But beyond all this, there was Will. Will, who, when Wayne saw him, always seemed to be surrounded by Jody’s aura. Men cheating on their wives are advised to be careful that they do not carry home the smell of hairspray or perfume to betray them. What about the telltale signs of a mother on a child — those smells trailing memories of the mother’s scent, the child’s clothes selected in her favorite colors, the Mercurochrome on the scratch painted by her professional hand? Something was coming clear to Wayne: that the child was just a springboard for the mother, a launch pad from which her presence could shoot up to hover hugely over the scene. As long as Will existed, Jody would be larger than life. She had seeped under Will’s skin as surely as a ghost passing into the walls of a house. If she could not remain in Wayne’s heart herself, she would send an envoy to penetrate his world.
As if he could read Wayne’s mind, Zeke reappeared with a question about Will. “Your kid,” Zeke said. “What’s the deal about the pool? I’ll bring an inner tube, and what else do you want us to bring? I forget.”
Wayne rolled his eyes. “Us” meant he was going to have to endure a day of swimming with Susan.
“I just thought that if you had a tube, the kid might like to float around. I don’t think he swims.”
“Maybe we ought to get him some of those arm-float things you strap on,” Zeke said. “Maybe that would be better.”
“He’s not a doll we’re dressing up,” Wayne said. “Bring the tube. If the kid’s not interested, we can use it.”
“You know, in Texas Susan used to go down some river in a tube. One of those places you enter one place and end up another, and they shuttle you back to where you started. She says she really misses Texas, but, you know, her grandmother she was living with had to go into a rest home, God rest her soul, and she figured makin’ the move to live near her sister was the best thing to do, since she wouldn’t be livin’ with family no more.”
“Her grandmother died?” Wayne said. Every girl Zeke dated had a history as long as War and Peace. How he ever managed to get any action except talk was a mystery to Wayne.
“No, she didn’t die,” Zeke said. “I told you: She went to a rest home.”
“Didn’t you just say, ‘God rest her soul’?” Wayne asked.
“Hey, it’s just an expression.”
“It’s not just an expression. It’s what you say when somebody’s dead. Like ‘Happy Birthday’ isn’t an expression. It’s what you say on somebody’s birthday.”
“God better look out for those folks in the rest homes,” Zeke said, hating to be corrected.
Wayne sighed. A bee buzzed his hat. The job was almost done. Soon he could have a final shot of lemonade, and then he would head home to wait for Will’s arrival. Corky would be there, frosting cupcakes. He should think about what his first line would be when the doorbell rang. How he should act. Every time he saw Will it was awkward. He always hugged when Will wanted to shake hands, or bumped his forehead, leaning down for a kiss. The holier-than-thou bodyguard would be with Will, too: Mel, with a proprietary hand on Will’s shoulder.
“You remember the stuff I told you about Susan’s parents, right? About how they had this foster kid that they used like a servant, and somebody got wind of it and before you knew it, zip, that kid was out of there, and Susan went to her grandmother, and if the father hadn’t drowned, he might be in the slammer today, because—”
“You told me,” Wayne said.
“Which really makes it mysterious, since now we know he’s no great lover of kids, and Susan’s mom’s so sloshed you don’t know on any given day whether she’s gonna make it out of bed, whether that brother of Susan’s really died in his crib, or—”
“This is like a fucking soap opera,” Wayne said.
“It’s her life, Wayne. She showed real get-up-and-go to relocate herself to Florida. Susan’s a devoted family person. When things took a turn for the worse with her grandmother, naturally she got in touch with her sister, and—”
“God rest Susan’s soul,” Wayne said.
Zeke looked at him, puzzled.
“It’s just an expression. God rest her soul if she dies,” Wayne said.
“I don’t think that’s funny,” Zeke said. “Saying something like that, you might bring bad luck to Susan.”
“What’s the grandmother’s story?” Wayne said, knowing that he could derail Zeke.
“Her father was an immigrant from Italy,” Zeke said. “They had five children, and two that died at birth, and the mother …”
Zeke was off and running. Wayne adjusted his hat and smiled to himself. If only dealing with Will could be as easy as dealing with Zeke. Zeke was just like a baby: When you dangled something in front of him, the hysteria would end; fascination would make his eyes widen and bring a big smile to his face. Just dangle the possibility of another story waiting to be told, and Zeke would reach up and touch it — it was all so real to him, it was as though he could touch it — and then, for as long as you could stand to be involved, there would be peace and tranquillity. A reward and a respite.