Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant - Anne Tyler [20]
“It wasn’t me,” said Ezra.
“You didn’t fill this out. You’re not interested in a plot.”
“No, thank you.”
“I should have known,” said Mr. Peters.
“I’m sorry,” Ezra told him.
“Never mind, I can see it’s not your doing.”
“Maybe when I’m older, or something …”
“That’s all right, son. Never mind.”
Cody climbed to the stuffy, hot third floor, where Lorena Schmidt sat on his bed with her back against the wall. She was new to the neighborhood—a tawny girl with long black hair, one lock of which she was twining around a finger. “Who was that?” she asked Cody.
“A cemetery salesman.”
“Ugh.”
“He came to see Ezra.”
“Who’s Ezra?”
“My brother Ezra, dummy.”
“Well? How should I know?” Lorena said. “You mean that brother downstairs? Blondish kid, good-looking?”
“Good-looking! Ezra?”
“I liked his kind of serious face,” Lorena said. “And those pale gray eyes.”
“My eyes are gray.”
“Well. Anyhow,” Lorena said.
“Besides,” said Cody, “he gets fits.”
“He does?”
“He’ll fool you. He’ll look as normal as anyone else and then all of a sudden, splat! He’s flat on the floor, foaming at the mouth.”
“I don’t believe you,” Lorena said.
“Some people think he’s dangerous. I’m the only one brave enough to go near him, when he gets that way.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Lorena said.
She twisted around to the head of Cody’s bed and lifted a corner of the window shade. “I see your mother coming,” she said.
“What? Where?”
She turned and flashed him a grin. One of her front teeth was chipped, which made her look unstable, lacking in self-control. “I was teasing,” she said.
“Oh.”
“You ought to’ve seen your face. Ha! I haven’t even met your mother. How would I know if she was coming?”
“You must have met her,” Cody said. “She’s a cashier now at Sweeney Brothers Grocery. Folks around this neighborhood call her the Sweeney Meanie.”
“Well, we do our shopping at Esmond’s.”
“So would I,” said Cody.
“How come she works? Where’s your father?”
“Missing in action,” he told her.
“Oops, sorry.”
He gave a casual wave of his hand and took a swallow of beer. “She runs the cash register,” he said. “Look in Sweeney’s window, next time you go past. You’ll know her right off. Walk in and say, ‘Ma’am, this soup can’s dented. Can I have a reduction?’ ‘Soup’s soup,’ she’ll say. ‘Full price, please.’ ”
“Oh, one of those,” Lorena said.
“Tight little bun on the back of her head. Mouth like it’s holding straight pins. Anybody dawdles, tries to pass the time of day, she’ll say, ‘Move along, please. Please move along.’ ”
He was smiling at Lorena as he spoke, but inside he felt a sudden pang. He pictured his mother at the register, with that anxious line like a strand of hair or a faint, fragile dressmaker’s seam running across her forehead.
Cody took every blanket and sheet from Ezra’s bed and removed the pillow and the mattress. Underneath were four wooden slats, laid across the frame. He lifted them out and stored them in the wardrobe. With great care, he set the mattress back on the frame. He drew a breath and waited. The mattress held. He replaced the bedclothes and he puffed the pillow and laid it delicately at the head. He lugged a pile of magazines from their hiding place in his bureau, opened them, and scattered them on the floor. Then he turned off the light and went to his own bed, across the room.
Ezra padded in barefoot, eating a sandwich. He wore pajama bottoms with a trailing drawstring. “Oh, me,” he said, and he sank into bed. There was a crash. The floor shook, and their mother shrieked and came pounding up the stairs. When she turned on the light, Cody raised his head and stared at her with a sleepy, befuddled expression. She had a hand pressed to her heart. She was taking in gulps of air. Jenny shivered behind her, hugging a worn stuffed rabbit. “Good Lord preserve us,” their mother said.
Ezra looked like someone in a bathtub full of cloth. He was having trouble disentangling himself from his sheets. One hand, upraised, still clutched the half-eaten sandwich. “Ezra, honey,” Pearl said, but then