Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel - By Elizabeth Berg Page 0,138

a T-shirt with greasy hair was leading it around by a clothesline. And every few steps the pony would stop and blow stuff out of his nose and then the man would have to hit him to get him going again. And I saw right away that that’s how life was going to be. False promises. Just … black. I’m writing a poem about it for my English class. It’s called ‘Truth in the Ring.’ ” She sighed, blew on her cocoa, looked up at me. “You know what I mean? Like I am so on to life. There’s nothing good coming my way.” There were dark circles under her eyes, a tender pimple starting on her chin.

“Well, I know I sometimes felt that way,” I said. “I mean, when I was your age. But Lavender …” I leaned forward, smiled. “You know, I wonder if … Did you say your real name was Elaine?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you mind if I called you that?”

“Yeah, I’d mind. I hate Elaine. That’s why I changed it to something to suit me. Lavender Blue, that suits me.”

“All right,” I said. “It’s just that … Well. What I wanted to tell you, is that it gets better. Life. It does!”

“Are you happy now?”

I started to answer, then stopped.

“See? Anybody who tells the truth would have to say that they’re not. Nobody’s happy. Not really. Not for any length of time.”

“Well,” I said. “I—”

“It’s okay,” Lavender said. “I’m used to it. So! Good night!”

I go to bed early and then suddenly awaken. It’s seven minutes after eleven. I stare at the ceiling, sigh. Then I pull the phone under the covers with me and call David. He answers after three rings, his voice husky.

“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” I ask.

“No. It’s fine. What’s up?”

This is what he says when he wants to hurry people, What’s up? He used to look at me when he said it to someone else on the phone, rolling his eyes.

“I need to ask you something,” I say. “Did you happen to say anything to Travis about getting married again?”

“About getting married again?”

Stalling. This is what he always does when he’s uncomfortable with a question, repeats it back to me.

“Yes, about getting married again.”

“No, I didn’t say anything. It was more … Well, I think maybe Vicky was just talking about the notion of people getting married, generally, and he must have thought she and I had been talking about it.”

“Had you been?”

“Oh, not … You know, just in the most general of ways.”

“As in …?”

He sighs. “Sam? I don’t think this is an appropriate discussion for us to be having. Suffice it to say I don’t have any plans for remarriage right away.”

“I would think not, since you’re not divorced yet.”

“I’ll let you know. Anything you need to know, I’ll let you know.”

“Is she there?”

Silence.

“Is she?”

A sigh. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

I feel socked in the stomach. Because he is right.

“I just wanted to talk to her. I just wanted to tell her it’s probably not a good idea to be talking to Travis about marrying his father.”

“She knows that.”

“Apparently not.”

“Sam—”

“I don’t want to hear it, David. Just … Get smart, you know? And tell your girlfriend to get smart, too.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No. There was nothing else.”

“All right. Good night.”

I hang up the phone. Swallow. Swallow again. I hate that he will now tell Vicky that it was me on the phone. There they are, lying together. She’s seen every part of his body. I turn on the bedside light. Turn it off.

I walk over to the window and look out at the backyard. A couple of inches of snow out there. The bird feeders, empty. The bare rhododendron bushes, all those black branches. But in the spring, they will bloom. And in the summer, who will mow the lawn? I lean my forehead against the glass, and in the fog that my breath leaves behind, write my initials.

24

“Hello, Mrs. Gibbons?” I say.

“Yes?” The woman’s voice on the other end of the line is guardedly suspicious.

“This is Mrs. Morrow,” I say, as I’ve been instructed (“ ‘Mrs.’ makes them trust you more. Use Mrs. even if you’re Miss, any questions about that?”). Then, turning to my script, I say, “I’m calling from the customer service desk at Supersave.”

This is not true. I am calling from First Rate Home Delivery Food Service. For the last four days, I’ve been working as a telephone solicitor, sitting in a blue