Shiloh and Other Stories - Bobbie Ann Mason [92]
After the snowplow passes, late in the morning, Nancy drives Robert to the school on slushy roads, all the while lecturing him on the absurdity of raising money to buy official Boy Scout equipment, especially on a snowy Saturday. The Boy Scouts are selling water-savers for toilet tanks in order to earn money for camping gear.
“I thought Boy Scouts spent their time earning badges,” says Nancy. “I thought you were supposed to learn about nature, instead of spending money on official Boy Scout pots and pans.”
“This is nature,” Robert says solemnly. “It’s ecology. Saving water when you flush is ecology.”
Later, Nancy and Jack walk in the woods together. Nancy walks behind Jack, stepping in his boot tracks. He shields her from the wind. Her hair is blowing. They walk briskly up a hill and emerge on a ridge that overlooks a valley. In the distance they can see a housing development, a radio tower, a winding road. House trailers dot the hillsides. A snowplow is going up a road, like a zipper in the landscape.
Jack says, “I’m going to call the vet Monday.”
Nancy gasps in cold air. She says, “Robert made us promise you won’t do anything without letting him in on it. That goes for me too.” When Jack doesn’t respond, she says, “I’d want to hang on, even if I was in a coma. There must be some spark, in the deep recesses of the mind, some twitch, a flicker of a dream—”
“A twitch that could make life worth living?” Jack laughs bitterly.
“Yes.” She points to the brilliantly colored sparkles the sun is making on the snow. “Those are the sparks I mean,” she says. “In the brain somewhere, something like that. That would be beautiful.”
“You’re weird, Nancy.”
“I learned it from you. I never would have noticed anything like that if I hadn’t known you, if you hadn’t got me stoned and made me look at your photographs.” She stomps her feet in the snow. Her toes are cold. “You educated me. I was so out of it when I met you. One day I was listening to Hank Williams and shelling corn for the chickens and the next day I was expected to know what wines went with what. Talk about weird.”
“You’re exaggerating. That was years ago. You always exaggerate your background.” He adds in a teasing tone, “Your humble origins.”
“We’ve been together fifteen years,” says Nancy. She stops him, holding his arm. Jack is squinting, looking at something in the distance. She goes on, “You said we didn’t do anything silly anymore. What should we do, Jack? Should we make angels in the snow?”
Jack touches his rough glove to her face. “We shouldn’t unless we really feel like it.”
It was the same as Jack chiding her to be honest, to be expressive. The same old Jack, she thought, relieved.
“Come and look,” Robert cries, bursting in the back door. He and Jack have been outside making a snowman. Nancy is rolling dough for a quiche. Jack will eat a quiche but not a custard pie, although they are virtually the same. She wipes her hands and goes to the door of the porch. She sees Grover swinging from the lower branch of the maple tree. Jack has rigged up a sling, so that the dog is supported in a harness, with the canvas from the back of a deck chair holding his stomach. His legs dangle free.
“Oh, Jack,” Nancy calls. “The poor thing.”
“I thought this might work,” Jack explains. “A support for his hind legs.” His arms cradle the dog’s head. “I did it for you,” he adds, looking at Nancy. “Don’t push him, Robert. I don’t think he wants to swing.”
Grover looks amazingly patient, like a cat in a doll bonnet.
“He hates it,” says Jack, unbuckling the harness.
“He can learn to like it,” Robert says, his voice rising shrilly.
—
On the day that Jack has planned to take Grover to the veterinarian, Nancy runs into a crisis at work. One of the children has been exposed to hepatitis, and it is necessary to vaccinate all of them. Nancy has to arrange the details, which means staying late. She telephones Jack to ask him to pick up Robert after school.
“I don’t know when I’ll be home,” she says. “This is an administrative nightmare. I have to call all the parents, get