Alone
He drives back from a lunch at a couple’s house. There were several other guests there. They were all couples. One woman came by herself because her husband, a doctor, had some work to do at a hospital. So he was there alone. His wife is dead. He looked at the couples and thought each person here has someone to go home with or to but him. Isn’t he used to it yet? He isn’t. He doesn’t like going home alone. Being alone at home. Going to these lunches alone. But what’s he going to do? His daughters are in other cities. The food was good at the lunch. There were turkey and ham slices on a plate. Smoked fish on another plate. A potato salad dressed with just vinegar and mustard and olive oil. A beet salad, a snow pea salad, sliced tomatoes, bread. He wanted to have a glass of wine or beer, when others were having it, but he doesn’t drink alcohol in the afternoon. Makes him too tired. He had water. He stayed pretty quiet during the lunch. The conversation was lively but he didn’t participate in it much. Once, he said, “Oh, I have an anecdote regarding that,” and everyone at the long dining table turned to him and he said “It’s about the president of the university I taught at, the fellow who you say now runs a prestigious medical research institute in Minneapolis. We had — my department — a visiting writer reading his fiction. Big crowd. This guy’s very well known. And the president came into the lobby after the reading — his residence was on campus and I suppose he was just taking a walk, saw the building lit up and lots of people leaving it, because he hadn’t gone to the reading, and. . Jesus, what was I getting at? Something he said to me. Then something I said to him. I know it ends with him saying ‘What’s a hunk?’ Damn, I forget. I’m sorry. Carry on, please. I’m not very good at telling stories anymore.” “Sure you are,” the hostess said. “He’s a very funny guy,” her husband said, “or can be,” and everyone laughed. After coffee and fruit, the wife of one of the couples said “We’ll have to excuse ourselves. We have guests coming for dinner and I’ve a lot of preparations to do.” “I have to go too,” he said. “No guests coming, but something at home.” He stood up. The couple stood up. He had nothing to do at home. He shook hands with three of the men, kissed the cheek of the hostess and a woman he’d seen at this house for dinner several times when his wife was alive, and the couple and he left together. He stopped in front of a plant outside and said “I have these around my house; but all around it. They came with the house, but mine are five to seven feet tall. Any idea its name?” and the woman said “Aucuna; that starts with an ‘a’ and ‘u.’” “Boy, I really asked the right people. I should cut mine down to about two feet, the way the Pinskis have it.” “That would be about the right height for them, two to three feet. They’re great plants. Hearty; red berries. And they’re not cheap if you buy them at a garden store. I love them.” “Well, if you want some, I’ve got plenty and you can just dig them up. I’ve pulled a number of them up without any problem when they were taking over the place.” “I’ll do that, “she said. “I’m serious.” “So am I,” she said. “In the spring. We’ll both come over. We have just the right tools and know how to do it. I’ll get your phone number from Ginny and Schmuel.” Then they shook hands goodbye and they got in their car and he got in his car and started to drive home. But now, he thinks, he doesn’t want to get home so quickly. Too soon. He stops at a restaurant on the way, one that sells its own bread, and gets a small loaf of his favorite kind here, sunflower flax, and asks for it to be sliced. “That’s all?” the woman behind the counter says, and he says “That’ll have to do it. I just came from a big lunch.” Then he stops at a bookstore, also along the way home and the best independent one in the city, and for about ten minutes looks for a book to buy for when he finishes the one he’s currently reading, doesn’t see anything that interests him, and then thinks he needs a new