The Accidental Tourist - Anne Tyler [29]
While she watched, she talked aloud to the characters. Macon could hear her in the dining room. “It isn’t you he’s after, sweetie,” she said, and “Just you wait. Ha!”—not at all her usual style of speech. A commercial broke in, but Rose stayed transfixed where she was. Macon, meanwhile, worked on “Trying to Sleep in England,” typing away in a dogged, uninspired rhythm.
When the doorbell rang, Rose didn’t respond. Edward went mad, barking and scratching at the door and running back to Macon and racing again to the door. “Rose?” Macon called. She said nothing. Finally he stood up, assembled himself on his crutches, and went as quietly as possible to the hall.
Well, it wasn’t Sarah. A glance through the lace curtain told him that much. He opened the door and peered out. “Yes?” he said.
It was Garner Bolt, a neighbor from home—a scrawny little gray man who had made his fortune in cleaning supplies. When he saw Macon, every line in his pert, pointed face turned upward. “There you are!” he said. It was hard to hear him over Edward, who went on barking frantically.
“Why, Garner,” Macon said.
“We worried you had died.”
“You did?”
Macon grabbed at Edward’s collar, but missed.
“Saw the papers piling up on your lawn, mail inside your screen door, didn’t know what to think.”
“Well, I meant to send my sister for those,” Macon said. “I broke my leg, you see.”
“Now, how did you do that?”
“It’s a long story.”
He gave up blocking the door. “Come on in,” he told Garner.
Garner took off his cap, which had a Sherwin-Williams Paint sign across the front. His jacket was part of some long-ago suit, a worn shiny brown, and his overalls were faded to white at the knees. He stepped inside, skirting the dog, and shut the door behind him. Edward’s barks turned to whimpers. “My car is full of your mail,” Garner said. “Brenda said I ought to bring it to your sister and ask if she knew of your whereabouts. Also I promised your friend.”
“What friend?”
“Lady in pedal pushers.”
“I don’t know any lady in pedal pushers,” Macon said. He hadn’t realized pedal pushers still existed, even.
“Saw her standing on your porch, rattling your doorknob. Calling out, ‘Macon? You in there?’ Skinny little lady with hair. Looked to be in her twenties or so.”
“Well, I can’t imagine who it was.”
“Squinching in and shading her eyes.”
“Who could it be?”
“Tripping down the porch steps in her great tall pointy high heels.”
“The dog lady,” Macon said. “Jesus.”
“Kind of young, ain’t she?”
“I don’t even know her!”
“Going round the back of the house to call out, ‘Macon? Macon?’ ”
“I barely met her!”
“It was her that told me about the windle.”
“Windle?”
“Windle to the basement, all broke out. Fall sets in and it’ll turn your furnace on. Waste all kinds of energy.”
“Oh. Well. Yes, I suppose it would,” Macon said.
“We thought you might’ve been burglarized or something.”
Macon led the way to the dining room. “See, what happened,” he said, “I broke my leg and I came to live at my family’s till I could manage for myself again.”
“We didn’t see no ambulance though or nothing.”
“Well, I called my sister.”
“Sister’s a doctor?”
“Just to come and take me to the emergency room.”
“When Brenda broke her hip on the missing step,” Garner said, “she called the ambulance.”
“Well, I called my sister.”
“Brenda called the ambulance.”
They seemed to be stuck.
“I guess I ought to notify the post office about my mail,” Macon said finally. He lowered himself into his chair.
Garner pulled out another chair and sat down with his cap in his hands. He said, “I could just keep on bringing it.”
“No, I’ll have Rose notify them. Lord, all these bills must be coming due and so forth—”
“I could bring it just as easy.”
“Thanks anyway.”
“Why don’t I bring it.”
“To tell the truth,” Macon said, “I’m not so sure I’ll be going back there.”
This hadn’t occurred to him before. He placed his crutches together delicately, like a pair of chopsticks, and laid them on the floor beside his chair. “I might stay on here with my family,” he said.
“And give up