He turned away deliberately, without answering.
“You don’t even seem surprised, Ralph. You mean you knew? All along? And you didn’t tell me?”
“We’ll go into that another time.”
“But you...”
“How is Esther taking it?”
“I don’t know. She sounded calm enough. She seemed anxious for me to come and stay with her, though, so I will.”
“Good girl.”
“I couldn’t very well refuse. Oh yes, and I’ve made arrangements with Mrs. Sullivan to go and meet Janie’s school bus. The other kids are big enough to look after themselves for a while.”
“They won’t have to. My last class is a two o’clock. I’ll be home before four.”
“No, dear, you won’t.”
He looked exasperated. “What the hell does that mean, no-dear-you-won’t?”
“I’ve been thinking it over. Somebody has to tell Thelma. It wouldn’t be humane to let her hear on the radio or read it in the newspaper. Someone has to drive to Weston and tell her in person.”
“Meaning me.”
“You’re the logical one. I thought of Harry, but it’s so difficult locating him when he’s on the job going from office to office. Besides, having Harry tell her wouldn’t be very — well, delicate, would it? So that leaves you.”
“Obviously.”
“You don’t mind very much, do you?”
“I mind like the very devil.”
“Someone has to do it. I’d volunteer, but I don’t trust myself. I’m angry with her, bitterly angry, I couldn’t even pretend any sympathy.”
“Can I?”
“No, but you can feel it,” she said earnestly. “You’re much kinder than I am about human frailties.”
When he reached Weston it was five o’clock and his nerves were rubbed raw by traffic tensions and anticipation of his errand. At the very outskirts of the city he was still thinking up excuses to turn around and go back, or to call Bill Winslow or Joe Hepburn and pass the buck to one of them.
Though it was still bright and sunny, the blinds were already drawn on the windows of the square red-brick house where Thelma lived. Turee had to ring the doorbell half a dozen times before Thelma finally appeared.
Freshly scrubbed, without make-up, and with her long fair hair combed straight back, Alice-in-Wonderland style, she appeared younger and more vulnerable than Turee remembered her. Although he had talked to her on the telephone, he hadn’t seen her since the last time the fellows had gathered at Harry’s house a month ago, and on that occasion, as on other similar ones, she’d been unobtrusive and efficient, quietly refilling glasses and passing sandwiches, more like a good maid than the mistress of the house. Looking at her now, Turee tried to recall whether at any time during that night she’d paid special attention to Galloway, whether hands had touched briefly, or significant glances had passed back and forth, or knowing smiles been exchanged. The only incident Turee could think of happened late in the evening: Galloway had dropped and broken his glass and Thelma had cleaned up the mess. No one thought anything of it at the time, no one saw anything significant or symbolic in Thelma’s kneeling docilely at Galloway’s feet, picking up the pieces of glass and blotting the carpet with paper towels. Galloway had not offered to help. He’d seemed, in fact, stunned by the accident, as if he’d broken some valuable crystal by Steuben instead of an ordinary tumbler from the dime store.
“Hello, Ralph.”
“Hello, Thelma. How are you?”
“Fine. I think, fine.” She was carrying a man’s blue and white striped shirt and a threaded needle. “Come in, won’t you? I’m just sewing.”
The three lamps in the living room were turned on but the room still looked gloomy, and the atmosphere was cool and damp as if the place had been shut up all day and used as a refuge by someone hiding from the sun or the neighbors.
Thelma sat on the chesterfield beside a pile of men’s clothes, socks and shirts and undershorts. “Harry called at noon. Thanks for letting him spend the night with you.”
“He’s welcome to stay any time. The kids are crazy about him.”
“Oh.”
“He likes them, too. He doesn’t even mind them climbing all over him at six-thirty in the morning. That’s a true test.”
“Is it?”
“My own opinion is that Harry would make a very fine father. He’s got all the...”
“You’re wasting your time,” she said, flatly and finally. “Harry is not the father of my child. I couldn’t possibly go on living with him, pretending that he was. If that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“I’m not merely suggesting, I’m strongly urging you to reconsider. Harry and I talked it over last night. He’s willing, he’s actually eager to assume responsibility for the child. He loves you, Thelma.”
“I know that. But I don’t love him. And if I had to continue living with him under such false pretenses I might grow to hate him. No child should be brought up in a house of hate as I was. No, Ralph, don’t argue. The future is settled.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Oh, there’ll be a lot of talk, a lot of scandal, but it will blow over. Then Ron and I can move somewhere else and start a life of our own.” She spoke quickly, glibly, as if she had said these exact words to herself many times, perhaps because she believed them, perhaps because she was merely trying to believe them. “You don’t mind if I go on sewing, do you? Harry’s coming for his things after be finishes work and I want them to be in order. He won’t have anyone to look after him for a while.”
“For a while?”
“He’ll get married again some day... I know he thinks his love for me is unique and undying and so on, but I understand Harry pretty well. Some nice woman will come along and give him the kind of life he wants.”
“You’ve given him the kind of life he wants.”
“He’s easily satisfied. I’m not.”
“You put up a good front.”
“I have my pride. Oh, I guess you think that word sounds peculiar coming from me, but what I said is true. I couldn’t very well go around telling people like you and Nancy that I was bored and lonely sitting around this house all day, knowing the future would be exactly the same. The only person I ever told was Ron. He told me things too — that Esther was smarter than he was and he was always embarrassed when they went out together and she dominated the conversation and everything. He said it made him feel as if he were her idiot son whom she dragged along out of duty.”
It was, to Turee, a rather bizarre picture of the Galloways’ relationship, and yet he realized instantly that it showed some true colors and some bold, clear lines.
“I told him he needn’t fear anything like that from me, I’m not very smart. Or if I am, nobody’s ever mentioned it.”
Suddenly she put down her sewing and flashed him a glance so sharp and direct that he blinked trying to meet it. “What are you doing here, Ralph? You’re usually home by this time. I know you and Nancy eat early because of the children. Did you just come to hear me chatter?”
“No..”
“I knew as soon as I opened the door and saw you, I knew there must be a reason. An important one. Is it about Ron?”
“Yes.”
“If it were good news you’d have told me right away. So it’s bad news. How bad?”
“He’s dead.”
“You’re not — there can’t be any mistake?”
“No.”
She bunched forward until her forehead rested on her knees and stayed there motionless, as if she’d lost the will to move. Street noises seeped in through the cracks of the windows and streaks of light past the edges of the drawn blinds. Turee wished he were outside with the noise and the light, instead of in this room where everything seemed to have died, not even a clock ticked or a fly buzzed.