That night his ex-wife calls, which she does once a week. “How are you?” and she says “Couldn’t be better, and you?” “I’ll get Deborah.” “How is she?” “She’ll tell you.” “I’m asking you, Harold. Is she having a good time? She said last week she didn’t want to go to camp your whole month there. I know you have your own demands, but think it wise to force her to go?” “You’re giving me advice from three thousand miles away, or six or eight or ten, however far Tahiti is?” “We’re home. And I see nothing wrong in what I said.” “Anyway, I took her out of camp Friday, and since then we’ve been getting along famously, and I hope it’ll last the summer and then into the beyond.” “Good. That’ll be great for you both.” “I’ll get her.” Puts the receiver down, picks it up. “And oh, she asked about you today. No strange coincidence, since I’m sure you’re on her mind a lot, particularly since she won’t be visiting you this summer, and she probably knew you were calling tonight, Monday, your call night.” “I could call other days and more often. I guess the week goes so fast, and I got into a routine.” “Anyway, she asked what I thought of you. Then, not so much now. I told her of now and some of then. My feelings, et cetera—” “What did you say about your feelings?” “Oh, you know, that I loved you then but not now and wondered why in hell you ever married me. That I’d even warned you about what it’d come to.” “Why’d you tell her that? It was unnecessary. She’s too young. You went too far.” “Well, I didn’t exactly say it; I intimated. Also intimated I was glad you thought it better I should have her than you. No, I didn’t say that either or intimate. But it’s what I thought. Glad your restlessness made you a world traveler and first-class self-seeker and not a stay-at-homenik, since that way I got her. That’s all.” “Why’d you bring all that up to me? I’ve no bad feelings to you. There’s a reason I couldn’t have her here this summer. I’m pregnant and I have to stay in bed most of the time and right up to the delivery, since, if you must know, I’ve already had two miscarriages with Tim. But this one’s coming along fine. I’ve passed the critical period but still have to be careful. And I called specifically tonight — I was going to let her tell you this if she wanted — to tell her I’m pregnant and that she’s going to have a very kid sister. We only got all the clinical results last Friday. I was also planning to tell her I’m going to be a much different mother this time around, as well as a vastly changed one to her, and that if she wants, once I have the baby, she can spend whole summers with us. Next one, for instance, and maybe whole years.” “If she wants? Oh no, you’re going to ruin it for me,” and hangs up. She calls back. “Will you let me speak to her?” “She’s asleep.” “Who’s asleep?” his daughter says from the next room. “Please put her on.” Puts her on, watches her as she talks. She’s thrilled, says “That’s fantastic, Mom; it’s great. I’m so happy I can practically cry.” At what, sister or idea of living with her mother? When she gets off, she says “Know what Mommy told me?” “Whatever it is, you can’t. I let you get out of camp, but I’m not going to let you get out of everything.” “What are you talking about?” “What did your mommy say?” “She’s having a baby — a girl. I’ll have a little sister, and I can help name her. She and Tim want me to. She says they’re stuck for good names that aren’t too popular.” “Oh, you’re so lucky. I only had two brothers and from the same parents. They were older and end up beating you up before they get real nice to you. But they were closer in age to me than you two will be, and you’ll be much older, so she can’t beat you up. You’ll be a terrific older sister. I wish I had you as one.” “Then you couldn’t have me as a daughter.” “Hey, that’s true, I didn’t think of that. Too bad.”
She asks him to tell her a story that night. He does every night, or a continuation of one. Tonight he puts the chapter story on hold, he says, and starts a new one called “Two Sisters.” “Sadie and Sally,” he says. “Awful names,” she says. “Not ones I’d give.” “They’re like twins, though they don’t dress alike and are several years apart, maybe even nine. Once Sadie was born they started doing almost everything together, or when she started to walk and talk.” He gives examples. “Then a war came. Their parents had to fight in the army, so Sadie went with an uncle and Sally with an aunt.” He’s silent. “What happens next?” she says. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. The war goes on for five years. Their parents have disappeared. Nobody knows if they were killed in battle or taken prisoner and not returned or got lost somewhere and are in another terrible country trying to get out, or what.” “This is too sad to listen to before I go to sleep, even if everyone finds one another.” “They don’t find each other so fast. The separation goes on longer than the war. The uncle and aunt die of natural causes — heart disease, old age; they’re actually a great-uncle and great-aunt. The sisters live completely separate lives for more than ten years after the war. Their parents are dead.” “Oh Daddy, I’ll have nightmares now.” “I’m sorry. Erase the story.” “You can’t. I already heard it.” “Then I’ll change it.” “How? It already happened. The sisters could meet again but their parents are dead.” “I can change it if I want. I made a mistake. I got the wrong lives into my characters.” “You know you didn’t. Why’d you tell it if you knew it was going to be so scary and sad? Do you want me to have bad dreams?” “Of course not. I just didn’t know what I was telling you. Maybe I’m still suffering a little from some after-bang effects from that accident last week on my head. Or we were talking about you and your future sister, I started telling a story about two other sisters, and then I got carried away or didn’t know I was telling it.” “You had to know. You always do when you tell me a story.” “Sometimes things get in from somewhere deep in you that you’re not aware of. The unconscious, the subconscious — you know, we’ve talked of it. So maybe I did it, though I didn’t realize or intend it, because I want you to live with me till you go to college, and even in college if you want to go to the one I teach at or another one in the area. And I thought, or those deeper things in me I wasn’t aware of thought, that the story would make you stay with me more. Because I fear your mother will take you from me. Rather, that you’ll want to live with her more. That even if you’re legally mine — meaning, that I’ve legal custody of you till you’re of the age of consent…Is that it, age of consent? Till you’re of legal age to say where you want to live — even alone, if you want — and I couldn’t do anything about it, then I could…I could what? I lost my train of thought. You remember what I started out saying?” “No.” “I guess it was that your mother will make life very attractive for you living with her and Tim and the baby. Occasionally in Tahiti and mostly in California and all their trips abroad and with an attitude that’ll probably be more liberal than mine. And that you’ll want to live with them permanently, and I won’t be able to deny you because I’ll want you to be happy so long as it’s safe there and so on, which I’m sure it’ll be. And then I’ll only see you a few days during the regular year if they happen to fly to the East Coast and also a month in the summer, even two if you want, but not enough for me. And maybe you’ll say you’re so happy there, or they’re doing such great things summers, that you won’t want to come East to me, and then what would I do? Maybe I should get married again just to have another child in case you leave. Would you stay with me over your mother if I had another child, even if it was a boy?” “You can’t have a child.” “The woman I married, I mean, but you knew that. Anyway, it’s way off the point. I’ll tell you what I told your mother when she first said she was leaving me — maybe I shouldn’t say this to you.” “Don’t, Daddy, if you don’t think you should.” “No, it’s okay, it’s not bad, and I know what I’m saying here, it’s not coming from somewhere else. You ought to go if you feel you have to, that’s all I said. Oh damn,” because she looks sad, “by your face I can tell I shouldn’t have said it. Blame my poor head. Or just blame me. But don’t cry, okay? Just don’t cry.” “I won’t. I’m not feeling like it. But it’s nice she wants me to live with her after so long, isn’t it?” “Yes it is. Or at least if you think so. That’s the attitude I should take. That’s the one I will. Because it is good she wants you. It’s never too late to change, and you’ve got all those young years left. And now I’m looking for something to end this conversation with, all right, sweetheart?” “Good night, Daddy. I’m tired. See you in the morning.” “First kiss me good night and brush your teeth and go to bed. But you already brushed your teeth and are in bed. Good night, sweetheart,” and kisses her and leaves the room.