eyes on Kelly. The transformation was remarkable. Many times after that I saw it happen to her, and I was always astounded, but that first time was like witnessing a miracle, or the results of a spectacular compact with the devil.
She filled out like an inflatable doll. Color flooded into her cheeks. Her shoulders squared and she sat up straight. By the time her boys found us and rushed into the living room, bringing with them like sirens their light and fresh air and energy, she was holding out her arms to them and beaming and the white fur jacket had slipped from her shoulders onto the hearth behind her, where I thought it might burn.
I stayed at Kelly’s house for a long time that first day, though I hadn’t intended to. When Kelly introduced me as an old friend from college, Joshua, the younger child, stared at me solemn-eyed and demanded, “Do you know my daddy, too?” I admitted that I did, or used to. He nodded. He was very serious.
We had a picnic lunch outside on the patio. I watched the children splash in the sprinkler and bounce on the backyard trampoline, watched Kelly bask like a chameleon in the sunshine. She was a nervous hostess. She fluttered and fussed to make sure the boys and I were served, persistently inquired whether the lemonade was sweet enough and whether the sandwiches had too much mayonnaise, was visibly worried whenever any of us stopped eating. She herself didn’t eat at all, as if she wasn’t entitled to. She didn’t swat at flies or fan herself or complain about the heat. She hardly talked to me; her interactions with the children were impatient. She watched us eat and play, and the look on her face was near-panic, as if she couldn’t be sure she was getting it right.
I was restless. I wasn’t used to sitting still for so long without something to occupy me—television, a newspaper, knitting. At one point I got up and went over to join the boys. I tossed the new yellow frisbee, spotted Clay on the tramp, squirted Joshua with the sprinkler. I was clumsy and they didn’t like it; my intrusion altered the rhythms of their play. “Quit it!” Josh shrieked when the water hit him, and Clay simply slid off the end of the trampoline and stalked away when he discovered I’d taken up position at the side.
Somewhat aimlessly, I strolled around the yard. Red and salmon late roses climbed the privacy fence; I touched their petals and thorns, bent to sniff their fragrance. “Ron likes roses,” Kelly said from behind me, and I jumped; I hadn’t realized how close she was. “That’s why we planted all those bushes. They’re hard to take care of, though. I’m still learning. Ron buys me books.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said.
“They’re a lot of care. He’s never here to do any of it. It’s part of my job.”
Clay appeared at my elbow. He was carrying a framed and glass-covered family portrait big enough that he had to hold it with both hands.
“Clay!” his mother remonstrated, much more sharply than I’d have expected from her. “Don’t drop that!”
“I’ll put it back,” he said lightly, dismissing her. “See,” he said earnestly to me. “That’s my dad.”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, what acknowledgment would be satisfactory. I looked at him, at his brother across the yard, at the portrait. It had been taken several years ago; the boys looked much younger. Kelly was pale and lovely, clinging to her husband’s arm even though the photographer had no doubt posed her standing up straight. The uniformed man at the hub of the family grouping was taller, ruddier, and possessed of much more presence than I remembered. “You look like him.” I finally said to Clay. “You both do.” He grinned and nodded and took the heavy picture back into the house.
I sat on the kids’ swing and watched a gray bird sitting in the apple tree. It was the wrong time of the season, between blossom and fruit, to tell whether there would be a good crop; I wondered idly whether Kelly made applesauce, whether Ron and the boys liked apple pie. “My dad put up those swings for us!” Joshua shouted from the wading pool, sounding angry. I took the lemonade pitcher inside for more ice, although no one who lived there had suggested it.
Being alone in Kelly’s kitchen gave me a sense of just-missed intimacy. I guessed