Morgan's Passing - Anne Tyler [111]
“Why, my office, I suppose.”
“Let’s go there.”
Jim led the way himself. Morgan followed. He didn’t so much walk as drift, dimly touching T-squares and hammers as he passed down the aisle. He wondered, idly, how Jim would handle this. What had ever prepared him for such a discussion? He trailed Jim up the stairs. Jim took a seat in Morgan’s swivel chair. Morgan had to sit on the couch, like an applicant for something. (They must teach you this strategy in law school.) Morgan prinked the creases of his trousers and smiled at Jim, showing all his teeth. Jim didn’t smile back.
“Well, I heard the news,” he told Morgan.
“Yes, I figured you had.”
“It’s not clear to anyone what you plan to do next, Morgan.”
“Do?”
“What steps you plan to take.”
“Ah.”
Jim waited. Morgan went on smiling at him.
“Morgan?”
“Well, for the moment I may have to sleep on this couch,” Morgan said. “It’s not the best of beds, as you see—damn buttons, tufting, whatever you want to call it—”
“I’m not inquiring about your mattress, Morgan. I’m asking what arrangements you contemplate.”
“Arrangements?”
“Have you told this other woman you’re assuming responsibility?”
“She’s not ‘this other woman,’ Jim. She’s Emily. You’ve met Emily. And of course I’m assuming responsibility.”
“Morgan, I don’t like to be tactless—”
“Then don’t be,” Morgan said.
Jim sat back in the swivel chair, studying him. He had his briefcase set across his knees like a desk. Although he had long ago traded his crew-neck sweaters for suits, he had never lost his mannequin look. Even now that he was graying, Morgan saw, he was doing it in a mannequin’s style—handsome silvery wings above his ears. Jim tapped his briefcase thoughtfully. “You realize,” he told Morgan, “that you’re not the first man this has happened to.”
“Oh? I’m not?”
“Well, I fail to see what’s so humorous, Morgan.”
“No, no … What I mean to say is, I am the first man it’s happened to in quite this way. Or rather, it’s the first time it’s happened to me, and to her. There’s no point trying to fit us on a graph.”
Jim sighed. “Let’s start all over,” he said.
“Certainly.”
“You know, Morgan, that Bonny was pretty upset this morning when she heard the news. But it’s not the end of the world, I told her. It’s not what you’d break up a marriage for. Is it? Get a hold of yourself, I told her. Oh, sure, she’ll take a while forgiving you. It’s a shock to everybody—Amy, Jean … they might be hard on you at the moment …”
Morgan nodded, trying to look reasonable. Of course, he should have realized the girls would be involved. They were loyal to Bonny, naturally, and it must look terrible, what he’d done. Oh, he didn’t blame them at all. But still he felt a little hurt, picturing Bonny surrounded by clucking daughters. How they rushed to scenes of tragedy and melodrama! He was reminded of Susan, their most difficult child, who had spent a tiresome, extended adolescence bickering with Bonny. She would drive home from college for weekends and he’d barely have unloaded the laundry from her car when she’d be storming out again. “I’ll never come back here, never. I was an idiot to try.”
“But what happened?” he would ask, astonished. She would yank her laundry bag from his hands and flounce into her car and grind the engine. “And how did it happen so fast?” he would call after her departing taillights. Spontaneous combustion! Flint rocks, miraculously magnetized! They rushed to battle with such enthusiasm.
It was just as well he was done with all that. In his mind Emily shone as clear and still as a pool.
“I plan to ask Bonny for a divorce,” he told Jim.
“Morgan. Christ, Morgan. Look, man …”
“I don’t suppose you give discounts to family members, do you?”
“I don’t handle divorces.”
“Oh.”
“And anyhow … Christ, Morgan, what’s got into you? You’re throwing everything away!”
“I’ve already told Emily,” Morgan said, “that I’ll take care of her and Gina and the baby. She could never just stay with her husband; she’s said that. And she