“Can I call you again?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “This is getting too complicated for me.”
“Well, let me add a new wrinkle,” he said, and without planning to, he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, a kiss short enough to prevent immediate trouble but long enough to portend great long-range trouble ahead: this was no son’s friend pecking a mother-figure on the cheek. She was still standing with her lips open in surprise when he said, low, “Sorry,” and walked out without giving her a chance to speak.
HEexpected her to call and she did, though not until after eleven that night. He figured Joey must have been on the line all that time and it was the first chance she had to use it. He was already in bed, lying awake in the dark thinking of her when the phone rang. He rolled over, felt for the receiver and said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” she returned, then nothing.
He cleared his throat and said, “Now I suppose you’re mad at me.”
“Don’t you ever do that again with my son in the house!”
“Why?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Christopher, what’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with me? I don’t know whether to treat you like my mother or my lover—that’s what’s the matter with me! So what do you want me to do? Do you want me to keep the hell out of there? Because I can do that, you know!”
The line got quiet for the longest time. Then she whispered, “Shit.” He could almost see her leaning her forehead on the heel of one hand.
“Are you crying?”
“No, I’m not crying!”
He commenced rubbing his eyes, then sighed so hugely it sounded like a horse whickering.
“God, Lee, I don’t know,” he said, dropping his hand to the mattress. His answer took on more impact because no one had asked the question.
They stayed silent for so long his ears began to ring.
Finally she said, “You know what you just said . . . I mean about not knowing how to treat me? Well, the same is true for me and how to treat you. It’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever been through in my life. You walk in here, and it’s like Greg walking in. Only I can distinguish very clearly between you and Greg. You’re . . . well, you’re very different. You’re Christopher, and when I’m with you the strange thing is, I hardly ever even think of Greg anymore. Then you go away and I’m deluged by guilt feelings, like I’m some . . . some pervert. I mean, I’ve read my psychology, too, you know! And my Greek mythology! I know about the Oedipus complex!” She had grown more agitated and sounded as if she were arguing with herself.
“Guilt feelings about what?”
“Oh, come on . . . this isn’t some situation comedy we’re playing in. This is real life, and you’re not going to trick me into saying things I don’t want to.”
He said not a word, listening to the faint hum along the telephone wire and feeling their uncertainties stretch in both directions.
Finally she said, “Listen . . . I don’t think we should see each other for a while. I’ve been reading about grief, too, and I’m smart enough to see the similarities between the way I’m acting and what they warn you against doing.”
He took in the words, let them settle like a rock in his heart, then said thickly, “Okay . . . if that’s the way you want it.”
Her voice sounded miserable. “It’s not the way I want it. It’s the way it’s got to be.”
“Yes, I understand.”
More trembling silence, then she said, “Well . . . it’s late. We’ve got church in the morning.”
“Sure.”
“Well . . . goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” Neither of them hung up. When they did, that would be it—their relationship would be over. So they clung to their receivers and the sound of each other’s breathing for a few seconds longer. He pictured her in her blue-flowered bed. She pictured him in his mannishly plain one.
Finally, he said, “Thanks again for the supper. I practically felt like Ozzie Nelson.”
She couldn’t find the wherewithal to laugh. Nothing seemed funny at that moment. It felt as if nothing ever would again.
“ ’Bye, Christopher.”
“ ’Bye, Lee.”
This time he hung up, then lay in the dark wondering if her eyes were stinging like his.
FORLee, facing the future without him seemed a cruelty she didn’t deserve. It was the abysmal time of year between the first frost and the holiday season, when the prospect of hibernating away indoors for the next six months only dampened her spirits further. Janice got so busy at college Lee rarely spoke to her unless Lee was the one to initiate the call. Then the conversations were rushed and most often ended by Janice: “Gosh, sorry to run, Mom, but soandso is waiting for me and we’re running late, as usual.”
Joey was smitten by first love. Many evenings after supper he’d spiff up like the froggie goin’ a-courtin’, and would walk a mile over to Sandy Parker’s house, leaving Lee to find her own diversions. Occasionally Joey and Sandy would spend time at her house, monopolizing the living room where they made goo-goo eyes at one another in between tickling sessions on the sofa that were so embarrassing for Lee she’d finally leave them to themselves and hide away in her bedroom reading her Flowers& magazine.
Orrin and Peg Hillier set out on an extended trip to New England that would take them south along the entire Atlantic seaboard. They planned to be back in time for Thanksgiving.
Lee had only to call anyone she knew to have a companion for the evening. She went to Donna and Jim Clements’ for supper twice, out to the movies with Sylvia and Barry, even to the Rum River Boutique with Nancy McFaddon one evening. There were parent/teacher conferences for Joey at the junior high, and final fall gardening in the backyard, and baked goods to be made for the annual autumn bake sale at church.
However, most evenings Lee spent alone.
One night shortly after ten o’clock she had turned off the lights and was standing at a front window in her pajamas, rubbing lotion into her hands and admiring a big harvest moon, when a black-and-white squad car cruised by so slowly she thought for a moment the driver had probably been able to see her standing in the dark window. She had no doubt it was Christopher. The white door of the car was picked out clearly by the blue-white moonlight, and his speed was so slow she was certain it could be no one else.
Dear God, she got a rush.
Standing there with her hands going motionless she felt her face heat, felt a reaching within, as if an inner voice beyond her control were calling to him.
He didn’t stop, of course, just cruised past so silently she felt shaken by the realization that he’d been watching her house at night.
When she went to bed she lay flat on her back with the covers clamped tightly beneath her armpits, flattening her breasts, as if lying motionless and plank-stiff could negate the yearning she’d felt at the window a moment ago.
You’ve made the right decision, she told herself. An affair with him would be disastrous. Scandalous. Imagine what people would say.
Funny, her admonition did little to get her to sleep or to fill the gaping void in her life or to get Christopher off her mind through the days and nights that followed.
She remained firm in her resolve not to see Christopher again as the rains of mid-October turned into the frosts of late October, that stunning time of year when it was so hard to be alone. The world donned its gilded raiments. It burnished apples, turned pumpkins orange in the fields and dried corn upon its stalks.
The town began preparing for Halloween. Since 1920, when its civic leaders had put on its first Halloween celebration to divert oldtime pranks such as putting wagons on roofs and overturning outhouses, Anoka had dubbed itself the Halloween Capital of the World. This year, as every year, events happened one upon another. There was a Fiddler Jamboree; the Pumpkin Bowl in which the Anoka Tornadoes played their archrivals, the Coon Rapids Cardinals; a senior citizens’ card party, a round-robin hor
seshoe tournament and Bingo; a pumpkin pie bake-off; a lip-sync contest; and the Gray Ghost 5K Run and One-Mile Fitness Walk. The Knights of Columbus sponsored a haunted house out at the fairgrounds; merchants participated in a Moonlight Madness sale; and students from the Anoka Senior High painted all the store windows downtown. The events were to be culminated in the Friday afternoon kiddies’ parade and the Saturday afternoon Grand Day Parade followed by the crowning of Miss Anoka at the senior high.
The entire celebration was supremely good for retail business.
And made one hell of a lot of extra work for the police force.
Being a downtown merchant, and dealing in the products she did, Lee found herself in the thick of it.
It seemed everybody wanted potted chrysanthemums for their doorsteps, wind socks shaped like ghosts or a pile of pumpkins to carve into jack-o’-lanterns. More homeowners decorated their yards than didn’t, and the town took on a festive air with ghost effigies hanging from front-yard trees and doorways hung with black skeletons. Beside lampposts, hay bales, scarecrows and pumpkins appeared. And at Absolutely Floral, dried autumn wreaths for front doors nearly outsold fresh-cut flower arrangements.
On the day the high school seniors came to paint their front window Lee and Sylvia were busy taking care of some older flowers at the rear of the store. The place smelled like hot apple cider from an electric pot near the front where a sign said HELP YOURSELF. The teenagers were painting the glass, drinking cider and having a wonderful time. The bookkeeper was upstairs in the office doing his biweekly work, and two customers were browsing through the display area where Pat Galsworthy was answering questions for them. Lee was taking care of the unpalatable task of changing the water in a canister of multicolored stocks, a member of the radish family that gave off such a hot radishy smell it burned her eyes.
“Lord, this stuff is foul,” she said, transferring the stocks to fresh water, emptying out the old and filling the used container with chlorine bleach and water.
Sylvia went on washing out a container and said, “Mom called yesterday. They were in Brattleboro, Vermont. Did she call you?”
“Not since Tuesday.”
“She said it’s beautiful there.”
“I know. She said they’re having trouble moving on.”
“Did she talk to you about Thanksgiving?”
“No.”
“She wants to have it at her house this year.”
“Fine.”
“She said that by the time they get back she’ll be anxious to cook again and they’ll get here in plenty of time for her to make preparations.”
“Great. I’m glad I don’t have to do it. I’m really not in the mood this year.”
“She’s going to want us each to bring something, of course.”
“She’ll ask me to do pies, I’m sure. She loves my pies.”
“I’m taking my broccoli casserole and wild rice. Oh, by the way, she said I should tell you to ask Chris.”
Lee was pouring Hi-lex water from one container to another. The stream stopped as she looked up at her sister. Sylvia didn’t notice and went on talking. “She and Dad really like him. Did you know that when Greg died he even sent them a sympathy card? Mom just can’t get over that. And I know he really impressed her when he chose her for his volleyball team on the Fourth of July. Have you talked to him lately?”
As Sylvia looked up, Lee snapped back to washing the containers.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, give him a call and tell him he’s invited for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Yeah, sure . . . I will.”
“So, how’s Joey doing with his little heartthrob?” The talk moved on and the subject of Christopher was dropped. The teenagers . nished their window painting and came back to thank the owners for letting them do it. Sylvia went to the cooler and sent them each away with an orange carnation. The bookkeeper came downstairs and said he’d finished all his posting and needed some signatures. Lee dried her hands and signed. Sylvia and Pat Galsworthy began getting the store ready for closing. When Pat had said goodbye and left the two sisters alone, Lee turned off the radio and looked across the room at Sylvia, who was donning her coat. She opened her mouth to speak and knew that if she said she didn’t want to invite Christopher for the holiday, Sylvia would look at her in stunned amazement and ask “Why?”
She clapped her mouth closed, got on her coat and the two went out the back door together into a swirl of dried leaves that were dancing and rustling like a whirlpool in the close quarters between the buildings. Sylvia had already reached her car before Lee called from beside her own, “Sylvia . . . about Thanksgiving . . .”
Sylvia turned, holding her car keys, waiting.
But Lee had no logical excuse for eliminating Chris from their holiday plans. Suddenly she found herself extemporizing.
“I have a new vegetable recipe I’d like to try. Would you mind making the pies this year?”
Sylvia looked doubtful. “Mom will be disappointed. I can’t make crust nearly as well as you.”
“Well, maybe I can make the pies and the casserole, too.”
“Let’s wait till Mom gets home and talk over the menu then.”
Chicken!Lee thought when she’d gotten into her car. She sat without starting the engine, gripping the wheel and going nowhere, frustrated and feeling like a jerk for cutting Christopher out when he so looked forward to being with the family on holidays. She was made more miserable by the fact that she was planning a lie, for when the time came she’d tell everybody that Christopher had to work on Thanksgiving day.
THEmorning of the Grand Day Parade Anoka got crazy well before noon. Thousands of people flooded in, coming to shop, eat lunch and get a good spot on the curb along the parade route. Cars inched along on every side street, looking for parking spaces. Children in costume, hand-towed by their mothers, passed the store windows in droves. Lee looked out between the tempera-painted corn shocks and saw people setting up lawn chairs on the sidewalk out front. Inside, the place was a madhouse. One or two real customers were honestly doing business, but the rest were only creating chaos. Some woman with a bawling baby was looking at greeting cards and wrinkling them when the baby threw itself backward in her arms. A bunch of little boys had discovered the free apple cider and were running in and out, using up her paper cups and bringing their friends in to empty the hot pot. An older woman with a frantic look on her face limped in and asked, “Could I use your toilet, please?” A representative of the Miss Anoka Pageant came tearing in, demanding, “The corsages for the queen candidates—I need them, quick!” The phone rang incessantly. Customers lined up at the checkout counter. The door opened again and the backdraft blew over a wire stand holding a potted cyclamen plant. At one o’clock, Lee clasped her head and said, “Enough already! Let’s lock this place up!”
With a feeling of relief they locked the door, put on their jackets and went out to join the throng on the curb waiting to see the color guard come marching down Main Street to the drumbeat of the Anoka High School band.
Ah, sweet relief! It was a heavenly day, and so good to be outside. Overhead, the sky was deep blue, mottled here and there with puffy white clouds. The temperature on the bank sign read forty-seven degrees, so the sun felt splendid through Lee’s denim jacket. Down at the river crossing, the Rum River was frothing over the dam. Along Main Street all the businesses had put out orange-and-black flags, American flags, flags with the school colors and some whose designation was merely decorative.
A police car came inching by, and Lee’s heart lurched. But it was someone else at the wheel, not Christopher.
A few yards up the curb some teenagers had gathered and were laughing and jostling each other. One of them threw a basketballsized pumpkin as high into the air as he could. It hit the blacktop and splattered ten yards, sending people jumping back, then brushing at the orange strings of pumpkin guts hanging from their clothes. Some laughter went up, along with some cursing and compl
aining.
At the corner of the block Christopher had pulled up his squad car at an angle, cutting off traffic on a cross street. He’d been standing at the front of the car with the flashing reds on, watching the crowd when the pumpkin hit the pavement.
Immediately he headed that way.
He walked along the concrete gutter in front of the gathered crowd, unhurried but authoritative.
Reaching the three rowdy teenage boys, he asked, “You guys throw that?”
One of them said, “Shit no, man. An old lady did. She went that way, didn’t she, Kevin?”
Kevin said, “Oh, yeah, way down that way.”
Christopher remained calm. “You’re going to have to clean it up.”
One of the boys said, “Screw you.”
An onlooker yelled, “It fiew clear over here!”
A block away, the color guard was approaching, followed by the band—seventy pairs of white shoes stomping through all that pumpkin hash. “Now!” Christopher ordered. “Because if that band gets here first, I’m going to start taking names, and I’m sure a lot of these people would be interested in sending you their dry-cleaning bills.”
One of the teenagers relented. “What are we supposed to pick it up with?”
Someone handed over a newspaper. The three boys took the paper, went out into the street, scraped up the pumpkin slime with their hands and piled it into the newspaper while officer Lallek stood by with his thumbs hooked into his belt, watching.
They came running back to the curb just as the American Legion color guard came by with the flags. Behind them, the band was blaring. Christopher pointed down the block in the direction of his patrol car. “There’s a garbage receptacle down there.”
Grumbling, the boys went toward it.
From the curb in front of her store, Lee Reston had seen it all. She might have willfully cut Christopher out of her life, but the sight of him—particularly in uniform, performing his duties—still had the power to switch her heart into overdrive. There was so much noise that she hadn’t heard his voice, but she’d watched without once pulling her eyes from the scene. He looked as strikingly attractive as ever. The color guard passed and she forgot to stand at attention. The band approached and she forgot to watch their synchronized footsteps. Instead, she watched the visor of Christopher’s hat above the heads between them, hoping he would turn her way and find her standing there. He removed his hat and placed it over his heart as Old Glory waved past.