30
She sat on the stoop, listening with a new equanimity to the sounds of the neighborhood. She heard the rumble of a plane in the distance and watched it course across the sky. As a car rushed past toward Northern Boulevard, she could hear music faintly thumping within it. The laugh track of a sitcom echoed in the little valley between the two houses. It was easier to tolerate the flaws of a place when the promise of release from it loomed. Whoever bought the house would know what they were getting and willingly embrace it. If she wasn’t quite going to feel nostalgic for the neighborhood, she could at least imagine that once she’d signed the papers relinquishing the deed to the house, she’d feel the rage slip from her, and she’d be able to return to survey it with detachment. She could always come back to get her hair cut; no one tamed her cowlicks the way Curt did, and his price was reasonable. And she could imagine coming back to Arturo’s, though the truth was, Arturo’s was a good neighborhood place, the kind that made it bearable to live there, but it wasn’t anything more than that. There would be other places, better places.
? ? ?
Connell did a dance to avoid the back-swinging car door, pinching a plastic-sheathed comic book carefully between uplifted fingers as if holding aloft a key piece of evidence. In his other hand was a shopping bag.
“Big day at the comic book store,” she said dubiously to Ed.
“He did well this year. He’s a good kid.”
“Looks like he did well today too, big spender.”
“It’s an investment,” Ed said. “He knows his stuff. He didn’t get junk.”
She went to Connell’s room. He was slotting his new comics into his long boxes with the quiet gravity of a special-collections librarian.
“Did you take advantage of him?”
“No! Why?”
“He’s happy to be done with the school year. You must have seen that.”
“It wasn’t my idea. He just came home and said, ‘We’re going up the block to the comics store.’ I told him I didn’t want to go. He kept insisting. I kept telling him I don’t go to that store anymore. I don’t like those people in there.”
“Why?” she asked. “What did they do to you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “They’re just not nice. Anyway, I don’t go there anymore. He said, ‘Then let’s go to that store near where your orthodontist’s used to be.’ He drove us all the way out to Bayside. I didn’t want to get all this stuff. I mean, I wanted to, but I felt bad. He just kept saying, ‘Get what you want.’?”
“How much did he spend?”
“A bunch.”
She moved closer to him. “How much?”
“Two hundred. Over two hundred.”
“How much over two hundred?”
“Two forty-eight,” he said. “And seventy-eight cents.”
She couldn’t believe the number. She would have thought it impossible to spend that much on comic books unless you brought a wheelbarrow into the store.
“You took advantage.”
“I did not,” he said, indignant. He was slipping cardboard backings into the comics’ plastic sleeves and ferreting them into the archival boxes he kept his collection in. If it really was an investment, she couldn’t accuse him of not tending to it. “He kept saying, ‘I want you to feel like you can have anything you want.’ He was telling me to fill up my basket. I didn’t get any really expensive ones.”
Eileen shuddered, as if a cold breeze had blown through the room. She sensed a sadness at the heart of Ed’s largesse. The boy seemed to have sensed it too; it had tainted his happiness at his haul. She felt a powerful sympathy for her husband, like one of those synchronized pains experienced by people miles apart, even though he was in the other room.
? ? ?
With a dignified informality, the ancient maitre d’ directed them to a table. Arturo’s hadn’t changed since it opened years ago: white aprons over black outfits; napkins draped over forearms; tinted, marble-patterned wall-length mirrors; mild music; steaming sliced loaves; a reliably robust house red. There were neighborhood Italian restaurants like it all over the city—strong in the specials, respectable otherwise—but she’d always felt this place represented a bit of refinement. Sandro, Arturo’s son, ran it with a seemly reserve. Still, she was looking forward to putting it behind her for places of real distinction.
Ed smiled and looked benignly at his menu, as if written in its pages were the answers to diverting but trivial questions.
“Are you happy the year is over?” she asked.
“Very happy,” he said.
She fidgeted with some sugar packets. “So, Ed,” she said, after what seemed like an interminable pause. She tried out a smile. “We saw a nice house. One we liked a lot.”
“You found a house?”
He was looking at her with a strangely blank expression.
“Well, we didn’t find a house, exactly,” she said. “We did see one. It may not be perfect. There’s no saying we can even afford it.”
“You want to move? We can move.”
“What?”
She felt a little light-headed. She put both hands on the table to steady herself. His capitulation was so instantaneous that she had to think it was because the boy was there and they were in a public place; once home, he would give full vent to his displeasure. Another thought gave her greater pause, though: that she actually believed him. It was as if he’d never truly been opposed to the idea in the first place.
Ed turned to Connell. “This is what you want?”
She took a deep breath. Her stomach was in such a knot that she felt she might throw up.
“Very much,” the boy said, with a strange gravity. “I’m ready to leave.”
“You are?” Ed asked.
“Right away.”
“Why?”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve been thinking it over a lot.” She wouldn’t have guessed he’d thought about it once since the day they’d seen the house. “And what I’ve come up with is that I’m starting high school in the fall, and that’s a fresh start for me, and I think we should all get a fresh start.”
The boy had come to her aid. She had no idea where he was getting this poise. Perhaps her dream of having a politician in the family might come true after all. Ed looked to her. She shrugged her shoulders.
“Plus,” Connell added, “the house we found is great. The driveway is wide enough for almost a half-court game.”
She had no need to sell it to Ed when Connell was doing so much of the work for her.
“You want to move?” Ed asked again, as he shoved more bread into his mouth.
Connell nodded.
“Why not?” Ed said. “Let’s move.”