Morgan's Passing - Anne Tyler [73]
Then she set out with Bonny, so cheered by her own perceptiveness that her face looked peaky and alight with pleasure, and Robert Roberts might never have existed.
7
But they did come. They arrived the next day in mid-morning, driving the little black VW that Leon had picked up secondhand. Morgan was not quite adjusted yet to the thought of their owning a car. (Though if it had to happen, he supposed that this tiny, bell-shaped machine was the most appropriate. And black; that was a nice touch. Yes, and, after all, what was wrong with itinerants possessing some form of transportation? Maybe they should buy a trailer, as well.) Morgan stood in the yard, rocking from heel to toe, watching as they parked. Emily got out first, and pulled the front seat forward for Gina. Emily had the wrong kind of shoes on—Docksiders. Morgan could hardly believe his eyes. With her black leotard and her flowing black skirt, there was something almost shocking about those cloddy, stiff brown loafers with the white rubber soles. And Gina, when she emerged, wore the squinty, grudging expression of someone yanked from sleep. Leon’s face had a clenched look and there was a shaving cut in the cleft of his chin, plastered with a tiny square of toilet paper. No, they were definitely not at their best. It seemed Morgan had only to leave town and they fell apart, rushed ahead without him, tossed aside all their old charm, and invested in unsuitable clothing. (Leon’s new polo shirt was electric blue, almost painful to the sight.) Still, Morgan stepped forward, putting on a smile of welcome. “Why! How nice to see you,” he said, and he kissed Emily’s cheek. Then he hugged Gina and shook hands with Leon. “Have a good trip? Much traffic? Bad on the Bridge?” he asked. Leon muttered something about senior-citizen drivers and jerked the trunk lid open.
“It was an easy trip, but I don’t know what the scenery was like because Leon drove so fast it blurred together,” Emily said.
“Emily thinks I’m speeding if she can’t read all the small print on every billboard,” Leon said, “every road sign and circus poster. If she can’t count all the fruit in all the fruit stands.”
“Well, I didn’t notice that patrolman disagreeing with me.”
“The fellow’s speedometer was way off base,” Leon said, “and I’m going to tell them so when it comes to court.” He took out a small suitcase and slammed the trunk lid shut. “These people just have a quota to fill. They’ll pick up anyone, if they haven’t passed out enough tickets that day.”
“Ah, well,” Morgan said soothingly. “You got here safely; that’s what’s important.” He took the suitcase from Leon. It weighed more than he’d expected. “Come on in the house,” he said. “Bonny! The Merediths are here!”
He led them up the front steps into the living room. The house’s smell—mildew and kerosene—struck him for the first time as unfriendly. He noticed that the cushions in the rattan chairs were flat as pancakes, soggy-looking, and the rattan itself was coming loose in spirals from the arms. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Emily and Leon stared around uncertainly. Gina slouched near the door and peeled a thumbnail. This was her summer to thin out, it seemed. Her halter top sagged pathetically around her flat little chest. Morgan felt he was suddenly viewing everyone, himself included, in terms of geometry: an ill-assorted collection of knobs and bulges parked in meaningless locations. Then Emily said, “I brought a camera.”
“Eh?” said Morgan. “Oh, a camera!”
“Just a Kodak.”
“But that’s wonderful!” he said. “I left mine at home this year. Oh, it’s wonderful that you thought of it!” And just then Bonny emerged from the kitchen, smiling, wiping her palms on her skirts. He saw that things would be fine after all. (Life was full of these damp little moments of gloom that came and went; they meant nothing.) He beamed and watched as Bonny hugged everyone. Behind her came his mother, also smiling. “Mother,