then?”
“I am.”
“Leonard works for your husband? I told Helen not to trust him, but she wouldn’t listen, same as always.”
“Len works with my husband, not for him. Len has his own project.”
“I’ll bet.”
Mrs. Branch backed up reluctantly and allowed them in. Helen led them into the parlor. A couple of boarders could be heard scurrying up the stairs, and then running about the landing. She and Len sat down without being invited. Helen pushed her hair out of her face. The girl’s skin was bad, but if she wore a pleasant expression, she could be attractive, Margaret thought, and a moment later, when the girl looked at Len, the look on her face did get more pleasant.
Margaret said, “I understand, Mrs. Branch, that Len hasn’t been entirely forthcoming about his situation.”
The woman’s visage darkened.
“He does have something to tell you.”
“What might that be?” said Mrs. Branch.
“Well, I’m married already, that’s what,” said Len. Helen gave a little gasp. Len glanced at her and went on, “And I never forget it, so I didn’t make any promises, no matter what Helen has been telling you. I did kiss the girl, for which I apologize. But …” He trailed off. It occurred to Margaret not to believe him, but she chose to ignore that impulse.
“Isn’t that a fine kettle of fish,” said Mrs. Branch.
They all looked at Helen, whose eyes widened as her cheeks reddened.
Margaret understood right then that the girl was with child, though she didn’t know what gave her that impression. She decided to ignore this intuition, too—whether Len was lying to her or Helen was lying to her mother was something she, at least, would never know. Len looked pettily triumphant, as if to say, Try and catch me.
“Is he married?” Mrs. Branch spoke pointedly to Margaret.
“Here’s a picture of my wife,” said Len. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a photograph. It showed him without his mustache, standing beside a round-faced young woman in a black hat. He had his arm about her waist. She wore a gardenia in her lapel. “We’ve been married for seven years.”
He turned it over. On the back were the words “Mr. and Mrs. Leonard Scanlan, just married, May 4, 1921.” The ink was a bit faded.
“Have you got any children?” said Mrs. Branch.
“I’m sorry to say that we haven’t been that fortunate,” said Len. His manner was utterly guileless, as if this fact was not quite Mrs. Branch’s business but he was willing to answer. Now a bit of alarm began to replace the indignation in Mrs. Branch’s face as she recognized the implications of this. She glanced at Helen, who was twisting her handkerchief in her lap. Len, Margaret discerned from the tilt of his chin, had no idea of the intelligence that was passing among the women in the room.
She said to Mrs. Branch, as if changing the subject and making small talk, “How long have you been in Vallejo?”
“About a year. I’ll say this, it’s dull here, but too many people at the same time.” This was an idle remark, meant to cover her discomfort while she came up with a response to what she was figuring out. Helen coughed. Mrs. Branch said to her, “Well, you better get out to the scullery, miss. There’s potatoes that need peeling.”
Helen got up to leave the room—Len watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was an unlucky girl, Margaret thought, but not as unlucky as she might be, married to Len. Mrs. Branch said, “We hardly know a soul in town, really. I’m so busy with the boarders—”
“I think Vallejo’s an interesting town. Lots of odd little shops to look at …”
“If you can get out.”
“Well, if you do …” She took a bit of notepaper out of her bag and wrote Mrs. Kimura’s name on it. Len watched her. She said, “This is a shop I like.” She pressed the note into Mrs. Branch’s hand. There was nothing else to say, so she and Len stood up.
With each step out of the boarding house, Len got perkier, and by the time they were sitting in the Franklin, he seemed almost giddy. She said, “You’ll be finding another room after this, I imagine.”
“Why should I? I like my room there, and it’s cheap.”
“Don’t you think it would be the kinder thing to do?” She paused. “And your wife must miss you.”
“Maybe.”
He hummed a little tune as they drove back across the causeway.
She dropped Len off