39
In recent weeks, Ed had taken a hammer to places of rot in the drywall all through the basement, so that it looked like a target in a shooting range. In the minefield of the living room, he’d made a bigger mess, ripping up floorboards almost indiscriminately. The drainpipes were clogged. The garage door had stopped working. They’d suffered another flood in the basement after a heavy storm. And now that the cabinets and countertops were in, Ed refused to hire a single contractor to help.
He sat beside her at the wheel, seething in the mismatched outfit he’d passive-aggressively donned after she’d barked at him for half an hour to change out of his dirty undershirt and get a move on. They were going to the McGuires’. Ed was beset by distraction as he drove, drifting between lanes and slamming on the brakes to stop just short of stalled traffic.
“Would you pay attention? You’re all over the road.”
“I know how to drive,” he said. “I’ve been driving for”—he paused—“since I was sixteen.”
They’d left late and hit a bad jam, and by the time they arrived they were quite late indeed. Ed sat in the car after he’d shut it off. She stood outside the car, waving him out. Then she opened her door again.
“Are you coming?”
The light in the foyer went on; one of the McGuires would soon be at the door. She climbed back in the car. Maybe she had to try another approach. She drained the impatience from her voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Just give me a minute,” he said. “I can’t think straight with you talking.”
“Honey,” she said as gently as she could, “we don’t really have a minute.”
“Who’s going to be there again?”
“Just us. Us and Frank and Ruth.”
“That’s good,” he said. “We see too many people.”
They hadn’t seen anyone since they’d moved, but this wasn’t the time to argue. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll scale back. We’ll just focus on the house for now.”
“Thank God.”
“Now, can we get inside?” She handed him the bottle of wine. Ruth opened the door and gave them both kisses. Ed’s hand was shaking as he handed the bottle over; she saw Ruth notice it.
Dinner was ready and they took their seats right away as Ruth shuttled dishes in. Eileen tried to help her, but Ruth told her to sit. Frank opened the bottle to let it breathe. She felt herself begin to relax.
“How’s the money pit?” Frank asked. “You find where they buried the bodies yet?”
This was where Ed would say something snappy and the two of them would be off.
“It’s fine,” Ed said flatly. “Coming along.”
“Ed’s been busy trying to get rid of the rot from the flood.”
“Funny enough, I’ve been taking a continuing ed course in the history of water,” Frank said. “Irrigation, water transport. We haven’t gotten to floods yet. I’ll let you know when we do. Maybe I can give you some tips.”
Ed didn’t say anything.
“It must be nice to get back in the classroom and learn something new,” Eileen said.
“We’re not getting any younger,” Frank said. “We have to keep the brain going. Am I right?”
Again, Ed didn’t speak. Ruth came in just in time with the platter of roast beef.
“Please,” she said, gesturing to Ed. “Help yourself.”
Eileen felt an instinct to serve him, but he was sitting between her and the platter. Ed stabbed at a piece with the serving fork. The tines didn’t get a good purchase on the meat, which fell back to the platter with a juicy splash that sluiced grease onto the tablecloth. He went in again, stabbing with too much force, but managed to get one piece onto his plate, and then another. The third dropped into his lap. Ruth and Frank shot each other looks. Ed picked it up and put it on his plate. He didn’t try to wipe the marinade from his pants. The three little strips huddled on his plate. He handed her the fork, though protocol called for him to serve her or pass her the platter. She had to stand up to reach the meat. When she was done filling her plate, she put two more pieces on his. She looked up and realized that both of her hosts were watching this transaction intently.
“You want me to serve you?” she asked Frank.
“That’s fine, I’ll do it myself.”
“This all looks beautiful,” she said, handing over the utensils. She stayed on her feet. “Let me have your plate,” she said to Ruth. She felt like a chess player thinking several moves ahead. “I’ll serve the potatoes.” She spooned some out for Ruth; then she put some on her own plate, and then, as though it were a matter of course, on Ed’s. She did the same with the vegetables.
Ed looked skeptically at his plate. After having trouble gathering food onto his fork, he started pushing it on with his finger. He transported a few bites successfully to his mouth before one dropped on his shirt.
This was a good time for Frank to make a joke about Ed being drunk. It was impossible for Ed to take offense at anything Frank said. They ribbed each other all the time, and nothing was sacred; they fell into hysterics while she and Ruth wondered what was wrong with them. Tonight, though, Frank just sat there, looking at Ed until he saw that Eileen saw him looking and looked away.
They got through the meal with some effort. “You sit with them,” Ruth said, as Eileen tried to follow her into the kitchen to help clean up. “Sit in the living room and have a drink. Make sure they don’t get into any trouble.”
Eileen brought them drinks. There was less awkwardness in the living room. Frank helped by talking at length about the class he was taking. She was never more grateful for his long-windedness. Ed interjected here and there, and the exchange resembled an actual conversation. Ruth came in and they sat holding their glasses in the comfort that follows dining with old friends, the engine of one topic running down as the engine of another revved up.
“So how’s Connell?” Frank asked.
“His grades are good, but he’s struggling in biology, if you can believe it.”
“I was a horrible student in high school,” Frank said. “If it had mattered then the way it does now, I wouldn’t have had a prayer.”
“Me too,” Ed said.
“It’s a different world,” Ruth agreed.
“He’s in his second year already,” Ed said. “He’s got to settle down soon.”
Eileen flinched.
“I thought he was a freshman,” Ruth said. This was the danger of having friends like Ruth and Frank who paid attention when you talked about your kid.
“Yes, freshman,” Ed said. “That’s what I said.”
“He likes English,” Eileen said quickly.
“That’s great,” Frank said. “I love literature. I’m going to take a Shakespeare course next semester.”