Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant - Anne Tyler [133]
“Yes,” the old man said, with a triumphant nod. “It’s your father speaking, Cody.”
Cody said to Jenny, “I’m not sure if Ezra remembered to set a place for Dad.”
“What?” Jenny said. She looked at Beck Tull. “Oh,” she said.
“At the restaurant. Did he remember?”
“Oh, well, probably,” she said.
“Nothing fancy,” Cody told Beck.
Beck gaped at him.
“Just a light repast at the Homesick.”
“What are you talking about?” Beck asked.
“Dinner afterward, of course, at the Homesick Restaurant.”
Beck passed a hand across his forehead. He said, “Is this here Jenny?”
“Yes,” Jenny told him.
“Jenny, last time I set eyes on you you were just about eight years old,” said Beck. “Was it eight? Or nine. Your favorite song was ‘Mairzy Doats.’ You babbled that thing night and day.”
“Oh, yes,” Jenny said distantly. “And little lambs eat ivy.”
Beck, who had drawn a breath to go on speaking, paused and shut his mouth.
“You remember Ruth,” said Cody.
“Ruth?”
“My wife.”
“Why should I remember her? I’ve been away! I haven’t been here!”
Ruth stepped forward to offer her hand. “So Cody’s married,” said Beck. “Fancy that. Any children?”
“Well, Luke, of course,” Cody said.
“I’m a grandfather!” He turned to Jenny. “How about you? Are you married?”
“Yes, but he’s left to pick up the little ones,” Jenny said. She waved goodbye to somebody.
“And Ezra?” Beck asked. “Where’s Ezra?”
“Over there by the steps,” Cody said.
“Ah.”
Beck set off jauntily, running a hand through his crest of hair. Jenny and Cody gazed after him.
“If I just saw him on the street,” Jenny said, “I would have passed him by.”
“We are just seeing him on the street,” Cody told her.
“Well. Yes.”
They watched Beck arrive before Ezra with a bounce, like a child presenting some accomplishment. Ezra bent his head courteously to hear Beck’s words, then gave him a mild smile and shook his hand.
“Imagine!” they heard Beck say. “Look at you! Both my sons are bigger than I am.”
“Dinner is at my restaurant,” Ezra told him calmly.
Beck’s expression faltered once again, but recovered itself. “Wonderful!” he said. He moved toward the teen-agers, who had got wind of what was going on and stood in a clump nearby—silent, staring, hostile as usual. Beck seemed not to notice. “I’m your grandpa,” he told them. “Your Grandpa Tull. Ever heard of me?” Probably they hadn’t, unless they’d thought to inquire. He moved down the line, beaming. “I’m your long-lost grandpa. And you are—? What a handsome young fellow!”
He pumped the hand of the tallest teen-ager, who unfortunately was not a grandson at all but one of Ezra’s salad boys.
Cody and Ruth and Jenny led the way to the restaurant on foot. The others lagged behind untidily. The first group turned onto St. Paul Street and passed various bustling little buildings—a dry cleaner’s and a drugstore and a florist. All the other pedestrians were black; most held jangling radios to their ears, so that scraps of songs about love and jealousy and hardhearted women kept approaching and fading away. Then Ezra’s wooden sign swung overhead, and the three of them climbed the steps and walked in.
In the chilly light from the windows, the restaurant seemed glaringly empty. One long table was covered with white linen, set with crystal and china. Thirteen places, Cody counted; for Jenny’s Joe would be bringing more children, those too small to have sat through the service. A sweet-faced, plump waitress in a calico smock was drawing up a high chair for the baby. When she saw them come in, she stopped to give Jenny a hug. “I’m so sorry for your trouble,” she said. “You and all your family, hear?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” Jenny said. “Do you know my brother Cody? And this is Ruth, his wife.”
Mrs. Potter clicked her tongue. “It’s a terrible day for you,” she said.
Cody turned toward the door in time to see Beck and Ezra enter, trailed by teen-agers. Ezra had obviously relaxed and grown talkative; he never could be cool to