The Hunger Moon (10 page)

When she asked about the photo, Mrs. M. was briefly enthusiastic.

“We were on our first motoring trip,” she said. “That suit was part of my trousseau—kind of a mossy green wool bouclé. I bought it in New York on my father’s charge card at Saks. Very expensive at the time, but I knew I would be out of the house and married by the time he got the bill.” Mrs. M. laughed, the first time June had heard her. It was a dry chuckle that stopped almost as soon as it had begun. “I still have that suit,” she said. “When the styles changed I couldn’t bear to throw it away. It’s in one of those boxes, Lord knows where.”

June knew. She had been fascinated with Mrs. M.’s labeling system when she discovered the boxes stacked up in the spare room, and each time she cleaned in there she furtively turned a few more cartons so that she could read the contents listed on the side. She was positive the suit was in C
LOTHING: KEEPSAKES
. She would have given anything to see what was in that carton and some of the others, but she had learned that the boxes were a line you didn’t cross with Mrs. M. She was touchy about them. It was funny enough to write such detailed lists on the labels when you were moving only across town, but it was stranger still to get to your new place and decide not to unpack them at all. Having no knickknacks sitting around the apartment made the job of dusting a lot easier, but cleaning such a bare place always made June a little sad.

And it made it hard to know what Mrs. M. could possibly want for Christmas. She didn’t need stuff for her apartment, clearly. She was vain in a funny kind of way, with her perfect makeup and chignon and
L’Air du Temps
perfume, but to buy her more of her favorite cologne would only be redundant, and if given some other kind, she would probably never wear it. The birdseed was a good gift, but she had given it too early for it to be a Christmas present.

T
HE SNOW BEGAN ON THE NINTH
, a day when June was at Mrs. MacGregor’s, and by the time she trudged back from the market, it was coming down in thick, feathery flakes that caused an early dusk. She took off her boots in the hallway before she let herself in.

“Mrs. MacGregor, I hope you don’t mind, but I got more food than you had on the list. When I got to the store it was already starting to snow hard, and inside I heard people talking about the storm. It doesn’t hurt to have a little extra on hand, does it? I didn’t buy anything perishable, just soup and eggs and some bread that you can always freeze. I also noticed that you’re low on tea bags, so I picked some up.”

“June, I don’t know what I’d do without your memory. I meant to put tea bags on the list,” Mrs. MacGregor said. They unpacked the groceries together. June didn’t have to ask anymore where things went.

Before leaving, June presented Mrs. M. with a string of tiny Christmas lights tied together with a red ribbon, and said she would be happy to put them up anywhere Mrs. M. wanted her to. June had bought them on impulse at Woolworth when she picked up some decorations for herself. She knew it was a risky gesture. Mrs. MacGregor liked to keep her surroundings so plain.

Mrs. M. seemed slightly taken aback, then simply nodded and said that June could put them around the glass door to the deck. June stood on a stepladder and used some tacks she found in the utility drawer.

“This is where I pictured them, too,” June said. “That way, when you watch the birds you can see the lights at the same time.” Glancing out at the feeders, she said, “Look how much they’ve eaten already! I’ll have to tell my mother what a big hit her mix is with Brookline birds. She’ll be pleased. I’ll bring you some more seed at the beginning of the year.”

“I’d like to buy it from your mother,” Mrs. MacGregor said.

“Oh, she wouldn’t hear of it. She makes a garageful of the stuff, believe me. I’ll tell her you offered, but she’ll say no way. I’ll bring you a big sack next time.”

When June finished, she insisted that they turn off all the lights before plugging in the strand. When they came on, twinkling in the dark, the apartment was transformed.

“They’re lovely,” Mrs. MacGregor said.

“Oh, good. I was afraid you might not like them. Some people don’t. If you get tired of them blinking, you can just take this clear bulb off the end and they’ll stay on.” June headed for the bathroom, where she had hung her snowy coat and cap.

“I’ll see you next Tuesday,” she said. “If you need anything over the weekend, be sure and call.” Every time she left on Fridays now, June worried that Mrs. M. wouldn’t be able to cope without her. It was silly, really—after all, Mrs. MacGregor had a daughter of her own nearby. But June had noticed how Mrs. M. was beginning to let June decide what needed to be done around the apartment, and even to ask her personal favors, like once rubbing some arthritis cream into her neck and shoulders.

As June was waiting to take the elevator down, a dark-haired woman with a baby emerged from the door next to Mrs. M.’s. The baby was crying and the woman was jiggling it and trying to shush it. A folded stroller was hanging by its handle in the crook of one arm, and a large tote bag was slipping off her shoulder.

“Would it help if I held something for you?” June asked.

“Do you think you could just put this strap back on my shoulder?” the woman asked.

June lifted the tote bag back in place. “You must be Mrs. MacGregor’s
new neighbor. She mentioned a woman with a baby had moved in.”

The woman smiled a greeting. “I’m Renata, and this is Charlie. Are you Eleanor’s granddaughter?”

“Oh, no. I just work for Mrs. MacGregor a few hours a week—cleaning and shopping. I’m June.”

The elevator bell rang and the baby stopped crying to stare at the light that went on above the door. Renata laughed. “Works every time. Sometimes we just go on elevator trips for the sheer thrill of it.”

They got on and June reached for the stroller hanging from Renata’s arm. “Let me take that for you until we get down.”

“Thanks.” Renata blew a stray bang out of her eyes and shifted the tote bag higher on her shoulder. Then she hoisted Charlie up so he could press the buttons. “I know I shouldn’t do that,” she said. “Now the elevator is going to stop on every floor going back up. But he loves to see the lights come on so much I just can’t help it. Don’t tell on us.”

June was charmed. The woman was so slim and pretty. The baby was sweet, too. After he had made all the floor buttons light up, he looked at June with a proud smile, sucking on his fist.

“I see what you did,” June told him. “That was very clever of you.”

When they reached the lobby, June offered to carry the stroller out and open it.

“Thanks, June, but we’re going down to the garage. It was nice to meet you.”

June waved to Charlie as the elevator closed. He was in the process of reaching one wet hand toward her when Renata snatched it back out of the range of the doors. Mrs. M. had told her how cute the baby next door was, but June hadn’t paid much attention. Babies were never her thing. But Renata and Charlie completed each other so perfectly that June couldn’t help having the fleeting thought that it would be a nice thing to have a little warm baby keeping you company all the time.

As she passed by the front desk, the boy who worked there afternoons looked up and greeted her.

“You ready for a storm, June?”

“Sure, I guess. I don’t mind snow.”

Owen leaned forward, his bony wrists protruding from his white shirtsleeves. “Are you a skier?”

“Not really. I’ve tried it.”

“I cross-country whenever I can. There’s a good place out in Weston. Would you like to go with me sometime? You can rent skis there.”

June’s smile froze in place. She had had a feeling by the way Owen always made a point of talking to her when she passed by that it was only a matter of time before he asked her out. She had even toyed with the idea of accepting. A date was a date, even if he was too thin and had a faint line of acne creeping along his jaw. But now that the moment had come, she realized that she would rather be alone than make several hours of painful small talk with this glasses-wearing physics major from Northeastern who grinned all the time.

“You know, I really shouldn’t risk pulling a muscle. I might be going to New York soon to audition for a dance company.” As soon as she said it, June was appalled by her lie. She directed herself to laugh and say something like, “
I wish
,” so the whole thing would be a joke. But instead she just said, “Take care, Owen,” over her shoulder, and propelled herself—dateless, a liar—into the cold of a Friday night.

E
LEANOR KEPT THE
C
HRISTMAS LIGHTS ON
during the snowstorm and stayed up late watching her window on Friday. When she finally went to bed, the snow had thinned to lint-sized particles, and the drifts were up to the railing on her deck. The next morning, sun glittered blindingly on the snow’s surface. Eleanor took a walk up and down the length of the building’s hallways, then went down to the lobby to check her mail. More Christmas cards, though she hadn’t sent any herself this year, and an invitation to an open house, an annual event given by a former colleague of hers on the bench. Eleanor had never skipped a year of the Bryces’ Christmas parties, but she felt no interest in going this December. She put the card on her kitchen table to respond to later.

Janice called her around noon.

“Mother, I hope you’re not thinking of canceling our Christmas shopping trip because of the weather. I’m just calling to tell you the streets are plowed. They’ve sanded everywhere. I’ll pick you up under your awning, and we’ll park right in the mall garage. You won’t even need boots.”

“Christmas shopping? We didn’t have a date to go shopping.” Eleanor glanced at the calendar square for today, which was blank.

“We sure did. I can’t believe you forgot. We talked about it last Monday night when I stopped by.”

Eleanor fought back her anger. She had been wondering lately just when Janice was going to stop by and see her; it certainly hadn’t been as recently as last week.

“Hmm,” Eleanor said.

“Mother, I’m going to start writing these things on the calendar for you. Then you can’t deny them.”

Eleanor remained silent.

“Well, whether you believe we had a date or not, let’s go Christmas shopping today. The stores won’t be as crowded because of the snow—not that the snow is anything to worry about,” Janice said. “As I said, the streets are perfectly fine. We can have dinner afterward.”

Eleanor looked out at the drifts on her deck. “The snow is four feet high, Janice. We can’t go out in this.”

“Where did you hear that? It snowed eight inches last night, but there’s no problem driving.”

Eleanor often found that the best way to get around her children’s dogged arguments was to change points. She had learned long ago as a lawyer that it was fruitless to explore the nuances of a line of reasoning that would not be helpful to you.

“It’s nice of you to want to take me, dear, but I don’t need to do any shopping. I’m sending Helen’s boys checks, and I can use catalogs for anything else.”

“I just thought it would be nice for you to get out, Mother.”

“When the snow melts. It’s almost as if you’re hoping I’ll break my other hip,” Eleanor gave a little laugh.

“You would see it that way, wouldn’t you?”

Eleanor ignored her tone. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be spending money on Christmas presents while you’re still in school. Speaking of school, don’t you have final exams to study for?”

“Mother, you know I don’t have exams. I’m writing a thesis. It’s a graduate degree.”

“I know it’s a graduate degree. How could I forget? How many
is that now? You’ll have more letters after your name than there are in a can of alphabet soup,” Eleanor said, laughing.

“It’s what I want.” Her daughter’s voice was sullen now, the way she had sounded when she was in high school.

“Dear, I would never want to interfere. All I’m saying is, don’t waste your money shopping. Please don’t get anything for me at any rate. I can’t think of a thing I need.”

“All right, Mother. If you change your mind about going out, call me. Don’t try to walk anywhere alone. Do you have everything you need?”

“Oh, yes. June stocks me up every Friday. When will I see you?”

“You could have seen me today.”

“Janice, why must you be so argumentative? I mean, after this dreadful storm.”

“Sometime next week. I’ll call.”

“Fine. Good-bye, dear.”

E
LEANOR AND HER CHILDREN ALWAYS
seemed to end up sniping at each other lately. When she did see them, they usually wanted to come by to sweep her away into some activity that she had altogether no interest in—always on their schedule, always at their pace. And they were so defensive about their lives. Their lives were their business; Eleanor had no wish to dictate to anyone. But all she had to do was make a simple observation about them and they either flew off the handle or started sulking. Eleanor could not recall feeling similarly insecure about herself when she talked to her own parents. But, then, she hadn’t lived her life like a child, either: having secrets like Peter, or trying to remain in a perpetual never-never land of college like Janice. Helen was neurotic because she never had enough gumption to make herself the financial equal of her husband. Now she was a middle-aged housewife, her children almost through high school, and if Eleanor knew that slick son-in-law of hers, he was probably cheating on his wife. When the youngest boy started kindergarten,
Eleanor had suggested that Helen go back to college and finish her B.A.