Maybe they shared more in common than Raymond had realized.
“When I was a little younger than you,” his father began, “maybe in my early teens, there was a guy in our neighborhood. Used to walk his dog down to the playground. The dog had a ton of energy, so the other boys used to play with the dog, but I used to sit on the bench and talk to the man. The Colonel, we called him, because he used to be a colonel in the army. Career military, retired. He was an older guy. Fifty, maybe. Maybe even sixty. I liked him because he talked to me like a man, not like a kid. And because he seemed to have more of a handle on life than the other adults I knew. So maybe it’s something like that?”
“Yeah!” Raymond said, realizing too late that he was nearly shouting. “Yeah, almost exactly like that. I listen to her talk, and I feel like she understands the world. How to live in it, you know? Then I listen to other people talk, and it sounds like they’re just faking it.”
Except his father hadn’t been faking it. At least, not just now, as he’d told Raymond the story about the Colonel. But Raymond wasn’t quite sure how to wrap that into words and acknowledge it.
“I think your mom is capable of understanding that.”
“I’d hate to say it to her.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s one of the people who’s just faking it.”
“I see. Well, you’re a thoughtful young man. You’ll work it out in your own way.”
Raymond almost asked his father why he’d waited so long to pay Raymond a genuine compliment, but he couldn’t bear to see the man’s face fall again, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
His father pulled out his wallet and selected two twenties, sliding them over the table to Raymond.
“Thank you,” Raymond said.
“Don’t flaunt it in front of Ed.”
“No. I won’t.”
Raymond had already decided that if his father gave him money, he would order an omelet to take out. To take back with him at the end of the day. Spinach, tomato, and cheese. Any kind of cheese. With sour cream for the top.
He could warm it up for her in her oven.
Maybe it would be more food temptation than she could resist.
“Come in, Raymond,” she said through the door.
Raymond opened the locks with his keys. Or . . . her keys, really. But lately they had stayed with him.
She was sitting up on the couch, which seemed like shockingly good news to Raymond. She had changed her clothes—changed into the red housedress with the pinstripes. Her hair was clean and braided.
Then he remembered that Isabel and the kids had visited her the day before. She had probably put herself together nicely for their visit. Whether she had done so again since, Raymond couldn’t tell.
Still progress, he thought.
“What have you brought?” she asked. “Something to eat.”
“How do you do that?” Then he realized the answer was fairly simple in this case. “Oh. Right. Your nose.”
“Yes. My nose is telling me all kinds of lovely things, but I’m not sure enough yet, so I will only wait and see.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not today. No. Yesterday Isabel brought pizza. But not yet today.”
Raymond shook his head as he walked into her kitchen. “Good thing I’m back, then,” he muttered to himself.
“I heard that, you know.”
“Sorry. I’m going to warm up part of this in the oven for you.”
“All right. Thank you. I hope it’s what I think it is.”
He pulled a knife from her drawer and cut the omelet into two-thirds and one-third sections. He found a casserole dish with a lid in her cupboard, and placed the smaller portion inside it. Closed the takeout container and found a spot for it in her fridge, leaving the little cup of sour cream out on the counter.
There was leftover pizza in there. And an open bottle of white wine, the cork replaced to keep it fresh.
“There’s wine in your refrigerator,” he said.
“Yes, there is.”
“From Isabel?”
“Correct. She thought half a glass with dinner might help me sleep better.”
“Did it help?”
“Hard to say. I didn’t sleep all that well. But I suppose it didn’t hurt.”
“Want half a glass with your . . .” He almost said “omelet.” But he wanted to preserve the surprise. “. . . dinner?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
“Let’s hope you don’t end up with a drinking problem,” he said. He was ninety-five percent kidding, and he hoped that came through in his voice.
To his surprise, she laughed. Quite naturally. As if someone dear hadn’t just died.
“Considering I would fall dead asleep after less than one glass,” she said, “I suppose I will take my chances with that.”
He guided her to the table, and slid her chair in underneath her as she sat.
“I was right,” she said. “It’s what I thought it was! I almost worried that it was too much to hope for.”
“Spinach, tomato, and cheese.”
“With sour cream?”
“Of course.”
“Your father took you to that lovely restaurant for brunch?”
“Yeah.”
“How very thoughtful of you to bring me this back.” She touched the edges of it with her fork and knife, probably to see how much he had given her.
“It’s about a third of it. The rest is in the fridge.”
“Still a lot,” she said, taking her first bite.
She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.
“Just do your best with it.”
“This I can do. So very kind of you to bring this, Raymond. So delicious. Every bit as good as the first one, even reheated.”
She ate in silence for a time. Raymond only sat with her, staring through the curtained window at nothing.
“How was your visit with the kids?” he asked after a time.
She worked quickly to swallow before speaking.