places in all of Britain. They have the best shepherd’s pie in the world and I would walk on stilts again for their bangers and mash. We’re making good time, let’s stop for a bit.”
“Is this tie too garish, do you think?” Cary took a step back so I could judge.
“I like the contrast,” I said.
“No, it’s too loud.”
I smiled. “Why did you ask me then?”
“Maybe the maroon one?”
“Cary, it’s not the Oscars. It’s your mother.”
“Grrrrrr.”
I’d never seen him so insecure about his appearance, but I was certainly flattered that the teacher was asking the student’s opinion. Upon checking into the hotel in Bristol, Cary decided he’d make a preliminary visit to Elsie before he introduced me. That in itself was a little odd, I thought, but now he’d been at my door three times, first demanding, and then dismissing, my opinion of how he looked.
Directly across the hall, the phone in Cary’s room jingled. “That’ll be Maggie and Eric,” he said.
Eric Leach was Cary’s favorite cousin, and he and his wife, Maggie, were really the only family Cary had besides Elsie. I fell immediately in love with them. They were short, round, and soft, like two human-sized dumplings who seemed genetically engineered for hugging. They were a little younger than Cary, and when he was around, he was their only priority. Cary had said more than once that they were his favorite people in the world, and when he hugged Maggie and held her for several moments, cheek to cheek, I realized it was the first time I’d seen Cary display that kind of plain old familial affection.
“What are you running off for, love?” Maggie asked. In a rare instance of crossing his own wires, Cary had called his cousins and then had decided abruptly to visit Elsie when they were already on their way over.
“Just thought I’d pop in for a bit to break the ice,” he said. He was carrying a canvas sack with the mink-lined coat and some other gifts he’d bought for her.
“Oh, Archie, it’s not like she’s going anywhere,” Maggie said softly.
“Let him go, love,” Eric said. “He’s come a long way to see her and he’s eager.”
“All right, then,” Maggie said.
“Why don’t you take Dyan out for a little spin?” Cary said. “She’s never been to Bristol before. Show her a bit of the real England.”
“Have you been to England before?” Maggie asked.
“No,” I replied. “London was the first time I’d set foot here.”
“London isn’t England, love! It’s London.”
“Different breed of cat, those Londoners!” Eric said.
“Indeed, love!” Maggie proclaimed.
I wanted Maggie and Eric to adopt me. Everyone and everything was “love,” and they gave you the feeling they really saw the world that way. If everyone had a marriage like Maggie and Eric’s, all would be well in the world. They were one person in two bodies, forever sharing the same thoughts and completing each other’s sentences. Maggie patted Cary