Morgan's Passing - Anne Tyler [133]
“What made you do it?”
She thought it over.
His mother said, “I’m certain it’s not bats, because I hear their little feet.”
“To tell the truth,” Bonny said, “I’d forgotten all about it. Oh, dear. I really should have canceled it; I meant to all along; it was only one of those impulses that just hit sometimes—”
“I can’t figure out how you knew where I lived,” Morgan said.
“I called Leon in Richmond and asked,” she said. “I guessed you’d tell Leon at least, because of Gina.”
“But what was the point, Bonny? An obituary, for God’s sake.”
“Or do bats have feet too?” said his mother.
“It was meant to be an announcement,” Bonny said.
“What kind of announcement?”
She colored slightly. She touched the dent at the base of her throat. “Well, I’m seeing someone else now,” she said. “Another man.”
“Ah,” he said.
“A history professor.”
“That explains printing my obituary?”
“Yes.”
Well, yes.
He took pity on her then—her pink cheeks, and the clumsy, prideful, downward look she wore. “All right,” he said. “That’s all I had to ask. I’ll be going now.”
She drew back to let him pass. Already she’d collected herself—lifted and straightened. He stepped into the hall. Then he said, “But, ah, God, Bonny, you don’t know how it felt! Really, such an … embarrassment, an item like that in a public place, all on account of some whim you get, some halfcocked notion!”
The twist in her mouth returned, and deepened. No doubt she found this hilarious.
“It’s probably not even legal,” he said.
He started coughing. He searched his pockets for his handkerchief.
“Do you want a Kleenex?” she asked. “What’s the matter with you, Morgan? You don’t look well.”
“I could probably have you arrested,” he told her. He found his handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth.
“Let’s not talk about what we could arrest each other for,” Bonny said.
So he went down the stairs at last, not even saying goodbye to his mother or giving her a final glance. Bonny followed. He heard the rustle of her bakery sack close behind his ear—an irritating sound. An irritating woman. And this banister was sticky to the touch, downright dirty. And you could break your neck on the rug in the entrance hall.
At the door, when his thoughts were flowing toward the pickup truck (get gas, check tires) and the journey home, Bonny suddenly seemed to have all the time in the world. She brushed a piece of hair off her forehead and said, “His name is Arthur Amherst.”
“Eh?”
“This man I’m seeing. Arthur Amherst.”
“Good, Bonny, good.”
“He’s very steady and solid.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, jingling his keys in his pocket.
“You think that means he’s dull, I suppose.”
“I know it doesn’t mean that,” he said.
He pulled out his keys then, and turned to leave, but was struck by something and turned back. “Listen,” he said. “Those really may be bats, you know.”
“What?”
“Those creatures Mother’s hearing in the attic.”
“Oh, well, they’re not harming anybody.”
“How can you be sure of that? You ought to do something about it. Don’t put it off; they could chew through the wiring.”
“Bats?” she asked.
“Or whatever,” he said.
He hesitated, and then touched his cap in a salute and left.
Now there was church traffic, old men in felt hats driving carloads of tinkly old ladies, sidewalks ringing with the clop of high heels. He traveled downtown in a suspended state of mind, shaking off the annoyances of the morning. He traveled farther and farther, not out of the city but deeper into it. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look at Cullen Hardware. There was always the possibility that Butkins would be there, even on a Sunday, maybe sorting stock or just standing idly, dimly, at the window as he sometimes did.
But the hardware store was gone. There was only a blank space between the rug store and Grimaldi Brothers Realty—not even a hole, just a vacant lot. Weeds grew on it, even. The wastepaper crumpled in its hillocks had already begun to yellow