The Pilot's Wife_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [69]
Farther across the field, Kathryn spots Mattie standing in a huddle with a group of friends, her arms crossed and wrapped at her sides as if she were cold, which she is not. It is simply being fifteen and not knowing where to put one’s hands. Mattie’s face, which is familiar and yet not to Kathryn, seems a work of art in transition, its shape newly elongated, the mouth no longer pouty from braces.
— Good turnout, Barbara McElroy says from an adjacent blanket.
Kathryn takes in the McElroy menu at a glance: fried chicken, supermarket potato salad, coleslaw, Fritos, brownies.
— Better than last year, Kathryn says.
— They’ll do the softball game, don’t you think?
— If it doesn’t rain.
— Mattie’s gotten taller, Barbara says, looking in Mattie’s direction.
Kathryn nods. — Is Roxanne here? she asks. And then wishes she hadn’t, for Roxanne, a slender fifteen-year-old with a lip ring, almost certainly wouldn’t be seen at the annual school picnic. Kathryn occasionally speaks to the girl, who is wildly truant and heavily endowed with attitude, in the corridors at school. Barbara will be here then for Will, her seven-year-old, Kathryn decides. Barbara’s husband, Louie, a cod fisherman, is often away, gone for long stretches at a time.
Like Jack, Kathryn thinks.
— Your grandmother has a wonderful old pie safe in the window, Joyce Keys calls from the cloth just beyond Barbara’s. Kathryn takes in the Keys picnic as well: curried rice salad, cold salmon, Perrier, Martha Ingerbretson’s konfetkakke. Joyce and her husband, James, are architects with their own firm in Portsmouth. Keys & Keys.
The whole social history of the town just in the picnics, Kathryn thinks.
— I haven’t seen it, Kathryn says.
— Jack’ll play, won’t he? Barbara asks.
— Oh, I think so, Kathryn says.
She watches her husband dip his head to speak to Arthur Kahler, the owner of the Mobil station, Jack’s sometime tennis partner. It is why his back so often bothers him, she decides; he’s always bending to listen to others. He has on a white polo shirt, a pair of boat shoes. Another uniform of sorts. He slaps behind his ear, looks at his hand, flicks a blackfly from his finger. He sees her watching him.
— I’m starved, he says, coming to her and lowering himself to the blanket.
— Should I get Mattie?
— No. She’ll come by when she’s ready.
— You’re going to play softball?
— I guess so, he says, pouring himself another soda.
— You always think you’ll mind and then you love it, she teases.
He runs his fingers up and down her back. The touch is unexpected and delicious. She wants to bend her head forward and close her eyes. He hasn’t touched her in days.
— Actually, I could use a nice cold beer right now, he says, dropping his hand.
— At a school picnic?
— Doesn’t seem to bother Kahler.
Kathryn glances in Arthur Kahler’s direction and notices now the large red plastic cup in his hand.
Kathryn hands Jack a half moon of pita bread with hummus inside.
— Martha said he was going to close the pumps next week. Put in new ones. We’ll have to go to Ely Falls for gas.
Jack nods silently.
— But, of course, you won’t be here, Kathryn says, remembering that Jack will be away for two weeks — in London for his twice-annual training session.
— No. I won’t.
— You know, I could go with you on this one. School ends next Wednesday. I could fly to London and meet you there. We’d have almost a week together. It’d be fun.
Jack looks away. The invitation hovers over the tablecloth like cigarette smoke on a wet day.
— We could leave Mattie with Julia, Kathryn adds.