They all had their big, quietly rotting houses, even the twins. Louise had a solarium in hers that leaked badly. In the rear was an overgrown yard with a birdhouse nailed to each tree. Some trees had more than one. The previous tenant must have been demented, Louise thought. How could they imagine that birds want to live like that?
At Jack’s they drank, but lightly except for Dianne, who was drinking far too much recently. She’d said, “I began to wonder if it was worthwhile to undertake what I was doing at the moment. Pick a moment, any moment. I began to wonder. If I only had today and not tomorrow, would it be worthwhile to undertake what I was doing at the moment? I addressed myself to that very worthwhile question and I had to admit, well, no.”
But no one tried to interfere with Dianne. They were getting over the death of their friend Elliot — each in his or her own way was the understanding.
“It takes four full seasons to get over a death,” Angus said. “Spring and summer, winter and fall.”
“Fall and winter,” Andrew said.
Everyone was annoyed with Angus because he had taken all the photos out of the flat woven basket where they’d always been kept and arranged them in albums, ordered by years or occasions. This pleased no one. It wasn’t the same. The effect was different. Everything had looked like a gala before. Now none of it did.
They talked about the things Elliot had given them. They could not understand what he had been attempting to say. All his other possessions had been trucked away and stored. A brother was supposed to come for them. He was sick or lived in Turkey or some goddamn place, who cared. In any case, he hadn’t shown up here yet.
Louise didn’t think it was right that she had been given something alive. The others hadn’t been given anything alive. She made this point frequently but no one had an explanation for it.
The twins had been reading Pablo Neruda and had come across the line Death also goes through the world dressed like a broom, but they weren’t going to tell Louise that. Dressed didn’t seem right anyway, maybe it was the translation. But Neruda was a giant among pygmies, his mind impeccable. They were going to keep their mouths shut.
More than a month passed. Louise was working full time in the florist’s shop. She liked working there, at the long cutting table, wearing an apricot-colored smock among the unnatural blooms. A woman came in one day just before closing. She wanted to send a dozen roses to a young veterinarian assistant.
“My dog bit her when she tried to lift him for an X-ray,” the woman said. “I’m so embarrassed.”
Louise had never been interested in the reasons people bought flowers. “I don’t like dogs,” Louise said.
“Really?” the woman said. “I don’t know where I’d be without my Buckie.”
“You wouldn’t be in here buying these roses,” Louise said.
Another season insinuated itself. It was Tim’s turn to give a party but things were not going well for him. The lilacs had not survived transplanting. They would never come back. Tim had done his best, but his best wasn’t good enough. He had also had an unhappy experience with a pair of swans. He had been following their fortunes ever since he had witnessed them mating in a marsh beside the highway. “They twined their necks like heraldry afterwards,” he said. “Heraldry.” But after weeks of guarding the nest the male disappeared, and a week later the female vanished. Tim had watched them so arduously and suddenly they were gone. He was sure someone had murdered them. “Remember the lied about the swan?” he asked.
“Leda and the swan?” Angus volunteered.
“The German song,” Tim said impatiently. “The lied,” he said, upset.
It was about a swan who so loved a hunter by the marsh that she became a woman and married him and had three children. Then one night the king of the swans called to her to come back or else he would die, so slowly she turned into a swan again, slowly opened her wide white wings and left her husband and her children …
“Her wide white wings,” Tim said, weeping.
Lucretia gave a party out of turn. Everyone came except Dianne and Tim. Walter asked Louise about the dog.
“Old Broom,” Louise answered. “Poor Broom.” The dog was not demanding. It was modest in its requirements. It could square itself off like a package in a chair, it could actually resemble a package, but that was about it. Everyone half expected that Broom would have disappeared by now, run away.
“Listen,” Lucretia said. “I’ll tell you. One of those glasses I was given got a little chip on the rim and I found myself going to a jeweler’s and getting an estimate for filing it down. It cost seventy-five dollars and I paid for it, but I’m not picking it up. I didn’t even give them the right telephone number. I decided, enough’s enough.”
Walter confessed that he had thrown away the silk pajamas immediately, without a modicum of ceremony.
“None of it makes a bit of sense,” Betsy said. “What would I want with barbells? I took those barbells down to the park and left them by the softball field. You’re a saint, Louise. I could see you maybe not wanting to take it to the pound, but I always thought, She’s going to take it to a no-kill facility.
“What do you mean?” Louise asked.
“A no-kill facility. Isn’t that self-explanatory?”
“Well, no,” Louise said, “not really. I mean it doesn’t sound all that great somehow.”
“Most places keep unwanted pets for two weeks and then, if they’re not adopted, they put them to sleep.”
“Put them to sleep,” Louise said. She didn’t know anybody said that anymore and here was her friend, Betsy, saying it. It sounded like something you’d do with a small child in a pretty room while it was still light out.
“And these people never do. I’ve just heard about these places, I’ve never seen one. I don’t think there are many of them, but they are around.”
“I don’t like the sound of it either,” Andrew said, “oddly enough.”
“You know that woman came into the florist’s the other day to buy roses and I said to her, ‘Oh no! Has Buckie bitten someone again?’” Louise said.
Her friends looked at her.
“And she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’” Louise laughed. “She was pretending she wasn’t the same person.”
Louise always wanted to talk about Broom with the others until they actually wanted to discuss him, then she didn’t want to anymore.
Early one evening after work, Louise was sitting on the front steps of her house when a van pulled up across the street and a man got out. Louise was startled to see him walk over to her. He was deeply tanned with a ragged haircut. The collar of his shirt was too big for him.
“How do you do, Louise?” he said. “I’m Elliot’s brother.”
Louise cast herself back, remembering Elliot. She found him with more difficulty than usual, but then she had him, Elliot, she could see him. It was still him, exactly. Powerful Elliot. She said to the man, “You don’t look at all like Elliot.”
He seemed to be waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “I’ve been ill and out of the country. I couldn’t travel. Travel was impossible, but I got here as soon as I was able. Elliot and I had quarreled. You can’t imagine the pettiness of our quarrel, it was over nothing. We hadn’t spoken for two years. I will never forgive myself.” He paused. “I heard that he had a dog and that you have it now and it might be something of a burden to you. I’d like to have the dog. I’d like to buy it.”