It was nearly eight o’clock before the dishes were done and the children were gone and they were alone in the café. By then, the room had a scrubbed aspect, like the face of a person who was ready for church, but Ellie was still working the surfaces with a damp rag. “Charlotte sewed up Neva’s monkey,” she said. “Really you can’t even tell.”
He nodded. He’d asked Neva what had happened to the doll, but she wouldn’t say, and everyone else seemed happy to leave the matter untended. That was the way of it here, with him on the outside looking in, seeing only parts of the room, hearing only some of the conversation, and it was his fault, he knew that. Ellie was holding up a glass, tilting it to the light, searching for fingerprints when she said casually, “How’d your appointment go?”
“Fine.”
“And is he doing the test?”
“He said if I didn’t, the café would close.” He waited just a moment. “I suppose he told you that, too.”
“He’s trying to help us, Ansel. That’s all he’s trying to do.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m going back, Ellie. I think it’s the only way.”
She kept rubbing the glass. “You mean after the wedding?”
“No,” he said, “tomorrow. I’ll check the house and see if things are looking up. Maybe it’s turned the corner, the whole drouth situation, and I can start again in spring. Besides, there are some papers I have to sign at the bank.”
“What papers?” she asked.
“Something wasn’t signed right and needs witnessing.” He wanted her to accept that it was a good lie, a defense she could offer to anyone who asked.
“And you can’t take care of it by mail? Or after Charlotte’s wedding?” She seemed to understand him; he wasn’t sure.
“No, I can’t.”
She set down the glass and stood perfectly still. She’d grown comelier in her happiness, and it came fresh to him how he had once loved her, but it was like thinking of two people he’d known a long time ago.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
A moment or two passed in silence. “But you’ll be back for Charlotte’s wedding, is that right?” When he didn’t answer, she said in a keener voice, “This is Charlotte’s wedding, Ansel. She expects you here. So does Mr. McNamara, and so do I.”
He nodded, and then he said it, so he would hear himself say it. “Yes. I’ll be back for that.”
The headlights of a single car passed on the street and he wondered what they might look like to the driver of that car, a man and wife in their café talking at the end of a long day. In his mildest voice he said, “Did Quigley test you, too?”
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“It’s just a bad cold,” he said.
She walked over to the Hardy’s Drugstore calendar on the wall and turned the page to November. “Thanksgiving’s the twenty-third. Wedding’s the twenty-fourth. You need to be back by the twentieth.” She was looking at him now. “For appearances’ sake.”
Just like that, he thought. Just like that, they had come to an agreement.
She let the lifted calendar page fall back into place. Without looking at him, she said, “I’m guessing your first stop will be the Harvey House.”
He didn’t answer.
There were footsteps on the stairs and they both looked up to see Charlotte, who was wearing her movie-star bathrobe (no one had to tell him it had come from McNamara). There was also a funny expression on her face, as if she’d heard some of their conversation.
“I found the dress I want to make,” she said, holding a magazine open with her thumb. Ellie didn’t say anything, and neither did Ansel. “Wanna see it?” she asked, and she held the picture up for Ellie, who reached out to take the magazine, and then passed it to Ansel. After he’d looked it over, he nodded and said, “You’ll look beautiful, Lottie.”
But there was a terrible stiffness in the room—it was impossible the girl didn’t feel it. He stood up to go. “Good night,” he said, and they both murmured, “Good night.”
75
The next morning Ansel stood with Clare outside the packinghouse waiting for their ride. Hurd was picking up an order of crates from a man in Del Mar and Ansel had arranged to ride along as far as Oceanside, where he would catch his train that afternoon. He wasn’t sure why Clare had insisted on riding along, but he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want him asking questions there weren’t good answers for. So while they waited for Hurd, Ansel stood a few paces away from Clare and stared off. It had broken a mild, clean day but there were changes in the making. Steely cumulus clouds were rolling in, shadowing the hills and turning them violet, the kind of clouds he prayed for in Kansas. He heard a grinding downshift of gears, and turned to see Oscar de la Cueva’s flatbed turn into the lot with Hurd behind the wheel.
Ansel picked up his bag and grinned at Clare. “Maybe we should say our good-byes here, champ.”
They were almost eye to eye now. The boy seemed to have grown three inches since they came here. “Naw,” he said. “I want to see you off and I want to see the ocean.”
Hurd pulled the truck close and grinned out at them, rotating a toothpick in his mouth. “You hobos looking for a ride?” he said.
Ansel nodded. “I appreciate this,” he said. Clare nodded to Hurd but neither smiled nor spoke. It was lost on nobody that Clare hadn’t really warmed up to his uncle. Or rather that he had, but then something had cooled between them. But why exactly, Clare would never say.
Ansel stowed his gear in the back of the truck, then climbed into the cab with Clare in the middle, but no sooner had he pulled the door closed behind him with the three of them sitting closely packed together than he felt the familiar hitch in his throat, the first pesky command to cough that could be ignored for a few seconds or maybe even a full minute but would finally be obeyed. “You know, Hurd, I think I’ll ride in the back.”
Hurd registered surprise. “The hell you say.”
“Yeah. If I’m going to spend the next few weeks in Kansas, I need to enjoy the California weather while I can. Besides, this is Oscar’s field truck. I’ve ridden in the back so many times I’ve got the boards broken in to my particular specifications.”
He fought back a cough and swung open the door, but before he could start to close it, he’d begun coughing. He coughed and spat several times and only when the coughing began to abate did he realize Clare was standing behind him.
“You okay?” Clare said.
“Yes.” He was surprised at the frank apprehension in the boy’s face. “Go ahead and sit up front,” Ansel said. “Hurd will want the company.”