He’s only six three, murmured Peter. I’m six two.
I hope our son doesn’t get that tall. I hope LaRose doesn’t turn into a killer hulk.
It’s been a while now, said Peter.
Yeah, the years have gone by, haven’t they, Nola said. Her top lip lifted in the mad little sneer that sometimes jolted a shiver of lust in Peter.
C’mere, he said.
Why? She ripped another piece of grass out and stuck it between her lips. Maggie was over at the Irons’ house, as usual. They were alone.
Peter took the stick of grass from her mouth and lightly struck her cheek with it. She was still. He searched into her face. Kissed her until she kissed him back. She nodded at the house. He picked her up and carried her to the barn.
Not there, she said.
He carried her in anyway. They passed the old halters on hooks, the junked refrigerator, the green chair, the empty stalls. He threw bales down in the last one, a canvas tarp over the bales. There was that good smell of an old barn where animals had eaten, shat, breathed, an old clean barn full of hay and sun. He untied and removed her paint-streaked worn-out running shoes, peeled down her tight jeans, slipped each foot from the creased-up ankles. He knelt before the bale, lay her back, crooked her legs.
She looked over his shoulder. The crossbeam black oak. The rope gone. Gone. Nola flung her arms straight over her head. Her breasts tipped up.
He placed her feet on each side of his chest, placed his hands under her hips, pulled her onto him, rocked into her. And then they both went back and farther back, to the beginning, where there was nothing else, no bad things happened, where there was no child to grieve, no loss, no danger, where a few wasps hovered over but did not land on Peter’s ass, and the sun shafts lighted up with falling ever falling dust.
And why couldn’t she just see the peace and glory in it anyway? Why did she have to think of all the dead and one fine day herself among them, sifting through bright air? She wouldn’t do it. The rope was gone! How? Don’t ask. No, no, of course. Not now. LaRose told her how much he needed her. Maggie watched over her. She could feel it. She had a new life. Still, she had to think about it sometimes, a little, it wasn’t wrong, was it? Just to fall endlessly and rise forever on soft currents of warm air stirred by bodies of the living. There was nothing wrong with giving over to the melty swoon of it, the null. There was nothing wrong with having more in common with the dust than with her husband, with Peter, was there?
I thought I’d call, said Nola on the phone. Just because it’s a rainy day. Just wondering how LaRose is . . .
Then she heard LaRose laughing in the background. One of the girls had maybe answered. It wasn’t Emmaline. Nola’s voice wouldn’t come out of her throat. She set the phone down and passed her hand over her eyes.
Are you okay?
Maggie came into the kitchen. Mom, you are staring at the phone. Was there a phone call?
Maggie still had the stone LaRose had pressed into her hand when he left. It was on her bedside table. She didn’t want it there, or anywhere. She had total responsibility for Nola, and she was weary.
No call.
Nola hugged Maggie. She was hugging her too hard and she knew it.
Honey, she said, LaRose is being kept against his will.
Maggie just hugged her mother harder. I mean, what to say?
Akk, said Nola. You’re getting strong.
Maggie laughed engagingly. Well, you too. You were squeezing me!
They won’t let him come back to me. He’s my only son. Am I too crazy, Maggie? Is there something wrong with me? Is that why? I love him so much. There’s nothing else in my life.
Nothing else. Well. Maggie turned herself off. She spoke in a cool, careful voice.
Dad loves you. I love you. Mom. You have us.
Nola squinted and peered forward as if Maggie were standing at the end of a long tunnel. Maybe at the end there was LaRose or someone else, because for a moment she did not recognize her daughter. She put her hand on Maggie’s face in a gentle way that creeped Maggie out, but Maggie did not move. She stayed in control.
You know what you need? Maggie kept her voice low and normal. It’s kinda cool and rainy. You need some hot chocolate.
I need to speak to Emmaline.
First the hot chocolate, with whipped cream.
Nola nodded thoughtfully. We don’t have cream.
Well then, marshmallows.
LaRose likes marshmallows, said Nola.
So do I, said Maggie.
Okay, said Nola.
Pouring the heated cocoa milk over the marshmallows, Maggie heard her mother press the buttons on the telephone, then hang up again. Nola came into the kitchen and sat down with Maggie.
It’s really hot, don’t . . .