“Who didn’t?”
“Franny didn’t. What happened?”
He felt like a propped-up cardboard cutout of a man. “When did you talk to her?”
“Not too long ago. I drove by the house, had a job up the street.”
“You’re mistaken,” David said, holding his hand against the buzzing in his ear.
“I know Franny. Tall woman, big features. Brown hair down to the middle of her back.” He measured the spot on his own back where her hair would fall if it was on his head. The buzzing grew louder. “She answered when I called her name. This wasn’t too long ago.”
“She was mistaken,” David said. “You were mistaken. It was a coincidence. Common name.”
Samson peeled at the label of his empty beer. “Did you think she’d run off somewhere?”
Ted came back into the room, grasped the arm of the chair, and lowered himself. When the full weight of his body hit the chair, a mechanical pencil dropped to the floor. Only David saw the motion. The double-sided tape ringing the pencil was coated with fuzz from the underside of the chair. “Who’s gone?” Ted asked.
“I saw your wife, David,” Samson said.
“Franny?” Ted sank his chin into his neck, as if the idea had tapped him on the forehead.
“Now that girl’s a tall drink,” Samson said.
“Such a good girl,” said Ted. “We sure wish you two would come by more often.”
David set his beer on the carpet, keeping it upright with an extended finger. He imagined Franny among the tourists, confused. The buzzing grew even louder, a machine whir in his ears, but it seemed as if his friends couldn’t hear it. It was important in that moment to have a fruitful conversation.
“What did she say to you when you talked?” he asked.
Samson frowned. “You two fighting?”
“Did she say we were?”
“I mean, it all depends on context,” Ted said. “Everything is different if you two are fighting. She could say ‘Oh, he’s working on the doghouse,’ and if you’re not fighting, then you’re actually working on a doghouse, but if you’re fighting, then she’s trying to say something in code, see?”
“We don’t own a dog.”
“It’s code.”
“An expression,” said Samson. “That’s what he’s saying.”
“You should get a cell phone,” Ted said.
David clapped his hands over his ears, boxing them. The buzzing stopped. He exhaled.
“Sorry, man,” said Ted.
“Maybe you could tell us what she told you exactly,” David said. “We can all figure out the context together.”
“They were fighting,” Samson said. “Listen. This wasn’t too long ago. When I saw her, I got out of the truck and she was standing in front of the house. She was smiling real big too, now that I think about it. It was noticeable because I never saw the girl smile, not even in those early days. But there she was, smiling and playing with the buttons on her jacket like a little one. I tried to give her a hug but she took a step back, and I remembered”—he paused—“I remembered how she is. I asked her what she was up to and she shrugged, said she wasn’t up to nothing, and pointed at the house. It seemed like it hurt to talk, and when I asked her if she’d been sick she kind of nodded and held her throat.
“She did say one strange thing,” Samson went on. “I asked if you were around, if maybe I could come in and warm up. My job wasn’t for a few hours at least. I wasn’t wearing my boots, and the cold was starting to get to me, you know. Doctor says I should eat more fish oil. That stuff is good for hair and skin along with your heart, but those pills make you fish burp like you’ve got a hatchery in your gut.”
“You were going in,” David said.
“I told her I was going in to find you, and she tried talking to me, but she had a real craggy voice. I’m pretty sure she told me to be careful around the house and said she was learning a language. Real strange.”
As Samson spoke, David saw Ted take an interest in the box of ashes on the coffee table. “I said, ‘What’s that, Fran?’ and she tried again, but her voice was totally gone. She made a talking motion with her fingers.”
Ted tried to read the label on the package by turning his head to the side and then his body, leaning forward, arching slightly, trying to go unnoticed. He was across the room from the box and squinted toward the small print. David watched him.
“It was kind of strange, but I figured the girl was getting some secondary education,” Samson said. “Spanish or whatever. I said that was good, and she smiled real wide and nodded. Then she went around back.”
Ted stood up then, one arm stretched toward the box of ashes. Before he could get closer, David took the box up and moved it next to the window. “Clutter,” David said.
Ted watched the box as David moved it but didn’t follow him over. “I could have sworn you two owned a dog,” he said.
“She learning Spanish?” Samson asked. “That’s good for the service trades. We’re trying to get the boys into it in school.” He drained his beer, becoming aware that Ted was standing. “Got to be hitting the dusty trail,” Samson said.
They each warmly shook David’s hand, and he walked them to the door feeling that they had all learned something.
“David,” Samson said. “It’s been so good to see you.”
“It’s been good to sit down with you,” said Ted.
“About that letter you sent us,” Samson said.
“About that.” David tapped the doorknob with his shirtsleeve and then unlocked it. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know you two still talked. I’ve been a little off lately. I thought that if I wrote the same letter and only one of you came, I wouldn’t have to worry if the content of the letter was at fault. I hope you understand.”
Ted waved him off. “Not that, David. That’s all fine.”
“We did have a question about one element of the content,” said Samson.
“There is a mention of five hundred dollars,” Ted added.
“The money,” David said. The men regarded one another.
Samson clasped his hand on David’s shoulder. “Thing is, the old gal and I could really use a little help. The kids all need braces. Orthodontists, you know? I’m frankly not pulling it together at work. We’ve been losing clients with the tax breaks drying up, and now college is coming. My wife’s looking for another job, but in the meantime—”
“The mortgage is killing me,” Ted said. “I am literally dying every time I stick a stamp because of how much money I put in envelopes every month. I feel my heart rate speed up. Kids aren’t cheap. Millie wants violin lessons. And would you believe it, her spine’s all twisted up like a pretzel. Needs one of them things for her back. They say it’s a genetic thing, but nobody on my side has it.”
“You guys need the money,” David said.
Nobody liked to hear it out loud. Samson cleared his throat and grasped the door’s handle, inspiring a subtle sweat in David.
“We don’t need it. We’re doing fine. Only thing is, you mentioned money,” Samson said. “We were just following up. We know you’ve been out of work, but we figured you had some saved up, living here and all. We were just following up.”
“I brought the letter with me,” Ted said, going for his back pocket.
David took out his wallet and extracted his spare checks. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know you both have obligations.” He lifted his knee to the doorframe and wrote two checks for five hundred dollars each. “Please, think of it as my gift to your children.”
The men accepted their checks without comment. Samson folded his into thirds and placed it in his breast pocket, and Ted slipped his unfolded into his wallet. They each shook hands with David in turn. Samson sighed and looked as if he was about to speak, but he closed his mouth.