Magic
From Margaret’s house Jennifer doesn’t go back to her own but instead drives all the way into Sewanee and parks in Megan’s drive. Once again she’s rattled by the way the interview with Margaret ended, by the fierce, unnerving expression on the old woman’s face. What about you? Why did she look so disdainful, so certain of Jennifer’s weakness? What answer is she hoping for?
Megan opens the door, looking rumpled, a sheaf of papers in one hand. “Hi!” she says, surprised.
“I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk,” Jennifer says.
Megan cocks her head and raises her eyes to the ceiling, considering. “I’m supposed to be grading papers,” she says. “But you know what? Fuck that. Come on in.” She opens the door wide. “I’ll put on some shoes.”
Jennifer steps inside.
“I won’t be a minute,” Megan says. She jogs toward the back of her house, calling behind her, “Sit down if you like!”
Jennifer waits in the hall, jittery. She doesn’t want to sit down. She wants to keep moving. She wants to be distracted. She wants a nice big dose of Megan’s normalcy. In answer to Margaret’s question, she said, “What do you mean?” It seemed possible that Margaret would ask, I mean, did you kill your husband? But Margaret just said she was tired and wanted to stop for the day.
Megan reappears, already a little breathless. She’s slipped the shoes on without tying them and now she drops to the floor to finish the job. “Where do you want to go? The Cross?”
“What’s the Cross?”
“Oh, you’ve never been?” Megan bounces to her feet. “Well, it’s a big ol’ cross.” She grins. “It’s pretty. There’s an overlook.”
I could always do it, Jennifer. No matter how awful it was.
“Let’s go,” Megan says. “You’ll like it. Who doesn’t like an overlook?” She ushers Jennifer out the door.
What about you?
Megan claps her hands. “So glad you suggested this!”
The road to the Cross is a hilly one, and as you traverse its ups and downs the great white cross at its end disappears and reappears, a little larger every time. Disappear, reappear. Disappear. Jennifer looks up and watches the branches jog along against the sky, a jagged elegance.
“Something about this road makes me feel like I’m in a fantasy novel,” Megan says. “Setting off on a quest. Wearing a long braid and some kind of robe.”
“I can see that,” Jennifer says.
Megan laughs. “Or you think I’m nuts,” she says. She stumbles and puts her hand on Jennifer’s arm to steady herself. Smiling, she gives the arm a squeeze. “Apparently walking can be a hazardous activity.”
“Don’t do that at the edge of the bluff.”
“Good advice,” Megan says. “I’ll take it to heart.”
They lapse into silence, unsure where to go after the banter. At least that’s how Jennifer feels. In their time together she’s counted on Megan to power the conversation. But Megan might grow weary of this. Already she might be thinking, Lord, will this woman never talk? But what can Jennifer talk about? She doesn’t want to reintroduce the subject of Margaret. She doesn’t want to dwell on that. That’s why she’s here, walking with Megan down this road. Do you know why I’m telling you this story? Do you know why I’m telling this story to you?
“Milo’s been calling himself Dark Flame,” she says.
“Oh, I like that. That’s a good one. Ben just chooses preexisting superheroes: one day he’s Spider-Man, the next he’s Batman. I’d like him to be more imaginative.”
“Milo does that, too. Green Lantern, Iron Man, Superman.”
“Ben hasn’t been much of a Superman fan as of yet.”
“Yeah, that one was pretty brief.”
“Can’t blame them, right? Boring. Insufficient angst. Milo clearly prefers a superhero with a little angst. Judging from Dark Flame anyway.”
“Maybe he’s a villain,” Jennifer says. “Milo said he was morally ambiguous.”
“Morally ambiguous?” Megan laughs. “Smart kid.” The Cross reappears. “There it is again,” Megan says. This hill is effortful, and they climb it in silence. The Cross disappears. “And there it goes.”
“How much do you think kids remember?” Jennifer asks. “I mean, how far back do Ben’s memories go?”
“I’d say not far. Sometimes I’m surprised by what he’s already forgotten.”
“Sometimes I’m surprised by what Milo remembers.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t really want Milo to remember his dad.”
There’s a sudden alertness to Megan. “You don’t?” she asks carefully.
“Some memories wouldn’t be so good.” Why is Jennifer talking? Why is she saying these things? She swallows. She has a lump in her throat. “I’d rather just be able to tell him the good things, and have that be all he knows.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I guess.”