April & Oliver (31 page)

Oliver decides, at last, not to tell her. Although he would like to unburden himself, Bernadette does not wish to hear.

He thinks of his mother. It just doesn’t add up. She was a straight arrow. She didn’t even allow herself simple pleasures,
chocolates or bubble baths. Everything she did had to pass the test of logic and usefulness. If it didn’t make sense, she
didn’t do it. Camping trips, amusement parks, Oliver and his brother always had to persuade her of their practical purpose.
She was the last person anyone would expect to have an affair.

But his mother had changed over time, particularly once she took up gardening. She started out with a tidy English garden,
and within a few years it took over the yard, wild and lush. She had an exquisite eye for color. Oliver had always likened
her landscaping to Mozart’s Serenade in B Flat Minor, amazing for its absence of transitions. He admired that lack of compunction.
Hydrangea, boom, delphinium.

The garden, somehow, makes him think of April. He remembers the night before a dance when she gave him advice on how to kiss
a girl. “Ask her if she minds,” she said. “Look in her eyes. Go slow. Keep your lips soft. Let her want it first.”

“Where do I put my hands?” he said awkwardly. They had been sitting on the piano bench, fifteen or sixteen years old. He was
way behind his friends, many of whom had already had sex, or claimed to. He wasn’t about to admit to them that he’d never
kissed a girl, no less ask their advice.

April stood up to demonstrate, taking a bite of her half-eaten apple. “Some guys are octopuses,” she said, chewing. “They
think the more they rub your back, the better. It’s distracting. Just put your hands here,” she said, placing his hands on
her waist. “Keep them there, low and firm, and concentrate on the kiss. Hopefully she’ll put her arms around your neck,” she
said, demonstrating. He smelled the apple, sweet and tart.

“How about the noses?”

“Don’t worry about noses,” she said. “So what if they bang? It’s okay to laugh. All you need to do is tilt your head one way,
and she’ll know what to do, like this.” She tore off a piece of the apple with her teeth. He heard the crisp snap, felt a
spray of juice on his neck. April held the slice of apple between her teeth and leaned into him, reaching her face to his.
He felt her go up on her tiptoes before it occurred to him to bend his face to hers. He took the apple in his teeth. There
was an awkward moment when he thought it would fall. He groped for it with his mouth, felt the barest brush of her lips against
his.

She sat down abruptly and took another noisy bite of the apple. He sat down, too, angling away from her. In his mouth, the
fleshy fruit was cool and succulent. He turned it over with his tongue, too embarrassed to chew. He let it dissolve.

He heard her take one last snap off the apple and toss the core noisily into a trash can. “By the way,” she said, gnawing.
“I’ve never been kissed, either. I just watch a lot of movies, mostly old black-and-whites.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, swallowing at last.

She picked up her backpack. “Have fun tonight,” she said, without looking back.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

Oliver covers his eyes for a moment. His face is warm in his hands. Is this productive? Isn’t this precisely the kind of reverie
he’s been trying so hard to avoid?

I’m thinking of withdrawing from classes,
he imagines himself saying to Bernadette.
Taking a semester off. I can’t concentrate on anything.
He runs his hands through his hair, feeling perspiration on his forehead. Would she understand? If only school didn’t take
so long. If only he weren’t doing it here, in the East. Maybe he and Bernadette should simply elope. They could do it this
month, move back to California. He could study law out there. None of these things is logical, of course. Bernadette, in her
beautiful, clearheaded way, would point that out to him. The best thing to do was to stay the course.

Oliver swings his knapsack over his shoulder, the books leaden. He glances at his watch. Already ten minutes late, but it
doesn’t matter. Al is never on time. He descends the steps to the subway, which smells of curry, urine, and incense, and catches
the express just before the doors close.

His heart beats quickly. He likes just making the train; something in him is finally in sync. The wheels churn rhythmically
against the tracks, the car swaying. Beyond the windows, nothing is visible in the black tunnel. Oliver’s reflection in the
glass is cool and composed, not like someone whose life is coming apart. Marriage, graduation, a new job, new city; everything
ahead of him. In time, life will feel normal again.

Three quick stops to Penn Station. Oliver hopes the Knicks have not gone into overtime or he’ll be waiting forever. But Al
is already at their designated spot, under the mammoth Amtrak information board, among the hordes of disheveled travelers
and sleeping homeless.

“Just get here?” Oliver asks.

Al nods.

More good timing. His luck is changing. “I thought you’d be late,” Oliver says.

“They gave the interview to Schmidt. I didn’t even get into the locker room. Ask me why they have two of us covering the same
goddamn game.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, ignoring the no smoking signs. “He won’t get anything out of them anyway.
They lost by one point in the last three seconds of play. The players are not going to be in a chatty mood.” He snuffs out
his cigarette. “I hate this job.”

“Thought you loved it.”

“I need a new paper. Someplace where I’m not the kid fresh out of the minors. Boston would be nice. Going from
Newsday
to the
Globe
, I’d be respected there. Here I’m dogshit.”

“Do you need to call in?”

“I faxed them my copy. They can screw with it all they want. I’ve yet to recognize a sentence I’ve written.”

“Come on,” Oliver says. “Let’s get a beer.”

“This way,” Al says. “I know a good sports bar on Eighth.”

Oliver smiles. “Don’t you ever get enough?”

“Hey, we’re all addicted to something.”

At the bar, Al stares at the screen, sipping beer. “Pray the Bills don’t go all the way,” he says.

Oliver breaks a pretzel into little pieces and eats them one at a time. Lately he doesn’t have much of an appetite. “Heard
from April?” he asks.

“Call her yourself, Oliver,” Al says, eyes on the television.

Oliver sighs.

“Heard she got a dog,” Al says. “Let’s hope it hates men. Her kind, I mean.”

“It’s harmless,” Oliver says with disappointment.

Al looks at him.

“There was a beautiful chocolate Lab, but no, she had to pick the scruffiest, sorriest-looking mongrel in the place.” He smiles
wistfully. “Sweet, though.”

“Ah, so you’ve seen her.”

“Only once.”

“If you’re here for absolution, you need to confess first.”

“What?”

Al turns to face him. “April won’t tell me what happened at the shore, so why don’t you?”

Oliver sips his beer and wipes the froth from his mouth. “Nothing happened. At least not the way you mean.” He glances at
the television screen. The game is back on, but Al keeps his eyes on him. “We had a fight,” Oliver adds. “I was an idiot.
Then we sat in a rowboat and talked. That’s all.”

“Must have been some fight.”

“I was drunk, which may be a normal Saturday night for you, but not for me.”

“Okay, let’s not make this personal. You already got me on Nana’s shit list.”

“Sorry.”

Al shrugs. “I wouldn’t expect anyone to think it was you.” He drains his beer. “So how did you explain your bruises to Bernadette?”

“She never asked.”

“Never asked?” Al whistles. “What a perfect addition to the family.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does she think it odd that none of us has ever told Nana about Buddy? I mean, if Bernadette thinks that’s normal, her name
ought to be Night.”

Oliver snaps another pretzel. “It’s strange. I’ve tried to bring it up, but she doesn’t seem interested.”

“Lucky for you. Don’t you know there are some things you don’t tell the wife?”

Wife.
The word feels strange.

Al shakes his hair like a dog and combs his hands through it. He leans closer to Oliver. “Do me a favor. Tell me Bernadette’s
the woman of your dreams. Tell me your heart pounds when you see her.”

“For Christ’s sake, Al, why do you think I’m marrying her?”

“Now, there’s a question,” he says, biting a pretzel. He glances back at the television.

Oliver empties his glass. He looks down the length of the bar, everyone’s face fixed on the screen. “Fine,” Oliver says. “Why
don’t you give me your theory, since you seem to have one.”

“Me?” Al says. “I think April scares the shit out of you. I think you can’t get married fast enough.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you two just give it a go?” he says.

Oliver shakes his head. “It’s an impossible relationship, Al. There’s no sense even thinking about it.”

“Who’s talking about a relationship? Just get it out of your systems already. It’s only sex, you know.” He fills his mouth
with popcorn. “I can’t believe you two haven’t done it already.”

“Have you?” Oliver asks.

Al unglues his eyes from the television and looks at Oliver squarely. “Have I what?”

“You know,” Oliver says gravely. “You and April.” For a question that only sprang into his conscious mind this instant, the
weight is immense. No, not this instant. He’s been wondering for years. Suddenly everything hangs on the answer.

“Are you out of your mind?” Al says.

Oliver simply stares.

“Look, Oliver, I admit I run into a lot of women on the road, and it’s true that I don’t remember half their names, but I’m
not a complete schmuck, either. Not the way you think.”

“I see, so you’re suggesting I do something that you yourself are above?”

“For God’s sake, Oliver, it’s not a math equation. One brother being with a particular woman does not equal another brother
being with that same woman.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“That’s because you’ve got such a goddamn thick skull.”

Oliver sighs heavily. “I have an early class tomorrow. I’d better catch my train.” He tosses some bills on the bar.

To Oliver’s surprise, Al reaches over and gives him a quick hug, slapping his back. “Three Hail Marys and an Our Father,”
Al says. “And do what you have to do.”

T
HE SHRILL WHISTLE
of the dog park supervisor pierces April’s ears as she and Oliver approach the gate. “Grab your pets,” the woman hollers
at the other dog owners. “Dubious is here.”

“So, he’s already a fixture,” Oliver says.

“Everyone knows Dubious,” April says proudly. Once the dogs are secured, the supervisor opens the gate to allow them in. The
other owners release their dogs to resume their play. April unleashes Dubious, but he cowers at her feet. His coat has filled
in a bit since Oliver last saw him. He looks healthier, but no less shy.

“Is this always how he is?” Oliver asks.

“Only for the first five minutes. You’ll see.”

The field is muddy from last night’s rain. Flecks of dirt soar through the air as the pack of dogs charges, bows, wrestles,
and yips. Dubious only watches. He glances up at April with a questioning gaze. “It’s okay,” she says. “Go on.” He looks back
at the pack, unconvinced.

“How are the obedience classes going?” Oliver asks.

“There are a couple of real show-offs in there, a golden retriever and a standard poodle. Tough competition, but Doobie is
holding his own.”

Dubious ventures out from behind April’s legs, sniffs a Weimaraner’s butt, and as soon as the dog turns to see him takes off
like lightning.

“Ah, I see,” Oliver says. “He’s a tease.” Oliver is wearing a Mets cap pulled down low on his forehead, his face unshaven.
He catches her staring at him.

She turns away abruptly. “You seem taller than you were way back when,” she says. “You must have kept growing in college.”

“No, it’s that you wore higher heels back then.”

She glances down at her ratty sneakers. Dogs zigzag around them, gleefully chasing one another. Even the Airedale can’t catch
Dubious. He’s in his glory. “He loves to show up the purebreds,” she says. “It gives him a secret thrill.”

Oliver nods appreciatively. “How’s it going in the barking department?”

“You know, some owners would kill for a dog who doesn’t bark.”

“How about a snarl? Bared teeth, perhaps?”

“I’m sure if someone were to climb in my window, Doobie would find his voice.”

“Lick the thief’s face is more like it,” Oliver says doubtfully.

Two Labrador retrievers wrestle each other to the ground. They appear to be trying to tear each other’s necks open. “It’s
okay,” April explains. “They’re brothers.”

Still, she thinks Oliver looks a bit uneasy. “How’s school going?” she asks.

He shrugs.

“I’m surprised you have time for something like this,” she says, nodding at the dogs. “Aren’t law students supposed to be
overwhelmed?”

“I am.” He smiles, taking some cashews from his pocket and offering them to her.

“Well?”

“I’m giving it one more semester. To be honest, I’m not sure if law is for me.”

“Oh,” she says uncertainly. “Well, you’ll figure it out.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Bernadette is a great sounding board, I’m sure.”

He eats another cashew.

“She’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

He readjusts his cap in what she recognizes as an old nervous gesture of his. “You have talked to her about it, haven’t you?”
April asks.

“Why should I upset her if I decide to stay with it anyway?”

“She wouldn’t be upset. Besides, it’s what’s on your mind.”

“Is that what you did with T.J.?” he says. “Talk about what’s on your mind?”

She bristles. “You know that wasn’t the same kind of relationship.”