At the back, or perhaps even front, of her mind was the thought that if she had a boyfriend, Dan might turn his attention elsewhere — perhaps even in Elaine’s direction. On the other hand, if a boyfriend started squiring her around Willow Brook, that might make Elaine feel worse. Anyway, she was more likely to find someone congenial in the library than anywhere else.
Visiting the library in Bridgeport had been a weekend treat when she was a child. It had been a Carnegie library, a 19th century Gothic castle in red sandstone, hideously ugly but filled with such delights as the Oz books and all of the “Little Maid” series, which had been about 10-year-old girls performing acts of heroism during the Revolutionary War. Connie’s favorite had been the one in which a brave little girl helped guide Francis Marion through the swamps of South Carolina.
Connie didn’t remember how to get to the library, but there were signs in downtown Bridgeport which she could follow. It seemed to her a bit odd that the signs would show a picture of someone reading a book when it was obvious that anyone who wanted to find the library would be able to read the word “library,” but she guessed that the fashion in sign design was for icons rather than words. The signs led her to a building marked “P” for parking, and she found a spot for her green compact hybrid. Inside, there were more arrows showing how to reach the walkway to the library. She didn’t remember having to take a walkway, but the signs were quite clear.
Connie didn’t know how this glass and concrete walkway would join to the red sandstone building of her memory, and she soon found out that it didn’t. Bridgeport’s current library was a featureless concrete box. It didn’t even have a card catalog inside but instead a bank of computer terminals. Connie typed “Silk Road” into the search box and pulled up a list of books. She jotted down call numbers and then went in search of the stacks. Most of the books she wanted were on the third floor. Thanks to the walkway, she was already on the second floor so she decided to take the stairs rather than the elevator.
No one was in the stairwell when she entered, but a man was coming down as she climbed. To her astonishment, it was Dan.
“What, you think fishermen don’t know how to read?” he teased.
Connie shrugged. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, “but I wouldn’t go so far as that.”
“I’ve reached the limit on my fishing license for the month,” said Dan, “so I have a few days off. What say we go have lunch together?”
“That’s not a good idea,” said Connie. “It would hurt Elaine’s feelings if we got involved.”
“As long as we stayed in the city, she wouldn’t have to know,” said Dan. “What happens in Bridgeport stays in Bridgeport.”
Connie raised her eyebrows. “No,” she said.
“Well, let’s re-visit the topic when Dexter shows up.”
“Dexter?”
“My college roommate. He says as long as he has his computer, he can work anywhere, so he’ll get here in a day or two. Once we get him and Elaine hooked up, they won’t care what we do.”
Connie took a deep breath. “Dan, you have to understand that I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. And I’m pretty sure that what you feel for me is just an infatuation.”
“I know,” said Dan. “But who says we can’t enjoy the infatuation while it lasts? By the way, those blue jeans look a lot better on you than that old lady skirt did yesterday.” As he passed her on the stairs, he gave her rear end a pat.
“You —!” Connie whirled around, but Dan just laughed up at her as he opened the door.
Connie gathered up her books and sat down at a carrel to work. She began reading one of the books about the Silk Road, but her mind soon wandered from the discussion of trading practices and coinage of China and Central Asia in the 2nd century C.E. She set up her laptop, planning to take some notes.
Don threw the frisbee too high, and Eileen leaped to grab it. He whistled appreciatively at the sight of her lean, lithe body stretched out in the air. She might not have all the padding he usually looked for in a woman, but who would criticize a greyhound for not being a St. Bernard? He began tossing the frisbee just out of her reach for the pleasure of seeing her scramble for it.
“You’re. Not. Playing. Fair,” she panted.
“Tired?” he inquired sympathetically.
“Yes,” she said defiantly. “I’m going to go wash my hands.”
“Fine,” said Don. “I’ll go keep Caroline company.”
He sat down next to her at the picnic table. “You know, there’s one good thing about that oversized sweater you’re wearing,” he said. “There’s plenty of room for me to do this —” he slid his arm up her back — “and this —” he unhooked her bra.
“Don!” Caroline pulled away, but his fingers gripped her side.
“I wouldn’t mind bedding our little friend if you were willing to join us,” he leered. “What would you say to a threesome?”
“You’re disgusting,” said Caroline.
Connie stopped typing. Was that what she wanted? She really didn’t think so. Maybe it was a mistake trying to write from Don’s point of view. In fact, the whole passage was a mistake. She thought about deleting it, but it was a good example of showing, not telling, which was what everyone said was the hallmark of good writing. It occurred to her that the type of writing extolled in creative writing classes was the type of writing that made for good porn. But hadn’t James Joyce said that art that tried to make a person feel something wasn’t art but pornography? Connie didn’t want to make anyone feel anything, and she certainly didn’t want to make herself feel hot and bothered. Maybe she should forget about writing a novel and write about the coinage of the Ch’in dynasty instead.
Elaine was still feeling cross when Connie called her. Norman had asked her whether she really felt like she needed more “space” when she was talking to a young man. It had taken her the better part of an hour to assure her father that he didn’t need to change his habits at all, to remind him that Dan — and everyone else — really enjoyed talking to him. And besides, she thought bitterly, it wasn’t as if anyone ever said anything that couldn’t be said in his presence.
“Well, it’s just that Connie said that if I wanted you to get married, I shouldn’t interrupt when you’re talking to someone,” Norman said as she came inside from the garden.
“Connie doesn’t know everything, Dad,” said Elaine. “And anyone I married would have to get along with you, too, so it would make sense for you to get to know him.”
The phone rang, and Elaine picked it up. “Jays’ Garden and Wood-working,” she answered automatically.
“It’s Connie. Look, I’m sorry about yesterday…”
“Well, you should be,” said Elaine. “You might as well have pinned a note to my shirt that said ‘Desperate.’”
“I thought you looked very nice,” said Connie.
“Can you make this quick?” said Elaine. “I do have some work to do.” She laid extra stress on the word “work.”
“I just wanted to say I was sorry,” said Connie. “Give me a call when you’re free to get together.”
Elaine set the phone down slowly. She probably would call Connie eventually even though late spring and early summer were the busiest times of the year for her. “Why couldn’t you have come for a visit in November?” she said to the phone. Although if she never wanted to see Connie again, it really didn’t matter when she paid a visit to Willow Brook.
The sound of her father’s drill told her that he was back at work on his latest garden gnome. Elaine felt angry all over again. It wasn’t any business of Connie’s what her father did, and she certainly didn’t have any right to criticize his behavior. But that was the way Connie had always been. She was so sure she knew best that she trampled over everybody else. She’d been that way when they were children, assigning roles to Elaine and Dan in the games and stories she’d devised. Elaine vividly remembered being made to walk the plank when they played pirates. The scrape she’d gotten on her knee when she landed had meant that she couldn’t go swimming in the lake for a month. And while Dan and Connie hadn’t actually set fire to her when they burned her at the stake as a witch, the smell of burning leaves still made her shudder. “I am not a character in your book,” she said firmly to the phone.
Unfortunately, the truth was that Willow Brook had become a very dull place once Connie and her mother left. Connie had written to her, and Elaine had written back, and Connie had written again. But Elaine hadn’t answered because there wasn’t any news to report until her mother died, and she didn’t particularly want to write about that.
The annoying thing was that she probably could benefit from Connie’s sophistication and advice, and yes, she was right that having Norman around did cramp her style. Elaine hadn’t dated in high school. She’d gone to parties, of course, but none of the boys from school had ever suggested that they go to the river to watch submarine races. And in college, by the time she’d driven to Bridgeport, taken her classes, done her school work, and driven home to take care of the garden and fix dinner, she’d been too tired for socializing. Dating was more dangerous in college anyway — you never knew whether a guy expected you to go all the way. Elaine still didn’t know what was expected. She didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but at the ripe old age of 25, she was still a virgin.
Elaine put her produce in the rusting pick-up truck that she and her dad drove and took it over to the grocery store she regularly supplied. Because she grew so many different types of plants, she needed only one outlet. Other people might think it practical to grow only one crop, but Elaine knew if she did that, she’d have to take her fruits, vegetables, and flowers to dozens of stores instead of just the one.
Once she dropped off the produce, she usually took what the store didn’t want over to Dan Steele, for him to use as bait when fishing. In return, he gave her the fish that he couldn’t sell to add to her compost heap. Today Elaine hesitated, but only for a few minutes. She would have to see Dan again eventually; Willow Brook was too small a town for her to avoid him completely. It would be awkward, of course, but the awkwardness would only get worse the longer she waited. And besides, she needed the compost.
He was washing his car when she drove up. It didn’t help that he was stripped to the waist, offering a good lesson in the anatomy of deltoids, pectorals, and abs. Elaine tried not to stare, but really there was no place else to look.
“I’ve got some wilted lettuce for you,” she called.
“I’m sorry,” said Dan. “I hit my limit yesterday, so I have to wait until the first of the month before I can fish again. But if you wait a minute, I’ll give you directions to that place I told you about.”
He turned off the water and opened the passenger-side door to get at the glove compartment. He emerged with a map. Wiping the roof of the car with his discarded t-shirt, he spread out the map for Elaine to look at. “You take Highway 78 to County Road 356,” he said. “Make a left and go two miles. There should be a good gravel road on your right. Turn there and go eight-tenths of a mile and pull off the road — there should be a flat spot where you can park. Once you get out of the car, go down a bit of a hill and you should come to a little stream. If you follow the wash upstream, you’ll come to the waterfall I told you about.
“Do you think you can find it on your own, or should I take you there?”
“I think I can find it,” Elaine said quickly. Too quickly, she realized. If she’d feigned helplessness, she might have been able to spend some quality time with Dan. On the other hand, after last night, she didn’t know what they’d talk about.
“Yeah, you’re pretty good at finding your way around without getting lost,” said Dan. “Um, Elaine?”
“Yes?” Anxiety made her mouth go dry.
“Don’t be too hard on Connie. I’m sure she meant well.”
Elaine shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Dan gripped her shoulder for a second. “Whatever happens, we’ll always be friends, right? I’d hate to lose my little bait-supplier.”
“Right.” Elaine choked the word out. There was nothing she wanted more than to get in her car and drive far, far away.
“Oh, I forgot,” Dan called as she was leaving. “My buddy Dexter from college is coming to stay for a few days. Maybe he and I and you and Connie can go to the movies or something?”
Something smelled a little fishy to Elaine, and it wasn’t Dan’s t-shirt, but she agreed, before driving off.
Once she was away from Dan’s house, Elaine felt her vision beginning to blur with tears. What she wanted was a good cry, but she couldn’t have it at home. And she certainly couldn’t have it here on the road, although at the moment there weren’t any other cars around. Stopping her truck, she blotted her eyes with the hem of her t-shirt and decided to go and check out Dan’s “fairyland.” What had the directions been? Highway 78 to 326, left 2 miles, then right eight/tenths on a gravel road. Elaine opened her glove compartment and took out the little notebook she used for figuring gas mileage. She wrote down the directions at the back, and started the truck up again.
Walking along the stream, Elaine felt her embarrassment and resentment begin to melt. It was impossible to feel aggrieved when sunlight was making diamonds on the stream, impossible to remain hurt when a robin was trilling to the drumbeat a woodpecker made on a hollow log. Nature always had the power to soothe Elaine. Even if Dan’s “fairyland” wasn’t much, she still felt better for having walked out to see it.
A large bush, festooned with poison ivy, blocked her path, but the stream was shallow. Elaine took off her shoes and socks and waded into the water. Once past the bush, she could see the waterfall. It was the wrong time of day for a rainbow, but the sight was still spectacular. Crabapple trees in blossom flanked the pool where Dan caught his fish, and the waterfall fell from a ten-foot high cliff to splash on dark, flat-topped ledges of shale below. Tall elms walled the glade, and bees were busy among the sweet-smelling phlox at their roots.
The ground was a mix of cobblestone, gravel, and tiny plants. Dan had referred to the place as a wash, and Elaine realized that she was standing in the floodplain of the pool. She put her shoes and socks on and walked up to the pool’s edge, where a flat outcropping was bathed in sunlight. She felt like crying again, but these were healing tears of gratitude. She sat down on the rock and watched the waterfall for a while. Except for the splash of water and the buzz of the bees, the place was quiet, separate from the bustle of traffic and civilization. Elaine lay on her back and looked up into the cloudless blue sky. There weren’t any answers in the sky, but she felt a release from the heaviness of her questions. It didn’t matter if Dan wasn’t her Mr. Right; it didn’t even matter if she never married; Elaine was at peace here.
Turning to go back to her truck, Elaine spotted a clump of wild dwarf iris at the edge of the stream. Would it be all right to take one of the plants back with her, to see if she could get it to grow at home? She asked the glade. After a moment, she felt as if permission had been given. Deftly, her fingers separated a plant from its fellows. She dampened one of her socks in the stream and wrapped it around the plant’s root stalk. Putting on her shoes, she walked out of the glade, turning by the large bush to bow to the glade’s unseen presences.
She would have to thank Dan for making the place known to her. An hour earlier she would have felt cross and anxious at the thought of talking to him about something other than bait, but now she knew that she could share her delight without feeling self-conscious.
No comments:
Post a Comment