The Unforgiven (21 page)

“What’d he want?” she persisted. At home, at her dinner table every night, Mireille faithfully reported the activities of her employer to her husband, Frank, who worked at the filling station on the dock, and to her two teen-aged daughters, who were showing less and less interest in Owen’s comings and goings as they moved into the emotionally teeming atmosphere of adolescence. Owen suffered Mireille’s interest with little grace, but he had become, over the years, somewhat resigned to it.

Owen sighed. “He wants me to pick up someone and take them to the meeting at the school tonight.”

“That new one at the paper,” said Mireille.

Owen shook his head in weary amazement. “That’s the one,” he conceded. “How did you know?”

“I guessed,” she said, scarcely able to conceal her self-satisfaction. “How come you have to pick her up?”

“I don’t know. She had some trouble with her car. Some such thing.”

“She had some trouble, all right,” Mireille said suggestively.

“I see little justification for skepticism in this instance,” Owen replied.

“I know it,” said Mireille. “But I’m just repeating what I heard.”

Marveling at the obtuseness of this remark, Owen stared at his housekeeper. “What, may I ask, are you talking about, Mireille?”

The housekeeper smiled benignly. “I’m talking about what happened at the fair. With that new one that you’re driving tonight. I heard about it at the fish market this morning. Everybody was talking.”

Owen snorted in exasperation. “Are you going to tell me, or am I going back in there to work?”

“Usually you say you don’t like my gossip,” said Mireille coyly, unable to resist the unusual position she found herself in.

“I’ll count to three,” said Owen grimly.

“Okay,” Mireille said breathlessly. “Well, you know that the fair was yesterday, and the new one was working at the bakery booth…”

In spite of himself, Owen found himself listening with interest to his housekeeper’s tale.

“It’s all set,” Jess said, replacing the receiver on the hook and turning to Maggie. “Owen will pick you up in half an hour and take you to the meeting.”

Maggie was seated at the kitchen table, staring out the window, and absently stroking Willy, who had flopped down quietly in her lap. At Jess’s words she looked up and shook her head. “I can’t go,” she said.

Jess pulled up another chair and sat down in front
of her. “Maggie, you have to go. You can’t just hole up in this house. I let you get away with staying home from work today, but I can’t keep that up. Neither can you. You have to get out there and face people. This meeting tonight will be a good opportunity. You can just go and listen. Write a little story on it. Owen will be with you, taking pictures. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Maggie looked at him doubtfully. “Will you come?”

Jess shook his head. “You don’t need to hide behind me. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She searched his face. “Do you believe that?”

Jess nodded solemnly. “Of course.” His eyes held hers and seemed to repeat the apology he had offered her earlier in the day. She accepted it now, as she had then, not because she was convinced of his faith in her, but because she could not bear the rift between them. He wanted to believe in her. That much she was sure of, and it would have to be enough. It was more than she was accustomed to.

She turned her face away from his and bit her lip. “It’s all those people,” she explained helplessly.

“That’s exactly why you have to do it,” he insisted.

“You don’t know how it makes me feel. What terrible feelings it stirs up.”

“Maybe it’s time you told me,” he said quietly, squeezing her hands.

Maggie stared into his anxious eyes steadily for a moment, and then she bowed her head. “No. Not now,” she said. “I’ll go to the meeting.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. For a few moments they sat facing each other in silence, hand in hand. Then Maggie sighed. “I guess I’d better get ready,” she said.

Jess nodded his approval. “You get ready, and I’ll head home.”

“What are you going to do tonight?” she asked him.

“Not much,” he said. “Read. Maybe watch a movie. Maybe I’ll go out for a beer if I get lonely,” he said with a grin. He pulled on his jacket and zipped it.

Maggie stood up, placing Willy on the floor by his bowl. Immediately he began lapping up the milk. She put her arms around Jess, unwilling to let him go. “I’ll miss you,” she said. “I feel so shaky.”

Jess embraced her, and then held her at arm’s-length. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her.

“Will I?” she asked.

A tiny yelp from the vicinity of their feet distracted them. “Sure you will,” said Jess, bending down and picking up the puppy who had waddled over and was nibbling the cuff of his pants hungrily. “Willy says so too, don’t you, Willy?” He kissed the puppy on the top of the head and replaced him on the floor. Then he turned to Maggie. “Go get ready,” he said. “Everything will be okay.”

Maggie turned uncertainly and started for her room. She stopped and looked back at Jess, who was heading for the kitchen door. He looked boyish and innocent in his plaid jacket, his hair standing out in unruly curls. She knew that up close there were many strands of gray in his thick hair, and that lines and creases surrounded his
gentle eyes. But from across the room he looked young, like the farm boys she used to know, safe in the familiar fields and pastures that circumscribed their world. As she watched him he seemed unbearably distant from her. The secrets of her life whirled in the gulf between them. She stretched out her hand toward him.

“I’ll let myself out,” he said, reaching the door and returning the gesture he mistook for a wave. She raised a hand, as if to stop him, but he closed the door behind him, and was gone.

The night was cold and uncommonly clear. Jess breathed in the pure air hungrily as he climbed the hill to his house. He paused on the doorstep and listened to the loud, insistent murmur of the nearby sea for a few moments before he unlocked the door and let himself in. It was a good place to live, he thought, as he had many times before. Even the dark silence of the house seemed welcoming to him.

Expertly skirting the furniture in the familiar darkness, Jess went directly to the kitchen and turned on the lights. He opened the refrigerator and found the coffee. Then he put some water in a kettle on the stove and returned to the refrigerator to find himself something for dinner. On the second shelf was a small crock of stew, the remains of a meal he had shared with Maggie several nights before. He smiled as he remembered her observing him as he carefully picked out the peas before he ate it.

“If you don’t like peas, why do you put them in?” she asked.

He looked up at her in surprise. “That’s the way my mother always made it,” he explained earnestly.

“In other words, it’s not stew without peas?” Her incredulity dissolved into a giggling fit that resulted in his vowing “Nevermore” to the empty pea can he retrieved from the garbage bag.

The kettle whistled, recalling Jess to his preparations. When he was done with his brief repast he put the dishes into the sink. The kitchen normally felt cozy to him, but tonight it seemed empty. He decided to have his pipe in the den.

Jess switched on the lamp beside his favorite chair in the den and gazed around the book-lined room. During his marriage it had gradually become his favorite room in the house. Its utter stillness, save for the muffled roar of the ocean, was soothing to him, a relief from the distressing regularity of Sharon’s complaints. She never bothered him when he was in the den, put off by its introverted atmosphere, resentful of the volumes that provided Jess with an escape hatch from her discontent. It was his haven. Even after the divorce he retained a special fondness for the room.

Jess looked around at the books and papers on his desk, lying carelessly unshelved. He had to straighten this up one of these days. With a feeling of surprise, Jess realized that the stillness of the room, which he had always savored, seemed tinged with loneliness. He had quickly become used to Maggie in the house, her voice calling him from another room, her presence in a doorway. He found himself looking up, expecting her.

He tapped the bowl of his pipe impatiently against
the ashtray and glanced over at the clock beside the television set.
She’s not home yet,
he thought.
I’ll try her later.
He stared blankly at the screen of the TV, thinking of her. Then, with a feeling of pleasant relief, he remembered that it was Monday night and nearly time for the football game. He turned on the TV, and then got comfortable in his chair.

The noisy laugh track of a sit-com drawing to a close filled the room. He was halfway through a commercial for breakfast cereal when he became aware of a tapping sound, unsychronized to the enthusiastic voice of the pitchman. Jess turned down the volume on the set. He listened intently for a few moments, but the house was silent. He turned the volume up again, just as the opening credits for the football show were coming on the screen, and the announcers were beginning their spiel over the racket of band music. After a few moments the tapping sound started again. Jess frowned and turned off the TV. Leaving the study, he walked toward the front hallway, through the darkened rooms.

He reached the front door and opened it, peering out into the night. There was no one in sight. Jess frowned and was about to close the door, when a movement in the bushes near the foot of the steps caught his eye. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

A figure emerged from the darkness.

“Evy,” he exclaimed. “Hello!”

The dim light from the foyer cast shadows on the girl’s pale, pinched face. In the gloom of the night her eyes were like dark holes. “I wasn’t sure you were here,” she said. “You didn’t answer the door.”

“I had the TV on,” Jess explained. “I couldn’t tell if someone was knocking. Come on in.”

“No,” she said. “I can’t stay. I just came over to borrow something.”

“Well, you can come in for a minute. What do you need?” Jess asked.

“There’s a pipe leaking in the cellar, and I need a wrench to fix it,” said the girl.

“Fix it? Do you know how?”

Evy shrugged. “I guess I can figure it out.”

Jess gave her a wry smile. “You’ll probably end up with a flood.”

“It can’t be that hard to do,” she protested.

Jess shook his head. “You’re stubborn,” he said. “I’ll say that for you. Come on in and wait for me. I’ll get the wrench and go over and have a look at that pipe for you.”

“You don’t have to,” she said.

Jess smiled to himself, suspecting that she had come calling in the hope that he would offer his help. “I don’t mind,” he said. “Just let me get my keys.”

“No, you don’t need them,” she objected. “I’ll drive you.”

“How will I get home?” he asked.

“I’ll bring you back. I’m glad to get out of the house,” the girl assured him. “I’d like to.”

Jess smiled ruefully, suspecting that the ride home would necessitate his inviting her in for a soda.
Oh, well,
he thought.
It’s company.
“Okay,” he agreed, opening the door to the hallway closet and pulling his jacket off a hanger. “Let’s go. The tools are out in the garage.”

Evy followed him to the garage and held the flashlight that he handed to her as they went in the side door. “I’ve got to put a light in here,” he grumbled as he ransacked the toolbox, extracting two different wrenches. “These ought to do us,” he said, straightening up.

On the ride to Evy’s house she gripped the wheel and drove cautiously, keeping her distance from the few other cars on the road, and answering Jess’s attempts at conversation in monosyllables. She pulled into the Robinson driveway and sat rigidly, staring ahead of her after she turned off the ignition. Jess glanced at her immobile face before opening the car door. He wished, briefly and guiltily, that he was back in his quiet den. The prospect of spending the evening in her moody, laconic company suddenly seemed wearisome.

He stretched up toward the stars and forced out a cheerful groan. “What a night,” he said. “Look at those stars!”

Evy slid out of the car and slammed the door. “Come on,” she said impatiently.

Jess looked at her in surprise. “What’s the hurry?” he asked.

She stared blankly at him for a second. Then she spoke. “It’s the leak,” she said. “It’ll get bigger.”

Jess followed her up the path to the house and into the front door. The girl looked straight ahead and marched toward the cellar door, but Jess paused in the living room. Harriet Robinson lay on the couch, propped up by pillows, her arms hanging lifelessly by her sides.

“Hello, Harriet,” he said kindly. “How are you feeling tonight?”

The old woman moved her lips in a feeble, fishlike motion. Jess walked over to her and patted her hand. “Evy told me about the leak in the basement. We’ll fix it up in no time.”

“It’s this way,” Evy interrupted.

Jess smiled sadly at the stricken woman and turned to Evy. “See you later,” he said.

“Give me those,” Evy commanded as he approached the door. She gestured toward the wrenches he held in his hand, offering him the flashlight in exchange. “You can take a look at it, and I’ll hand you what you need.”

“Okay,” Jess agreed, mildly surprised at the girl’s authoritative tone. It occurred to him that she felt confident, being on her own territory. He watched her face as she examined the wrenches he had handed to her. She ran her hand over their heads and then gripped the handle of the larger one tightly. Jess recalled the awkwardness of his last visit to this house, when he rebuffed her timid advances in her bedroom. Perhaps her brusqueness was an attempt to dispel the memory of that embarrassing incident that hung between them. Evy lifted her head. “Ready?” she asked.

Jess nodded and opened the cellar door. The smell that assailed him forced him to step back from the door. “God,” he breathed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “What have you got down there? Dead dogs?”

“Some garbage and stuff. I guess I should clean it out,” Evy apologized.