Shiloh and Other Stories - Bobbie Ann Mason [77]
“One of these days you’ll see,” says Joe, kissing her.
“See what?” Waldeen mumbles.
“One of these days you’ll see—I’m not such a bad catch.”
Waldeen stares at a split in the wallpaper.
“Who would cut your hair if it wasn’t for me?” he asks, rumpling her curls. “I should have gone to beauty school.”
“I don’t know.”
“Nobody else can do Jimmy Durante imitations like I can.”
“I wouldn’t brag about it.”
—
On Saturday, Waldeen is still in bed when Joe arrives. He appears in the doorway of her bedroom, brandishing a shiny black walking stick. It looks like a stiffened black racer snake.
“I overslept,” Waldeen says, rubbing her eyes. “First I had insomnia. Then I had bad dreams. Then—”
“You said you’d make a picnic.”
“Just a minute. I’ll go make it.”
“There’s not time now. We’ve got to pick up C. W. and Betty.”
Waldeen pulls on her jeans and a shirt, then runs a brush through her hair. In the mirror she sees blue pouches under her eyes. She catches sight of Joe in the mirror. He looks like an actor in a vaudeville show.
They go into the kitchen, where Holly is eating granola. “She promised me she’d make carrot cake,” Holly tells Joe.
“I get blamed for everything,” says Waldeen. She is rushing around, not sure why. She is hardly awake.
“How could you forget?” asks Joe. “It was your idea in the first place.”
“I didn’t forget. I just overslept.” Waldeen opens the refrigerator. She is looking for something. She stares at a ham.
When Holly leaves the kitchen, Waldeen asks Joe, “Are you mad at me?” Joe is thumping his stick on the floor.
“No. I just want to get this show on the road.”
“My ex-husband always said I was never dependable, and he was right. But he was one to talk! He had his head in the clouds.”
“Forget your ex-husband.”
“His name is Joe. Do you want some fruit juice?” Waldeen is looking for orange juice, but she cannot find it.
“No.” Joe leans on his stick. “He’s over and done with. Why don’t you just cross him off your list?”
“Why do you think I had bad dreams? Answer me that. I must be afraid of something.”
There is no orange juice. Waldeen closes the refrigerator door. Joe is smiling at her enigmatically. What she is really afraid of, she realizes, is that he will turn out to be just like Joe Murdock. But it must be only the names, she reminds herself. She hates the thought of a string of husbands, and the idea of a stepfather is like a substitute host on a talk show. It makes her think of Johnny Carson’s many substitute hosts.
“You’re just afraid to do anything new, Waldeen,” Joe says. “You’re afraid to cross the street. Why don’t you get your ears pierced? Why don’t you adopt a refugee? Why don’t you get a dog?”
“You’re crazy. You say the weirdest things.” Waldeen searches the refrigerator again. She pours a glass of Coke and watches it foam.
—
It is afternoon before they reach the graveyard. They had to wait for C. W. to finish painting his garage door, and Betty was in the shower. On the way, they bought a bucket of fried chicken. Joe said little on the drive into the country. When he gets quiet, Waldeen can never figure out if he is angry or calm. When he put the beer cooler in the trunk, she caught a glimpse of the geraniums in an ornate concrete pot with a handle. It looked like a petrified Easter basket. On the drive, she closed her eyes and imagined that they were in a funeral procession.
The graveyard is next to the woods on a small rise fenced in with barbed wire. A herd of Holsteins grazes in the pasture nearby, and in the distance the smokestacks of the new industrial park send up lazy swirls of smoke. Waldeen spreads out a blanket, and Betty opens beers and hands them around. Holly sits under a tree, her back to the gravestones, and opens a Vicki Barr flight stewardess novel.
Joe won’t sit down to eat until he has unloaded the geraniums. He fusses over the heavy basket, trying to find a level spot. The flowers are not yet blooming.
“Wouldn’t plastic flowers keep