The Body Of Jonah Boyd - By David Leavitt Page 0,23

relief, in the second with regret, in both with an inconsolable ache of loss.

She did not sleep well that night (or so she told me the next morning). I came over early, and together we stuffed the turkey, taking care to adjust the thermometer before arranging it in its pan. Into the oven the bird went. Nancy took off her apron; lit a cigarette. She was harrowed by anxiety, while I, on the contrary, felt rising in me the richest flush of pleasure. That morning was the apogee of my love for Nancy, a love the name of which I dared not speak, and which I had tried, ironically, to consummate through my affair with her husband. Later I grew to love Ernest for himself; that Thanksgiving, he was an irrelevance. It was Nancy with whom I was besotted, and the passionate suitor, as all passionate suitors know, is profoundly selfish. How I longed for her to weep, just so that I could kiss away her tears! No matter that what preoccupied her was another love, no matter that I was as irrelevant to her, at that moment, as Ernest was to me! This was my chance to prove myself. So I bustled about, chopping carrots, setting the table, as effervescent as Daphne was sullen. I even took care, for once, to load the dishwasher to Nancy’ exact specifications, and was disappointed when, rather than peering inside to make sure I’d misarranged the plates, she slammed the door shut and switched the thing on without a word—when for once I had done a perfect job!

It was close to one o’clock. Nancy was basting the turkey for the umpteenth time. Dinner was scheduled for four, with the other guests invited for three. The Boyds’ flight had landed, on time, at ten-thirty (Nancy had checked with TWA), which meant that they should have arrived in Wellspring at twelve-fifteen. Ernest was sequestered in his office above the garage. Ben and Daphne were playing Scrabble at the tulip table. Already Mark had made his mournful holiday call; tears had been shed at his description of Vancouver going about its regular business, an ordinary weekday in Canada, which he and some of his fellow draft dodgers were going to try to make more cheerful by preparing a little feast of their own, with a soy loaf in the shape of a turkey. The memory of that call must have touched some nerve of maternal affection in Nancy, for now she stole up behind Ben and rubbed his shoulders.

“Mom, stop,” he said.

“Lucid,” she whispered. “Right there, the double letter score—”

“Will you please not help him?” Daphne asked.

“Sorry. What time is it?”

“Five past one.”

“I wonder why they haven’t gotten here. Maybe they had an accident. Or got lost.”

“Then they’d have called.”

“Or maybe they pulled in for gas in a bad neighborhood and got held up,” Ben interjected helpfully. “That happened to Hettie Longabaugh’ sister, remember? People who don’t know L.A.—”

“But if they rented a car, it would have a full tank.”

“It’ my fault,” Nancy said. “I should have sent Ernest to pick them up.”

Daphne switched on the television. “Poor mother, always so worried,” she said, with the easy gravity of a girl whom sex has endowed with delusions of maturity. “Anyway, a few hours in Compton would probably do them some good. Let them see how the other half lives, while we stuff ourselves with turkey.”

“Maybe I should call the highway patrol—”

“Just give them another hour. They could have stopped for lunch.”

“On Thanksgiving?”

Little Hans started to bark. “Oh, I hope that’ them,” Nancy said.

“It could be Glenn,” Daphne said, adjusting her hair. “He said he might come early.”

We all hurried to the front hall. Little Hans had his paws on the stained glass of the door, which Nancy opened. Outside a man and a woman in heavy East Coast coats were pulling luggage out of the trunk of a red Chevrolet.

“Anne, thank goodness!” Nancy cried, and ran to embrace her. They kissed and wept, and Anne introduced Jonah Boyd. Nancy reached for his hand; he pulled her closer and kissed her on both cheeks, which seemed both to fluster and please her. “Kids, come help with the luggage!” she yelled, and Daphne and Ben shuffled over to the car, pretending annoyance but obviously curious and not unhappy to see Anne again, and to meet her new husband. At first Anne held them at a distance, expressing astonishment at how much they had grown. Then, that convention dispensed