Olive Kitteridge - Elizabeth Strout [38]
The words cheating on Bonnie were as far away as seagulls circling Longway Rock, not even dots to the eye of anyone standing on shore—they had no real meaning to Harmon. Why would they? They implied a passion that would turn him away from his wife, and this was not the case. Bonnie was the central heating of his life. His brief Sunday moments with Daisy were not untender, but it was more a shared interest, like bird-watching. He turned back to the magazine, an inner shudder to think if one of his sons had gone down in one of those planes.
On Thursday it was just getting dark when the couple came into the hardware store. Harmon heard the high voice of the girl before he actually saw her. Stepping around from behind the rack of drill bits, he was surprised at her forthright “Hi.” She said it in almost two syllables, and while she didn’t smile, her face had that same matter-of-factness that he had seen outside the marina.
“Hi there,” Harmon said. “How’re you folks today?”
“Good. We’re just looking.” The girl put her hand into the boy’s pocket. Harmon gave a little bow, and they wandered down toward the lightbulbs. He heard her say, “He reminds me of Luke in the hospital. I wonder what happened to him. Remember Muffin Luke who ran the fucking place?”
The boy answered in a murmur.
“Luke was fucking weird. Remember I told you he said he was going in for heart surgery? I bet he made a terrible patient—he was so used to being in charge. He got scared about his stupid heart, though. Remember I told you he said he didn’t know if he’d wake up dead or alive?”
Again, a murmur, and Harmon got the broom from the back of the store. Sweeping, he glanced at the back of them, the girl standing close to the boy, who had a coat with baggy pockets. “But you don’t wake up dead, do you?”
“Let me know if you need my help,” Harmon said, and they both turned, the girl looking startled.
“Okay,” she said.
He took the broom up front. Cliff Mott came in to ask if there were snow shovels yet, and Harmon told him the new ones would be in next week. He showed Cliff one from last year and Cliff looked at it a long time, said he’d be back.
“We should get this for Victoria,” Harmon heard the girl say. With the broom, he moved up to the front of the gardening aisle, and saw she had picked up a watering can. “Victoria says her plants listen when she talks, and I believe her.” The girl put the can back on the shelf, and the boy, slouchy, easygoing, nodded. He was looking at the coiled hoses hanging on the wall. Harmon wondered why they would want a hose this time of year.
“You know how she’s been such a bitch?” The girl was wearing the same denim jacket with the fake fur at the cuffs. “It’s because the guy she likes has a fuck buddy and he didn’t tell her. She found out from someone else.”
Harmon stopped sweeping.
“But a fuck buddy—I mean, who cares. That’s the point of a fuck buddy.” The girl put her head against her boyfriend’s shoulder.
The boy nudged her toward the door. “Night, now,” Harmon said. The girl pulled the handle with her small hand. On her feet were big suede shapeless boots, her legs as skinny as spider legs rising from them. It was not until they were out of sight down the sidewalk that Harmon recognized the uneasy feeling he had. He didn’t know, but years of experience in the store made him think the boy had shoplifted something.
The next morning, he called his son Kevin at work.
“Everything all right, Dad?” the kid asked.
“Oh, sure, sure.” Harmon was suddenly overcome with a bashfulness. “Everything okay with you?” he asked.
“The same. Work’s okay. Martha’s talking about wanting a kid, but I say we wait.”
“You’re both young,” Harmon said. “You can wait. I can’t wait. But don’t rush. You just got married.”
“It makes