Earthly Possessions - Anne Tyler [19]
As soon as we were outside again, Jake said, “You told me you were leaving your husband.”
“I was,” I said.
“How come he said what he did, then? You lied.”
“He lied,” I said. “I don’t know why he said that. Not only was I planning to leave him but I’ve left before, and he knows it. Back in nineteen sixty. And I told him I would in sixty-eight also as well as a lot of other times, I couldn’t say just when, exactly …”
“Oh, hell, I might have known,” said Jake.
“Now, what is that supposed to mean?”
But he wouldn’t answer. We walked on, our feet luffing softly on the scabby highway. The air felt chillier and a fine cold spray had started up.
Oh, I certainly would have liked to give that Saul a piece of my mind. He was always doing things like that. Always saying, “I’m certain you won’t leave me, Charlotte.” I just wished he could see me now. I wished I could mail him a postcard: “Having wonderful time, moving on at last, love to all.” From Florida, or the Bahamas, or the Riviera.
But then I stepped in some sort of pothole and cold water splashed to my knees, and my shoes started leaking as if they were no more than paper, and we rounded a curve and came upon the car: hulking in the dark, tilting off the side of the road like a lame man. When we reached it, Jake opened the door and snaked an arm inside to turn the lights on. The headlights flared up, but the ceiling light wavered and died. “Why!” I said (for up till now I hadn’t taken a really good look). “Why, what is this?”
“Huh?” said Jake. He set the can down and unscrewed the cap of the gas tank.
“Why, it’s a—some kind of antique,” I said.
“Sure. Fifty-three, would be my guess.”
“But—” I said. I stepped back, peering at the toothy grille, the separate bumper like a child’s orthodontic appliance. The long, bulbous body was streaked with chrome in unexpected places. Over the headlights there were visors as coy as eyelashes, and the lights themselves had a peculiar color, I thought—dull orange, and cloudy. “It’ll stick out a mile!” I said. “Everyone will notice. It will catch people’s eyes like … for goodness sake,” I said.
Gas burbled into the tank, on and on.
“This is just plain stupid,” I said.
The can landed far away, in bushes or branches or something crackly. “Get in,” Jake told me.
I got in. He climbed in after me and slammed the door. The motor started up with a cough, and when we pulled onto the road we bounced and swayed on our squeaky springs. I let my head loll back against the seat and closed my eyes.
“Well, there’s one thing,” I heard Jake say. “You’re shed of that Frankenstein husband at least and that cruddy flowered sofa. Shed of that spooky little old lamp with the beads hanging off it. Oh, you couldn’t keep me shut in no boring house. Ought to be glad you’re out of it. Any day now, you’re going to be thanking me. Is how I look at it.”
But that’s the only lamp we have, I wanted to say. I’ve given the others away. I’ve given the rugs away too and the curtains and most of the furniture. How much more can I get rid of? My head was growing heavy, though, and my eyes wouldn’t open. I fell asleep.
6
I dreamed about my husband, but he was younger and lacked those two vertical hollows in his cheeks. He had on a crewneck sweater I’d forgotten he ever owned. His trousers were khaki, like the Army pants he wore while we were dating. The sight of him made me sad.
My husband was the boy next door, but to tell the truth we didn’t grow up together. He was several years older than I was—old enough to make a difference, back in school. When I was in eighth grade he was a senior, one of the Emory boys, long-boned and lazy, up to no good. Anyone could tell you who Saul Emory was. While I was just getting my bearings, in those days. I still looked like a child. I’d been systematically starving myself ever since I’d discovered my breasts