The Art of Saying Goodbye - Ellyn Bache [37]
Jeff offers her a chair. Sitting down, Lori sighs and fans herself with a hand. “I’ve turned into my own personal furnace,” she says, prompting Iona to get up and open the window behind her. Instantly the room is chilly. Lori keeps fanning.
“Another month and you’ll be freezing,” Jeff says.
“Another month and the baby will be here,” she says, “or else I’ll have to buy bigger maternity clothes.” The afternoon sun, partially obscured by the willow oak outside, falls in a gently dappled pattern onto the chair where Lori sits, light and shadow shifting with the rustling leaves and the movement of the ribbons still secured to the tree. In the ever-changing light, she’s the perfect image of a soon-to-be Madonna.
“You’ve just rescued me from becoming an accountant,” Jeff tells her, pointing to Iona’s computer.
“You?”
“That’s what I told her.”
Iona might as well be in the next room.
Lori hoists herself out of the chair, waddles over to the desk. “QuickBooks?” She studies the screen, wiggles the mouse, brings up a financial statement. “This is what I did at Becker’s Trucking.” She sounds wistful, already having doubts about quitting her job with the idea of becoming a full-time mother. She clicks through a few more screens, nods to herself. “I could do this,” she says.
“What do you mean?” Jeff frowns, but his voice is bright with expectation.
“After the baby is born,” Lori tells him. “I could input all the financials. Run the reports. It would only take a couple of hours a week.”
True enough, Iona thinks. Lori turns in her direction, as if it has just occurred to her that she’s been present all the time.
“What do you think, Iona? After the baby comes, you can take her anytime you want and I can mind the office for a couple of hours. It will give us both a break.” She sounds as hopeful as Jeff does.
Iona shrugs noncommittally and doesn’t reply, though it has already occurred to her that this might work. Lori and Jeff are a good team. When they’re together, he seems so centered that it’s impossible to imagine him as the truant he was at ten, or the petty thief he became at twelve, dissuaded from serious crime only by the trauma of being hauled into court for stealing a carton of cigarettes, or the miserable wreck he was as a teenager. When he gets too intense, Lori calms him down. When Lori gets depressed, Jeff makes her laugh. Who would have thought Lori also takes to business the way Jeff took to drywall and plumbing? If this works out, Iona can drop dead at will, Jeff can run the job sites, and Lori will handle the finances and keep them from becoming destitute. Thank God.
Not that Iona believes in God.
Lori could also go to the bank with Jeff if it ever becomes necessary. She’s the sort of conventional, sensible-looking young woman who looks like the perfect candidate for getting a loan and making the payments on time.
“Sure,” Jeff says to Iona. “Not only can Lori can get out of the house to do your books, but it will give you a chance to indulge your grandmotherly feelings.” He burps an imaginary baby against his shoulder.
Iona smiles politely. She doesn’t expect to have any grandmotherly feelings. She intends to be kind to the baby, and as attentive as necessary, given that Lori’s parents live in Wyoming and Jeff’s mother isn’t interested. But as to “feelings”—no. It will always rankle with her—it rankles even now—that the child to whom she’s being linked as the sole, indulgent grandparent is no blood kin to her. Just as she had no child of her own, she will have no grandchild. If her emotions are foolish and petty, she can’t help it.
“Let’s not rush into this,” Iona says. “Let’s see how Lori feels in a few weeks.”
But all at once the imminence of the new arrival makes her feel, as she hasn’t since Richard’s death, barren.
Barren. For Iona the word conjures up the vast winter landscapes of Russian novels and the bleak emptiness of her own body. Until Richard, men had generally considered Iona fierce rather than feminine, so she didn’t marry until she was thirty-eight. She never used birth control, but she