Pam had left him when she found out—when they found out—that Bob couldn’t father children. And it had broken Bob’s heart. Only later did he realize it had broken Pam’s heart as well, but she found a man, and had her two boys—boys that Bob had met over the years, great kids they were—and her husband seemed fine. She never complained about him; he was a top manager of a pharmaceutical company, and Pam had tons of money now, but whenever she and Bobby got together, they were just like kids again. Only older, and they both said this every time they met.
“She’s great,” Bob said to Susan.
Margaret had not liked New York. This had been evident to Bob on their one visit there together: He saw her fear as they walked down the stairs to the subway, and even though he tried to reassure her, and she tried—he could see this—to take it all in stride, it had not really gone that well, because Bob could not stop himself from sensing her discomfort, and it had made him sad, because he loved New York, where he had lived for thirty years before meeting Margaret in Maine.
“Will you tell Pam I was asking about her?” Susan said, and Bob said of course he would.
Jim said, “You’re better off with Margaret,” and Susan said, “Why do you say that?”
But Bob said, “Susan, tell us how Zach is. Jim said he seemed pretty good when he came to New York.”
“Oh, Zach.” Susan ran her hand through her hair, which was gray and wavy and cut just above her shoulders. “Jim, he’s doing so well. Into computer programming, as I’m sure he told you, and he’s going to marry that girlfriend he met down in Massachusetts.”
“Do you like her?” Jim asked. He raised his tea mug, took a sip, returned it to the table.
“I do.”
“Well, there we are.” Jim looked around now as though a restlessness had come over him. “You know, you guys, I’d like to come back up here more. I miss it. I miss Shirley Falls, and I miss you both.”
Bob and Susan looked at each other, Susan widening her eyes slightly. “Well, do,” she said. “Boy, we would love that.”
“I gained ten pounds this year,” Jim said. “Can you tell?”
“Nah,” said Bob. He was lying.
“Bob, you still boozing it up?” Jim squinted at his brother.
“No. Maybe one glass a night at most. And I haven’t had a cigarette since I married Margaret.”
Jim shook his head slowly. “Amazing.” Then he asked Susan, “How’s the eye business?”
“Booming,” Susan said. “I could retire, but I don’t feel like it. I like my job.”
“Look at you two,” Jim said.
* * *
Back in the small apartment, Helen said, “How about a glass of wine?”
Margaret looked surprised—to Helen she looked that way—and she said, “Okay,” and she got out the bottle of white wine that Bob had put in the refrigerator earlier and opened it and poured a small amount into a mason jar. She handed it to Helen.
“Lovely,” Helen said, and decided she would not make a joke about the wineglass. “You’re not having any?” Margaret shook her head, sitting down in the rocking chair that had the split upholstery; Helen sat on the couch. Helen crossed her legs and swung a foot. “So,” she said.
“So,” Margaret said.
“Oh, let me show you just a few more pics of my grandkids,” and Helen brought out her phone. “I just keep thinking about little Ernie. I’m just not sure he’s old enough to be at camp all by himself, but his parents wanted him to, and even Ernie seemed keen on it, but the cabin he was in seemed—well, terribly rustic.” When Margaret didn’t respond, Helen found some pictures on her phone and had Margaret look at many pictures of her three grandchildren. She told Margaret how little Sarah was talking already—almost full sentences and she was barely two, could you believe it? “No,” said Margaret, peering at the phone through the glasses she wore on the string that fell over her chest. Then Margaret sat back and sighed.
Helen rose and went into the kitchen, returning with the bottle of wine. She poured more into her glass and then said, looking at her phone again, presenting it to Margaret, “And look at Karen! She’s three, and she’s so different from her brother, he’s all confident and outgoing, and Karen—don’t you like that name, Karen? it’s so straightforward—and she is just the sweetest little