“Looks to me like she’s a woman having a very good time.”
“Amazing.”
“She seems to trust him.”
“Well. To better times.” Carla raised her glass.
Libbie clinked with her. Through the skull-lined window she saw an old beige station wagon pull up in the parking lot. Dark children stumbled out, wrapped in heavy blankets.
The phone startled her at dawn: Hugh, calling from his office. His nine-year-old, Elissa, had broken her arm on a jungle gym the day before. He’d been shuttling between the emergency room, doctors’ offices, work, and his ex-wife’s house.
“Why didn’t you call me, Hugh?”
“I knew you were wrapped up in your own thing.” His tone said, I didn’t think you’d care.
“I’m sorry, Hugh. About everything. Really.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
“Is Elissa okay?”
“More scared than hurt.”
“Listen, as soon as things settle down for you, why don’t we make that appointment with Father Caskin?”
“Really?”
He warmed up after that, and they began to speak easily, the way they used to do. Silently, she forgave him that he didn’t ask after Danny. “The girls are excited about our wedding,” he said with a note of caution in his voice. So. Things weren’t quite back to normal. She’d have to keep reassuring him.
“Me too.”
“They love the dresses they’re going to wear. And they want to know about your house. On the weekends, they want to bring their cat over. Do you think we could clear some room for him? His food and stuff?”
“Next to the washer, maybe. I’ll see what I can do.”
They made plans to meet for dinner. She dressed and brushed her teeth, then swept the space between her washing machine and a wall in the kitchen pantry. She set four plastic placemats on the floor and made a note to get a box — no, two — and some kitty litter at the store. It occurred to her that Anna Lia’s cats would need a home as well. Would Danny take care of them, or would they fall to her?
Jesus, would she ever be done …
Hugh’s daughters. On weekends, she’d have to sacrifice her study, move her computer to make room for two cots. What breakables would she need to protect? She didn’t know how any of this would go.
Upstairs, she combed her hair, straddling a corner of her bed, watching the morning light. No clouds, smoke, or ash. Libbie set her comb on the bed. She started to pick the wine glasses off her night table but left them instead — traces of Hugh, a fact that saddened her yesterday but lifted her now after hearing his voice. She’d make a good wife, after all.
She drove to school. Construction cranes crosshatched the sky near campus. Libbie parked between a dusty Honda and an old Mitsubishi in need of new tires.
She taught her classes, prepping her weaker students for a second crack at the language proficiency exam. At a break, Kim, a young man from Kyoto, asked, “My teacher, what means ‘assoes’? I thought, perhaps, is plural of’ass,’ but now I not know.”
“Where did you hear it?”
“In my dorm. A boy in hall, always scream, ‘You all a bunch of assoes!’ Does he mean we are animals? Why would he say that?”
“I think you should ask him what it means,” Libbie said, trying not to laugh.
Late in the afternoon, exhausted, she went home and changed into a plain black dress. The light bulb in her bedroom closet zizzled twice, then quit. She shut the closet door.
Back in the van, she jumped when a car behind her backfired.
Danny, Carla, and Betty, somberly dressed, were standing on Carla’s porch. Betty grinned nervously. She bowed her head, avoiding the sun, and hovered close to Danny. Libbie gave him a hug. “How you doing?” She straightened his fat blue tie.
“Okay.”
“It’ll all be over soon.”
Carla rubbed Libbie’s arm.
No one spoke on the way to the service. The Religion Center was tucked among tall trees. At its entrance, white vaulted columns held rows of smoky windows. The pressure of stone, the delicacy of glass — Libbie was struck by the contrast, the sweet balance of tensions, and felt a surge of relief. Grackles hopped on the grass, plucking at insects. Squirrels raced in the pines, through thick gray moss.
To Libbie’s surprise, Edgar greeted Carla inside. They hugged and smiled like nothing was wrong. Betty scowled but kept her composure. A man handed out programs, as if they’d all come for a concert. Carnations and roses spiced the room, but the air, wafting through open doors, smelled of coffee from a Maxwell House plant down the road. A woman Libbie didn’t know played piano in a corner, something stately, dull, unfamiliar. Roberto should do his radio patter — Live from my ex-lover’s funeral, the hottest music in Houston! Anna Lia would love it.
Roberto sat in a middle pew. He waved. Libbie nodded his way — so did Danny, she was happy to see. Ricky gripped a swathe of Kleenex for Marie.
Nicholas Smitts and his creepy big brother entered the room. They sat in the back row. Danny glimpsed them, and Libbie felt him tense. “Let them go,” she whispered. “This is Anna Lia’s day. Let’s just think about her, okay?”
“I know.” He patted her hand.
Carla kissed Edgar on the cheek.
Libbie glanced at her program. Tuesday, June 24, 1986. Exactly a week since all their lives had changed. Our Beloved Anna Lia Clark.
The coffin, propped on a cloth-covered dais up front, looked smaller than it had in the funeral home.
Betty beamed next to Danny. Libbie watched her. She didn’t want Betty getting her hopes up. Danny would never mislead her — not on purpose — but she didn’t have experience with men and might misinterpret his gestures. It was wonderful — amazing — the way he’d charmed her, coaxed her out of her cave. But where could this lead? She smiled at them both. No way to know. Good or bad, there was simply no way to know.
Danny hoped the new box looked good. It seemed okay. What did he know about choosing one of those things? This morning, early, he’d phoned Gustavo again, and this time they’d managed an actual, if feeble, conversation. Danny explained what he knew about Anna Lia’s death. Politely, remotely, Gustavo asked about shipping arrangements for the body, and Danny went over them. “Too big, too big, too big!” Gustavo shouted. He told Danny that eventually Anna Lia would rest in a mausoleum in Rome. Italian mausoleums were smaller than those in the U.S.; an “ostentatious American casket” wouldn’t fit. So Danny called Crespi, and for an extra “handling” charge — “Last minute, most unusual,” Crespi had muttered — picked a smaller box.
It was hard to tell in a transatlantic phone call, but Gustavo seemed to have worked through his grief already, tucked it away in the silk-lined pocket of a tux. His voice was formal, clipped.
“I know you never approved of me, Gustavo,” Danny had said. “But I loved her very much. I tried to look after her. I’m sorry I failed.”
“We all failed with her.” This is the closest Danny would ever get to recognition or an apology from Anna Lia’s father. Hell, I’ll take it, he thought.
Now Betty squeezed his hand. “How you doing?” he whispered to her.
“Good. There’s a lot of people.”
“Yes, but remember what we talked about.”
“They’re not really looking at me?”
“Right. They’re not even thinking about you. They’re lost inside their heads.”
“They don’t know me,” Betty said. “They don’t know me at all!”
“Exactly. See? It’s easy to feel safe and alone, even in a crowd. Nothing to worry about.”