So he spread a white tablecloth over the formal walnut table out in the dining room, where it was centered under the overhead light, and got down the old rosebud china his mother had received as a wedding gift so many years ago and arranged the plates and glasses and silverware about the table. The low afternoon sun streamed in onto the dishes from the unshaded windows. The sunlight was brilliant in the glassware.
Victoria came into the room to see how he was faring and looked closely at the table. Is somebody else coming? she said.
He looked at her briefly and turned to peer out the window toward the horse barn and corrals beyond the graveled drive. I guess you could say there is, he said.
Who is it?
It’s somebody I met.
Somebody you met?
You met her too.
Her? A woman’s coming to dinner?
It’s a woman from the hospital.
What’s her name?
Her name is Linda May. She was working nights when I was in the room there with my leg.
The middle-aged woman with short dark hair?
That sounds about right. Yes, I guess that would have to be her.
Victoria looked at the dishes and glasses ranged in order on the white tablecloth. Why didn’t you tell me?
Raymond stood with his back to her. I don’t rightly know, he said. I guess I was kind of scared to. I didn’t know what you’d think of it.
It’s your house, she said. You can do what you want.
Now that ain’t right, he said. Don’t say that. This here is your house as much as it is mine. It’s been that way for a good while.
I thought it was.
Well it is. He turned to face her. I can tell you that much.
But I don’t understand you not telling me about somebody coming for dinner.
Oh hell, honey, can’t you lay it to an old man’s mistake? An old man that don’t know how to do something he’s never done before?
He stood before her in the new blue shirt, with an expression on his face she had never seen or even imagined. She moved up beside him and put her hand on his arm. I’m sorry, she said. It’ll be all right. It’s just fine. I’m glad you asked her.
Thank you, he said. I hoped you wouldn’t take no offense. I just got the idea to ask her to dinner, that’s all it was. I never saw the harm in it.
There isn’t any, Victoria said. What time did you tell her to come?
Raymond looked at his watch. About a half hour from now.
Did you tell her how to find us out here?
She told me she already knew. She’d been asking around about us, she said.
Oh?
That’s what she told me.
THAT AFTERNOON SHE DROVE UP TO THE HOGWIRE FENCING in front of the house in a ten-year-old cream-colored Ford convertible. She got out and surveyed the gray house and the patches of dirty snow and the three leafless stunted elm trees in the side yard, then came up through the wire gate onto the screened porch. Before she could knock, Raymond opened the door. Come in, he said, come in.
I see I got the right place.
Yes ma’am.
Now you’ll have to call me Linda today, she said. You have to remember that.
You better come in. It’s cold out here.
She entered the kitchen and looked across the room at the girl holding her child at the stove.
This here is Victoria Roubideaux and little Katie.
Yes. I remember them from when you were in the hospital. How do you do.
Victoria stepped forward and they shook hands. Linda May tried to touch Katie but the little girl turned away, pointing her face into her mother’s shoulder.
She’ll be more friendly after a while.
Let me take your coat, Raymond said.
He hung it next to his coveralls and his canvas work jacket on the peg beside the door. Linda May wore black slacks and a red sweater and there were bright silver hoops suspended from her ears. Something sure smells good, she said.
It’s just about ready, Victoria said. Why don’t you go ahead and be seated and I’ll bring it in.
Is there anything I can do to help?
I don’t think so.
Raymond led his guest into the dining room.
What a beautiful table, she said. It all looks so pretty.
This table was my mother’s table. It’s been in that same spot for as long as I can remember.
May I look at it?
Well, how do you mean?
Just underneath, at the table itself.