Tom tiptoed past Hooper, who was still asleep on the living room floor, and went into the kitchen. He poured water in the kettle, set it on the small electric stove, and dropped a tea bag in a mug. On the box of Sleepytime tea—bland, uncomplicated chamomile—was a little bear in a nightshirt, a familiar image after many sleepless nights. On the table he set a box of raisin bran flakes, all he had in the house for breakfast. He'd bought a carton of milk at the convenience store for Hooper's visit, but he had no imagination for anything more. Lately he hadn't felt like eating in the mornings, even though he ended up at work with a mid-morning headache, which he tried to cure with too much coffee and a packaged danish or cheese crackers that he kept in his office drawer.
Pathetic, he knew. Jenny used to make big Sunday breakfasts, with omelets or pancakes, sausage, and freshly ground coffee, and afterward they would walk over to church together. People knew them there: they served on committees and occasionally set up the coffee circle. Since their separation, though, he had given it up. Whether Jenny still attended, he didn't know, but regardless he would feel awkward among the people who had known them for so long as a couple. In time he might venture back. He supposed he could look for another congregation, but that would be difficult, because this was the same church he'd been attending since he was a boy, even through college.
The kitchen was quiet. Tom was used to it. In fact, it was odd to know that someone else was in his home. His older brother: the glib one, the confident one, the one who made people laugh. Even though Tom had been quarterback of the football team and a math whiz at school, he had struggled to maintain a sense of his own identity. Hooper had a way of grabbing the spotlight: he organized the neighborhood kids in play; he got awards for the things he made in shop; and he counted as many girls as boys among his friends. Tom had thought he'd outgrown his jealousy, but now with Hooper visiting and the misery of his divorce consuming him, he had fresh occasion to remember. Hooper giving a solo in the school choir, winning a school office, founding an ecology club. He made a big deal about joining the Boy Scouts in middle school, then a bigger deal about quitting. He once announced at the dinner table that he wouldn't be going to church anymore, and their parents let him get away with it. At his graduation, he'd thrown a huge party for friends and relatives, with cake and champagne; when Tom graduated two years later, it was just the four of them out to dinner.
At another time, Tom might have shoved those memories aside, but months of therapy made him pause. Instead he let them tumble out, let them sit in front of him like rocks on a plate. He felt ashamed. He was thirty-two and still nursing hurts from fifteen, twenty years ago. Thirty-two and feeling estranged from the two people who should be the closest to him in the world, his wife and brother. Last week, expressing his anxieties to his therapist, Janie, he'd wondered if he and Hooper would have anything to talk about. She threw the question back to him, as she often did.
“What do you want to talk about?” He couldn't answer her.
He poured his tea before the kettle sang, and soon afterward he could hear Hooper stirring, probably putting on his pants. Stretching and yawning noisily, he came into the kitchen to say good morning. He took one look at the box of bran flakes, at Tom cupping his mug of tea, and declared they would eat out, his treat. Tom didn't argue. He waited for Hooper to shower and dress, then did the same.
Outside the restaurant, Hooper stopped to pet a black dog tied up to the newspaper stand.
“We had a dog, did I ever tell you?” Hooper said as they sat by the window and ordered coffees. “She was a beautiful dog. Golden fur, shaggy tail. She was so happy and smart. She'd smile and you'd want to give her money. Everybody loved her. She was a great dog.” The paltriness of his words embarrassed him. “Here, I have a picture.” He pulled out his wallet and flipped to a photograph of Cosmo in the desert, surrounded by yellow brittlebush.
“Yeah, she's a nice looking dog. What happened to her?”
“She just disappeared one day, last July. She might have run away, but it's not likely. We always had her off leash and she stuck around. The gate was still latched when we got home. We only had her a little over a year, but I still miss her. We tried everything we could to find her.”
“I always wanted a dog, but Jenny was against it. She said we didn't have time to take care of it.”
“Well, now you can.” Hooper was touched by this information; he had been afraid that Tom wouldn't like dogs. He decided they could go to the pound together and choose a dog. He could give him some tips on training, take the dog out while Tom was at work for the next few days.
“Nah. She was right. I don't have time. Besides, I'm not allowed pets in the apartment.”
The waiter brought coffee and took their order, ending that topic. The idea of Tom alone, without even a dog for companionship, made Hooper sad. So did the idea of Jenny. What had happened between them? he wondered. He was just about to ask, trying to phrase the question more delicately in his mind, when Tom said, as though much farther along in that conversation, “Jenny and I have been married for over five years.”
“I'm really sorry things aren't working out.” This might be easier than Hooper thought.
“Everything we had is gone, like that.” Tom's voice was a staccato. “What a goddamn waste. What a fucking idiot I am.” Gripping his coffee spoon tightly with both hands, watching it bend a little, Tom was surprised at himself. He hadn't meant to show such emotion in a public place, but something came over him. It was almost as though he meant to shock Hooper, and it appeared he had. He was about to pour cream from a small pitcher, but he missed his cup.
“You're not an idiot, Tom,” he managed to say, wiping the spill with a napkin. “It happens to the best of people.”
Tom smiled bitterly. “I just expected to stay married. Can you believe that? Who stays married any more? Mom and Dad did—I guess. Who knows what they might have done if they hadn't died?”
Hooper felt short of breath. He couldn't get a good dose of caffeine quickly enough. Having awoken with a headache and missing Tillie keenly, he felt ill equipped to deal with this more grievous barrage of sorrow and cynicism. He wanted to know what was going on with his brother, but did Tom have to be so brutally honest?
“It's like I was living in my own little world,” Tom went on, more calmly. He hadn't planned to divulge so much so soon, but something had opened the floodgates. She says she feels dissatisfied. She says we don't connect any more.”
“I'm sorry.” Hooper felt completely useless.
“We used to have friends over for dinner, you know?” Tom looked at Hooper directly, as though telling his future. “Went for hikes on the weekend, the movies.”
Hooper turned his gaze out the window, where a woman was untying her black dog. Excited to see her, it jumped and spun around, wrapping the leash around her ankles and making her spill her paper cup of coffee. She laughed. The waiter brought them plates of eggs and pancakes.
“I wanted a family, but she said she wasn't ready. So now that hope is gone, too.”
***
The morning was cool, with that clear fall light that brought all objects into sharp focus. Tillie drank her coffee in the backyard, because the metal chair was cold through her jeans and sweater. Soon she went back in the house for a bowl of cereal. But she left the back door open, and that was how the hummingbird came into the kitchen. It fluttered and banged against the bay window like a giant moth against the porch light, its efforts were more frantic and emphatic because of its size.
She had come to a kind of grudging acceptance that cockroaches, crickets, and spiders would creep into the house, but this was different. Its presence was so insistent, its calamity so apparent, its desire so fierce. She and the bird were both bewildered by the confusion of two realms, house and sky, and for a moment she didn't move. Stepping closer to look at it, she could see a patch of violet-purple on its head and iridescent green feathers on its back. That made it a male Costa's, like the ones she'd seen in the bougainvillea.
The door was wide open, so close and easy. But the bird didn't know that, and she couldn't make him see. She thought of batting at him with a magazine, but that seemed cruel, and she doubted she could direct him outside. Before she quite realized what she was about to do, she reached out her hands and caught him.
She almost let him go as quickly, for he rattled in her hands like an alarm clock. Two steps and she was out the door, and the bird burst from her hands, dipped crazily, then darted straight away. Tillie's heart was racing. Her panic had met the pitch of the bird's, but whereas he was probably terrorized, she was now thrilled by the encounter.
It made her eager to start painting. At first her brush, balanced lightly in her hand, felt as though it were buzzing, but as she sank it into the paint and daubed it on the canvas, it regained its plush gravity, its slick resistance. Working all morning, slowly and deliberately, she absorbed herself in one canvas until she felt satisfied, then set it aside for a new one. She put on some music but turned it off, finding it too intrusive. The small fan in the window hummed quietly, drawing out the gumtine fumes, but otherwise she could listen to the scratch and rub of her brushstrokes. She painted most of the day, pausing briefly to have lunch and read the paper. Colors and shapes overlay the words she read. In the afternoon, hours went by before she was aware of it, and she stopped near dusk to clean up.
Walking through the neighborhood to the north, she kept her gaze on the warm brown of the foothills and the meditative, cool blue of the sky. As she passed a woman walking a schnauzer and then a man with a brown wiry-haired mutt, she almost reached out to grasp Hooper's hand, as though he were walking next to her. She hadn't thought of him most of the day, but she suddenly, viscerally realized he was gone.
It was only at that moment that she thought, Why didn't I just open the window and let the hummingbird fly away?
That night she slept poorly, too aware that she was the only living being in the house. Nevertheless, the next morning, Monday, she awoke impatient to get out of bed. For the first time in her working life, she called in sick at the library, making her voice sound pinched and dull. She went to Standard Brands, which, happily, opened at eight o'clock, and bought a large pad of newsprint, four canvases, six tubes of paint, paint thinner, and a couple brushes. The rest of the morning and all that afternoon she drew or painted. She did contour and gesture drawings, and traded off between the two canvases she'd already started. She played music all day, even digging into a box of old tapes, experimenting with different rhythms. On Tuesday she called in sick again, explaining to the voice mail that she doubted she would make it in Wednesday, either. She whipped off several more sketches and started two more canvases.
The work would be piling up on her desk, but she couldn't feel guilty. She was simply grateful and awed enough to give way.
***
Tuesday night Hooper called.
“What are you guys doing?” she asked. It was noisy in the background.
“Not much,” Hooper said. “Actually, I'm calling from the grocery store. I made Tom mad, so I came out to buy ice cream and chocolate sauce.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, it's a long story. I'll tell you when I get home. I just wanted to call to say I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“You having fun?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I am.”
“I'm glad. Doing what?”
“It's kind of a long story. Can I tell you when you get home?”
“Yeah, sure. Hey, I think it's going to snow.”
“That's nice. Will you make me a snow angel?”
“I'll make you three angels, a cupcake, and the state of Maine.”
“You're sweet.”
“I wish I were.” He could hardly hear himself speak for the crashing of carts behind him. “Well, I better go. Looks like the shopping cart derby is about to get underway.”
“Thanks for calling. You and Tom will work it out.”
“Yeah.” They both waited a couple seconds, reluctant to hang up. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
After she hung up, it occurred to her that Thanksgiving was in two days, and she hadn't made any plans.
Would it be rude to invite herself to someone's house for dinner? Momentarily disappointed that no one had called her, she ran through the possibilities. Paul and Laurie, with whom they'd shared last year's dinner, were headed to her parents' house in Las Cruces. Jason and his new girlfriend had rented a cabin on Mount Lemmon for a few days. Susan, from work, was going to Phoenix with her family. That was about it. She thought, with renewed determination, I have to make some friends.
She could just buy some Chinese take-out, but she craved contact with someone besides the grocery store clerk. There was Maria... Tillie hesitated, and then called.
“No, I don't have plans, as a matter of fact,” said Maria. The phone had startled her: she'd been reading in her big soft armchair and had closed her eyes to rest.
“Do you want to get together, then?”
She nearly laughed out loud. Ever since their lunch some weeks before, she'd been indulging in thoughts about Hooper, wondering if they could arrange lunch again, imagining what might happen if he were free.
Once in a while she'd try to quash those thoughts, telling herself not to be ridiculous, but they came creeping back. Tillie's call was a reality check.
“Of course,” Maria said.
Tillie offered to roast the turkey and bake potatoes; Maria would bring tamales and a salad.
“I'll get some wine, too,” Tillie said. “Anyone else coming?”
“I don't think so. You're welcome to invite someone.”
“I can't think of anyone. We'll just have to eat a lot.”
As Maria hung up, she wondered about Nick. Would he be eating potpies for Thanksgiving? She yanked open her book again and forced herself to focus, angry that her eyes could still smart at the thought of him.
***
Hooper was pouting. He was disappointed in himself for it, but here he was in Buffalo, left alone for the third day while his brother was at work, and outside was gray and wet. Sleet slid down the window like slug trails. What a dreary city this can be, he thought, looking out from the third floor at the stream of cars heading downtown, their wiper blades flipping back and forth. He remembered how long the winters seemed when he was a kid. Aching to play baseball or soccer outside, he felt persecuted by the weather and groaned when his mom suggested things for him to do inside. Tom, on the other hand, had seemed perfectly happy with the kitchen-science books she bought, doing projects with moldy bread or weather in a jug. Once he created a frothing concoction of vinegar and baking soda, and Hooper said, “I can do that.” He loaded up his toothbrush with toothpaste and scrubbed until foam was pouring from his mouth. His father threatened to make him brush with soap.
He smiled ruefully to think what a pain in the butt he must have been. He wished he could tell his parents now that he was sorry, that he loved them, that he regretted teasing Tom so unmercifully. And he wished his mom were here to tell him what to do. Go play in the attic. Go clean your room. Go put on some music and dance; you're driving me crazy. He wished his parents were there so he could ask them what they'd been like as children. Or what it was like to be old. How not to be scared about things. How to make decisions. He wished he could make them laugh, as he had often done, charming his way out of trouble.
He wanted to revisit his family home. He knew it would be different, filled with Jenny's things, but he would still like to smell the musty basement, tread the squeaky stairs, feel the smooth wood of the banister, and observe the light through the stained glass on the landing. But Jenny was living there now, and that was that. Hooper couldn't quite understand why the family house had fallen into Jenny's hands. When he tried to ask about it the night before, Tom had become quite agitated.
“I love that house as much as you do,” Tom said. “But when we got married, it became joint property. And since I can't afford to buy her another house or set her up in a nicer place than this dump, for the time being that's how things are.”
“What do you mean, buy her another house?” Hooper exclaimed. “Let her get her own house!”
“It doesn't work that way, Hooper. We have to split up everything. And unless we sell the house, that means one of us gets to live in it. Jenny doesn't have a great job and she's nervous about supporting herself. And she's just really stubborn about some things.”
“Well, can't you be stubborn?” Hooper was angry, ready to rush to Tom's defense. “It's your house, Tom.”
“Yeah, it's my house. And you know what? You and I agreed: I get this house, you get Grandma's old house in Tucson. That means this not your business.”
“Okay. You're right.” Hooper felt chastened and yet he was riled at Tom's snippy attitude. “I'm sorry. I just want what's best for you.”
“Thanks,” Tom said grudgingly. “But things aren't that easy right now.”
Hooper paced the apartment, wondering again why the hell he had even come. In the last few days, whenever he'd tried to talk about Jenny and the divorce, he either pissed Tom off or made him quiet. He felt naive and boorish: too fortunate to empathize with what Tom was going through, and too insensitive to comfort him. He'd run out of more benign topics of conversation. He finished the book he'd brought and saw the one movie he was interested in. And after a few forays to art galleries and coffee houses, he'd run out of things to do. Three long days and nights before he could go home.
He needed to get out of this apartment. Thankfully, he had Tom's car keys; Tom had generously been taking the bus to work. Grabbing his coat and an umbrella, he locked the door and jumped the stairs three at a time. First a bank machine, then the mall and the grocery store. The list in his head was growing longer.
***
In the early afternoon, having cleaned her brushes and eaten a banana, Tillie went to the grocery store, along with throngs of harried people who had also left their holiday shopping to the last minute. Their carts were full of frozen pumpkin pies and pale dinner rolls, canned yams and marshmallows, Cool Whip in plastic tubs. In the midst of the traffic jams, cranky kids, and impatient moms, she ran into Barry, who had in his hand-basket a quart of chocolate milk, Cheetos, and two turkey frozen dinners. It was a shock to see a familiar face, she had been so isolated the past few days. She invited him to Thanksgiving dinner.
“Great!” he said with a big smile. “What can I bring?”
“Olives. Cheetos. Nothing. Whatever you want.”
“Olives it is. Do you need dinner rolls? I've got a great recipe from my Mom for Parker House rolls, full of butter.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she said, and Barry headed back to the dairy case.
Starting in the meat section, she waited her turn to pounce on the remaining unfrozen turkeys, then piled other goods on top. Stuffing mix, celery and onion; ten pounds of potatoes, on special; a ready-made pumpkin pie from the deli; a bouquet of flowers; crackers and a chunk of pate. Cream for coffee, and, finally, a chocolate bar with almonds that she wolfed down on the way out to the car. Stopping for quick Chinese take-out on the way home, she nearly swooned from the smell, she was so hungry. At the wine store she bought two bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau.
Pulling into her driveway, she noticed Donna's car was parked next door. As she started to unload the groceries, Ellen Driver stepped out her door.
“This is what I'm reduced to,” she said to Tillie, poking a cigarette in her mouth and clicking her lighter. “Banned from my own home while my grandson is here.” She shrugged, sucked, and blew smoke from pursed lips.
“I'm having some people over for dinner tomorrow,” Tillie said, flush with the excitement of the event. “Would you like to join us?”
“Thank you, but I've made plans with Donna and Joey.”
“They're welcome to come, of course.” That was actually what Tillie had in mind.
“Well, that'd be fine. Donna's a vegetarian, you know, so she's bringing a squash dish. I was going to make an apple pie. How would that be?”
Tillie assured her those sounded wonderful. Lugging as many bags inside as she could carry, she came back out for more. Ellen had disappeared inside her house; the scent of cigarette lingered. Thinking about that house, how depressingly dark it was and permeated with smoke, Tillie wondered whether Donna might not be as lonely as she.
***
While Ellen was smoking out on the front step, Donna went to the back yard, waiting for Joey to finish his video, trying to calm her nerves. She had intended to pick up Joey after work and leave right away, but then she and her aunt got into another tiresome argument about smoking. Surely Ellen knew how damaging second-hand smoke was, especially to children, but she still snuck a cigarette when Joey was around. What a stubborn, insensitive woman, Donna thought. The other day she'd had to explain, again, why she was a vegetarian, and assure Ellen that she did feed Joey meat, although beans and rice was perfectly healthy for him, too.
She blew her nose. This cold made her tired. She should have called in sick to work that day but she needed the money. She'd spent the last five hours doped up on decongestants and smiling like a beauty queen because she didn't want anyone to know she was sick. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep, but she'd promised Joey she'd play construction trucks with him. That was for the best, anyway, she thought ruefully, because anytime she lay down she was deluged with thoughts of Barry. Since their one and only date some weeks ago, she'd had two lousy phone messages from him. In the last one, just the other day, he said he was sorry about not calling, but he'd been sick. He sounded sincere enough, but until he was there, in person, she refused get her hopes up, as she'd done too often before. She thought about calling him back to see if he were really sick, but it was too much of a risk. If he answered in a normal voice, without that stuffiness, she'd be crushed. Better to let him fade out of her life.Too busy with work, the band, and Joey, she hadn't been on a date in a long time. Men she might have been interested in were scared off when they discovered she had a son. But not Barry. During the movie he kept staring at her and she knew it; when she turned to look at him they both laughed. Over coffee they talked about local music and B movies they both liked. He told her about the tricks he used to play on his mom—toy mice in the pantry, live frogs in the bathtub—so she would be ready for Joey's stunts. He told her about his research, on the shrinking habitat of the Ghost-faced Bat. He promised to take her to watch their exodus from the cave one evening.
“It's like this explosion, like a dark wind pouring out of the cave,” he said, gesturing with his arms. “Only it's alive: it's this flapping, squeaking thing. It's terrifying and thrilling at the same time.”
And then back at his place: his kisses, so lovely, tender, and assured. He had touched her consciously, deliberately, regarding her shoulders, hands, and even elbows with a kind of wonder. When she was ready to leave he asked her to stay, but when she said no he didn't press it. He stood and simply held her for a long moment. For days, thinking of him, she kept putting her hands to her mouth, her hips, her hair.
But thank God she hadn't slept with him. She'd wanted to, and nearly did; but she was grateful for her instinct to wait. After his first sweet and rambling message to thank her for the date, she'd called back, only to talk to his phone machine. She'd been much more forward, telling him how wonderful his kisses were, how she looked forward to seeing him again. After two weeks with no response, she knew that this relationship was not to be; but even so her heart leapt when the phone rang, or when the light was blinking on her message machine, or when an old Skylark passed her on the road. It upset her. She didn't want to be so affected. Every time she answered the phone and it wasn't him, she made an effort to remind herself that she was a strong person and would get over this in time. It was only one date, after all.
She tucked her snotty tissue in a pocket, went back inside, and flopped on an easy chair. Joey was lying on the floor watching a noisy video. He looked at her and then, remarkably, turned off the TV and climbed in her lap. Cuddling his body as best she could—he was five now, and his legs were getting longer, his elbows jabbed—she rested her cheek on his soft brown hair and locked her arms around him. Although Ellen was banging around in the kitchen and Joey was usually very chatty, now they were in a momentary island of quiet. Donna was aware of her own breathing and his, now in different rhythms, now together. Slowly she let herself be immersed in a joy so pure it sang.
***
The grocery store, Hooper's last stop, was packed. Retrieving his own cart from the wet parking lot, he pushed past a small throng waiting inside for a clerk to bring in more. He didn't have a list, so his plan was to advance as his mother used to do, snaking up and down every aisle. He used to go with her once in a while as a kid, and she'd send him scurrying around the store after bread or cheese or whatever. Sometimes he'd park himself in the cereal aisle, entertained by the bright colors and Free Inside! offers until she caught up to him.
In the produce section were a few pumpkins left from Halloween, and he chose a lopsided one with a twisted stem. He would get Tom to sit down with him and carve it, just for fun. He loaded the cart with potatoes, a dusky red pepper, romaine lettuce, and carrots. Garlic. Three different kinds of local apples and two big yams. We might be orphans, he thought, but we'll eat like kings.
He looped his way around the store, making good progress. In one congested aisle, waiting for a mother and her young daughter to decide whether to buy white mini marshmallows or colored ones, he caught the eye of a gray-haired man on the other side of the pile-up and they both smiled. Hooper saw himself as an old man shopping, and he hoped he would be buying dinner for himself and Tillie. He would throw in a candy bar or a chunk of Brie to surprise her with at home. He smiled broadly at anybody who looked his way, and most of them smiled back. Finally, he needed only a pint of whipping cream and a pumpkin pie, and he was done.
The sleet had stopped but the clouds were dark and heavy. He turned the car lights on as he left the parking lot. Four o'clock: he didn't have much time to get things ready before his brother came home.
Driving the short hop on the expressway through Delaware Park, he passed by the bronze replica of Michelangelo's David and gave a friendly wave. It was part of Buffalo's charm and ineptitude that such a work of art should be so accessible, he thought, and that an expressway was allowed to cut through one of the most beautiful parks he'd even seen.
He hoped it would snow.
***
Tramping along the rocky trail, Tillie was glad she had decided to drive up to the foothills for a short hike instead of her usual neighborhood walk. With not quite an hour before sunset, she wouldn't go far. One of Hooper's co-workers at the nursery had shown them this place, and they came up every so often. It was a fairly easy trail that dipped across an arroyo, then climbed steadily up the canyon. Five minutes from the trailhead, she was ensconced in desert flora: fat saguaro and skinny ocotillo, jumping cholla, barrel cactus. There were other scruffy bushes, some native and some invaders, whose names she forgot, although Hooper had told her more than once; she'd pay more attention next time. Here and there she caught a glimpse of a scuttling lizard or hopping jackrabbit. As she rounded one turn, she could see Finger Rock high up on the ridge, pointing skyward.
At the next rise was a huge boulder. Sometimes they would see someone sitting and meditating there, but today it was empty. Scrambling up to the top, she remembered how Hooper used to coax Cosmo up with him. The first time, Tillie was aghast that he would even attempt it; but although the dog slipped and stalled she made it with his help, and the both of them sat up there like two kids in the high branches of a tree, brash and exuberant, while Tillie looked up from below.
She took her turn now, sitting cross-legged and looking over the valley. The sprawling, unmindful city distracted her for some moments, but she turned to a more arresting drama, which was the sky. Clouds from yesterday's storm had lingered, their shapes shifting from brilliantly white billows to rippled streaks and faint puffs. As the sun sank lower and shadows accentuated their flat bellies and fat mounds, they took on increasing depth and dimension; The cerulean blue of the sky was intensified as orange seeped into the white; and as the clouds blushed pink, the sky turned almost green. The rock she sat on and the plants around her were bathed in a golden glow, as though the light were immanent, and as the sun nearly dipped below the western mountains, radiant bands splayed out like fingers. Clouds were rimmed with silken fire. Where she sat was very quiet. A single word crept into her mind: home.
She waited and watched a few moments more, then reluctantly climbed down from the boulder so she could get back to her car before dusk settled. But first she had one whim to indulge. Determining that no one was around, she chose a spot hidden from the trail but exposed to the canyon; then she pulled down her pants, squatted, and peed. The small stream splashed on the dry rocks, and when the drips subsided, she stood and zipped up. Laughing at herself, she trotted back down the trail.
***
The vegetables were all cut and the pasta water hot, though not yet boiling. Everything was ready for the primavera, but still no Tom. Hooper grated some parmesan and looked out at the street again—as though that would tell him anything. He was hungry and getting worried. Here it was six-thirty, dark outside, and Tom wasn't home yet. Hooper had even called him at work, but all he got was the voice mail. Well, Tom had a right to do what he wanted. Maybe he went to happy hour with co-workers, or was at an emergency meeting. He might have had errands to run, or stopped at the library, any number of things.
Hooper had dashed up and down the stairs three times when he got home, bringing in his purchases. He stuffed groceries into the fridge and eagerly dumped out his other bags, strewing boxes and plastic packaging all over the living room. He strung white Christmas lights in the front window, arranged four colorful pillows on the couch, placed candles on the table, and set up the new floor lamp. New sponges, new bathroom rug, even a toothbrush, and the piece de resistance: a big silver art-deco style clock for the kitchen. He found a place for everything, turned on the new lamp, turned on the radio, and rolled up his sleeves to start chopping vegetables.
By seven o'clock, Tom had still not arrived. Hooper ate a few peanut-butter crackers and was tempted to dig into the cheesecake he'd bought for dessert. What should he do? He was trying not to be mad at Tom, who surely had a good reason for being late. Tom didn't know Hooper was going to all this trouble. But goddamn it, he thought, he better not have gotten run over by the bus or something.
Fifteen minutes later, Hooper couldn't stand it any longer. He would get in the car and drive around the streets. It would a futile effort, but something. He wrote a note, locked the apartment, and started down the stairs.
Where he ran into Tom and Jenny.
“Hello, Hooper,” Jenny said warmly. She gave him a quick hug. “So nice to see you!”
“You, too.” He'd forgotten how pretty she was, tall and blond. “I wasn't sure I'd see you this trip.”
Tom and Jenny looked at each other. “Let's go in,” said Tom. As Tom unlocked the door, entered, and stepped aside for Jenny, Hooper watched for his reaction. Tom looked around the room and then at Hooper, but his expression was neutral.
“Have you had dinner?” Hooper was still struggling to control his anger and anxiety, which had been building for nearly two hours. But there was no sense making Tom look bad right now. A couple more niceties and he'd get past it.
“Just a cookie.” Jenny laughed. “We went for coffee after work.”
“Jenny saw me waiting for the bus and picked me up,” Tom explained. “We had a couple things we wanted to talk about.”
“I hope we didn't make you worried,” Jenny said. “Tom didn't tell me right away that you were here. We would have called.”
“No problem. I'm making a pasta primavera. Will you join us?”
Jenny glanced at Tom. “Please,” he said. “I'd like to.” She set her purse down by the couch and handed her coat to Tom. “It looks really nice in here. The Christmas lights and all. Festive.”
“Tom's got a good eye for that kind of thing,” Hooper said, sliding him a wink. “You know, simple, but effective.”
“Oh, I don't know,” said Tom.
“I'll have dinner ready in no time. Let's open a bottle of wine.”
As they went into the kitchen, Hooper turned up the heat under the pasta pot. Jenny exclaimed over the amount of food on the counter.
“We'll have a feast tonight and tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?” Hooper feared what was coming. “Jen has invited us for Thanksgiving,” Tom said. “That is, if it's okay with you.” Hooper made his head nod before he could say anything. “Sure. Sure, that'd be great. What else can we bring?”
“Oh, I have everything,” said Jenny. “My sister and her husband were going to come from Albany, but they just called yesterday to say they can't make it.”
“She makes this great spiced fruit,” Tom said.
“Great.” Hooper smiled stiffly. He told himself a soup kitchen would be happy to take his groceries.
“Okay.” Jenny sounded happy. “It's settled, then.”
“Here's some wine.” Hooper uncorked a bottle and filled three of the four glasses he'd just bought and washed. “And here's to you.”