Earthly Possessions - Anne Tyler [69]
“He had never even kissed a girl,” she said. “I had to be the one to kiss him. He was so relieved.”
“Really, Mama?”
“I suppose you think we made a lot of mistakes with you.”
“Oh, no.”
“We didn’t give you a very happy childhood.”
“Nonsense, Mama, I had a happy childhood.”
In fact, maybe I did. Who knows?
“And his breath smelled of Juicy Fruit chewing gum. I have always considered Juicy Fruit a very trashy flavor.”
“Me too,” I said.
“My brother hardly ever comes to see me any more.”
“He died, Mama. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. What do you take me for?”
“Aunt Aster sent you a card, though.”
She tossed, as if throwing off some annoyance.
“If you like, I’ll read it to you,” I said.
She said, “How long am I going to be ruled by physical things? When do I get to be rid of this body?”
“I don’t know, Mama.”
“Bring me my cigarettes,” she said.
(She didn’t smoke.)
I laid aside my sewing and slipped out of the room. Sometimes I just had to. I went swiftly down the stairs, keeping my mind very blank and cold. But in the living room I found rumpled magazines, cast-off shoes, Linus’s doll chairs needling the floor, Amos sprawled on the couch with a newspaper. I stopped and pressed a hand to my forehead. Amos looked up. He said, “Shall I go sit with her a while?”
“No, that’s all right,” I said.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“No.”
He studied me. “I never really knew you before,” he said finally.
I had a feeling that he didn’t know me now, either.
For I was numb, and observed my life as calmly as a woman made of ice, but Amos thought I was strong and brave. He told me so. A thousand times—peering into Mama’s darkened room, bringing me coffee, sending me out for a walk in a world that was, surprisingly, going through summer—he would pause and say, “I don’t know how you manage this.”
“There isn’t any managing to be done,” I told him.
“I used to think you were only beautiful,” he said now.
“Only what?”
“I didn’t understand you. Now I see everyone grabbing for pieces of you, and still you’re never diminished. Clutching on your skirts and they don’t even slow you down. And you’re the one who told her the truth; I heard you. Said the word out loud. Cancer. You sail through this house like a moon, you’re strong enough for all of them.”
I should have argued. (I should have laughed.) But all I said was, “No …” and paused. Then Amos laid aside his paper, and unfolded himself from the couch and took hold of my shoulders and kissed me. He was so slow and deliberate, I could have stopped him any time; but I didn’t. His mouth was softer than Saul’s. His hands were warmer. He lacked Saul’s gaunt, driven intenseness, and made me see that everything was simpler than I’d realized.
My life grew to be all dreams; there was no reality whatsoever. Mama fell into stupors and could not be roused. The children looked like faded little sketches of themselves. My customers drifted in and out again, oddly attired in feather boas, top hats, military medals. Saul didn’t talk any more and often when I woke in the night I’d find him sitting on the edge of the bed, unnaturally still, watching me.
Amos met me in vacant rooms, in the steamy attic, in the bend of an unused stairway. We could be discovered at any time and so we held back, for now; but without even moving he could reel me in to him. It was the end of summer and his skin had a polished, brassy glow. His face had grown sleek and well-fed looking. When he lifted me up in his arms I felt I had left all my troubles on the floor beneath me like gigantic concrete shoes.
I loved him for not being Saul, I suppose. Or for being a younger, happier Saul. He carried no freight of past wrongs and debts; that was why I loved him.
“When this is over with your mother, I’ll take you away,” he said. “I understand that you can’t leave now.”
Actually, he didn’t understand. I would have left. I wanted to get out, throw all the old complexities off, make a clean start. But I was trying to stay faithful to his picture of me and so I only nodded.
“We’ll