In a Mist (12 page)

“Don't listen to her,” he said. “You know best. We'll help you. You and the girls. However we can. I'll help you.” Lyle
was half deaf from the clamour of freight trains and tended to speak as if it was not himself who was hard of hearing but the person he addressed. There was a softness in his voice when he spoke to her alone. As soon as he had finished what he had to say he withdrew his hand from hers, picked up his coffee cup and lifted it halfway to his lips before he realized it was empty. He put it down and looked away and Susan took her lighter from her purse and lit her cigarette. She exhaled, careful to blow the smoke away from Lyle. They sat there for some time without speaking, the sound of Joan's voice in the other room filling the silence between them. Susan looked at her brother-in-law, sitting in the warm summer light. His hair had always been fair and thin and though she saw him only on occasion its gradual transition from blonde to white had been almost indiscernible. He was almost an old man she realized, fifteen years older than her own husband. He had recently developed a rasp when he breathed , which made him seem even older than fifty-three. Susan had heard such rasps at the hospital where she worked and knew the sickness they betrayed.

She stood up and put the lid on the percolator and plugged it in. Then she took a small carton of cream from the refrigerator and sat down.

“You've got your own to worry about,” she said.

“You'd do the same,” said Lyle. “Joan knows that too. She's just—unaccustomed. She doesn't handle these situations well.”

The water began to percolate, lapping the glass-domed lid with a soft, erratic rhythm as the aroma of coffee filled the room.

“Lionel,” said Susan, looking at him.

Joan hung up and came back into the kitchen, glanced at the table and went over to the breadbox.

“What kind of host are you, Lyle?” she said. “Would it
kill you?” She took out a lemon pound cake and put it on a plate, took a knife from a drawer and cut the cake into six slices.

“What did you two talk about?” she asked.

“I'd like for you to ship some things to me,” said Susan. “After we find a place. I'll send you the money.”

“You won't be gone that long, will you?” asked Joan. “I'm sure once he sees you mean business, that you won't put up with—”

“We'll send your things by rail,” said Lyle. “We'll use my discount. It won't cost hardly anything.”

Joan set the cake on the table along with three porcelain dessert plates.

“I still don't understand why you don't just stay with George and Edith in Grand Falls,” said Joan.

Lyle turned to look at his wife. “Where is she going to work in Grand Falls?” He reached for a piece of cake and it crumbled in his hand, leaving a trail of crumbs between the plates.

“She won't need to work, Lyle, if she stays with George and Edith.”

Lyle looked at Susan.

“Take the transfer. Find a home. Close to a school. You'll find a place. Joan and I have been talking about a trip to the coast for years now, haven't we Joan? I could use a vacation.”

Joan filled their cups from the coffee pot and sat down on the chair between Susan and Lyle and looked at her sister.

“Lyle hasn't taken time off in years. Now that Roy's in college I figured I'd be going on vacation all by myself again this year.”

Lyle sipped his coffee and looked at his wife.

“Susan came by with that casserole for me and Roy last year,” he said, “while you were gone to Fort Lauderdale.
You remember that? Came by one evening on her way to work and dropped it off. You go away on vacation without me this year, I'm liable to starve to death.”

Joan added two spoonfuls of sugar to her coffee, drew the last cigarette from Susan's pack, held it between her lips and lit it with Susan's lighter.

“Doctor says I need to take it easy,” said Lyle. “Sea air would be good be for me. I figured I might take a couple of weeks this year. Did you tell Susan the good news, Joan?”

“What good news would that be, Lyle?” said Joan.

“Roy got a scholarship. Full tuition, and a stipend.”

“That's wonderful,” said Susan. “Smart kid.”

Lyle looked at Susan.

“Smarter than his old man was,” he said.

“You know what Roy told me the other day?” said Joan.

“When he came home from Jim's place?” She looked at Susan. “He said he was thinking about starting a band. Studying geography and he says he wants to play in a band. Bass guitar.” She took a drag from her cigarette. “He gets these ideas sometimes.”

Lyle cleared his throat. Joan looked at him.

“Did you know,” she said, “that Herb used to be a singer, back when Sue first met him, before he started with the post office?”

“I knew that,” said Lyle.

“What was the name of his group? That group he was in?” said Joan.

“The Dilettantes,” said Susan.

Joan smiled.

“That was it,” she said. “The Dilettantes. They never tried to go professional, did they?”

“No,” said Susan.

“I should get going.” “Already?” said Joan. “I need to pick up the girls,” said Susan.

“You still want that pattern?” said Joan. “For Sarah's communion dress?”

“I don't think I'll have the time,” said Susan.

Joan stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and stood up.

“I know exactly where it is. It won't take a minute,” said Joan.

“That's not what I meant,” said Susan.

“Of course you'll have time. It's not till next spring. I'll grab it.” Joan went into the living room. “You want to take that cake home with you?” she called out. “Lyle doesn't eat it. And I shouldn't.”

Susan reached for her purse on the table, but Lyle placed his hand upon the handle, picked it up as he pushed out his chair. He coughed as he stood up, his chest heaving, his face contorted with pain. With his free hand he reached toward his back pocket as if for a handkerchief, but it was a lettersized envelope he produced, bulging slightly. Before Susan could protest he had opened the purse, slid the envelope inside, closed it and placed it in her hands.

“Things will work out,” he said, softly. “You'll see. It always seems hardest just before you go through with it”

The parasol over their table shielded the three of them from the late September sun. When Jacob saw the waiter eyeing their table, he beckoned for him. The waiter came over and cleared their plates away and filled Anna and David's coffee cups.

“Anything else?” he said.

“We're fine, thank you,” said David.

“I would like a fruit cup,” said Jacob. “A fruit cup and two grapefruit halves. Please.”

“Very good,” said the waiter. The waiter left and Anna leaned in toward Jacob.

“You're certain you weren't followed?” she said.

“Quite certain,” said Jacob. “At least, not followed by anything with four legs.”

“Well, that's all that matters, isn't it?” said Anna.

David stirred milk into his coffee and looked at Jacob.

“You look pale,” he said. “When was the last time you left your apartment?”

“The day after I received the first acceptance letter,” said Jacob. “From the
Mid-American Review
. A little over a month ago I suppose. That afternoon when I left my flat I noticed the Siamese that lives on the corner. Watching me.”

“I know that Siamese,” said Anna.

“She followed me to the library. I spent roughly two hours consulting the
Celtic Chieftain Compendium
and then when I emerged she was waiting for me. I walked home by a diff erent route.”

“But the Siamese was on to you,” said David.

“You couldn't shake your tail,” said Anna. David looked at Anna.

“Sorry,” said Anna.

“You didn't, perhaps, fry up some tilapia for breakfast that day?” said David.

“Jacob doesn't eat fish,” said Anna.

“I spent the rest of the day at home,” said Jacob. “When I checked the mailbox the next morning there were two more acceptance letters.”

“Jacob! Congratulations!” said Anna.

“Thank you,” said Jacob.

“All that hard work of yours is finally paying off ,” said David. “Three acceptance letters.”

“In two days,” said Jacob.

“That's unprecedented,” said David.

“Yes,” said Jacob. “Normally I would have been elated. But when I left my apartment later that morning, the Siamese followed suit. By the time I reached the corner she had been joined by two companions. An obese, black cat with a white tuft at its neck, and a tabby. I recognized the tabby. Normally it wants nothing to do with the Siamese. But that day they were united by a common purpose.” “Tailing you,” said Anna.

“When I got to the store I picked up the milk I needed and a lot of other things I hadn't intended on buying. I looked out the window before I left, and the coast was clear. But by the time I reached the corner, my entourage had reassembled. I would have tried to lose them, but I had weighed myself down with a five pound bag of potatoes. I glanced
over my shoulder frequently. And there they were, the three of them. Lurking. Between fence posts and beneath parked cars. Never more than twenty feet behind.”

The waiter arrived and set down a fruit cup and two grapefruit halves in front of Jacob.

“Thank you,” said Jacob. The waiter nodded and left them. Jacob took up his spoon.

“And when you got home from the grocery store?” said David.

“I decided I would no longer leave my flat,” said Jacob.

“For a whole month?” said David.

“But it's been so humid,” said Anna.

“Stifling,” said Jacob. “The warmest September in twenty-two years. I certainly thought about going outside. I became restless after the first few days. But then I received another acceptance letter.”

“And you couldn't risk it,” said David.

Anna placed her hand on David's.

“You know how Jacob feels about cats,” she said.

“Yes,” said David. “I know. Four separate acceptance letters.”

“In the same week,” said Jacob.

David took a sip of his coffee.

“David's been going through a bit of a dry spell,” said Anna.

“What did you do up there all month?” said David.

“I kept writing,” said Jacob. “Sending out submissions. One story a week.”

“You're very brave,” said Anna.

“But how did you mail them?” said David.

“The woman who lives below me,” said Jacob. “With the accent. The Italian lawyer. Remember, David? The dark-haired woman.”

“I remember,” said David. “Go on.”

“Her name is Sophia,” said Jacob. “She took pity on me.”

“You couldn't have told her,” said David. “She wouldn't have believed you.”

“I told her I was ill,” said Jacob, “that I could barely make it down the stairs. The odd thing was that after I spoke to her, I did feel a bit feverish, slightly delirious. I've felt that way ever since. Sophia was very compassionate. Sometimes the people you least expect, who seem indiff erent to you otherwise, can surprise you.”

“She mailed your submissions,” said Anna.

“I would leave them in her mail slot,” said Jacob. “Early Monday morning. She would drop them in the mailbox at the end of the street on her way to work.” He ate a spoonful of his fruit cup.

“How do you know she mailed them?” said David.

“I would watch her from my front window,” said Jacob.

“Would she bring you groceries?” said Anna.

“Several times a week,” said Jacob. “Chicken soup mostly. And Sicilian fig pastries. Whenever I saw her I would put in a request for fresh fruit. But she could never seem to remember.”

“How do you know it was your submissions she was mailing?” said David. “If you left them in her mail slot, you can't be sure.”

“Why wouldn't she mail them?” said Anna.

“Hmm,” said Jacob. “I'm afraid David does have a point. Theoretically, she might have switched the envelopes. Perhaps she kept my stories for herself, revised them, even. Sent them out pseudonymously. It is possible. But what you have to understand is that my most recent material is rather unconventional. Highly fantastical, characterised by a good deal of looming menace, these stories I've been writing. I can't imagine someone reading these stories
and not evincing some sort of a tell-tale response, giving themselves away when they delivered my fig pastries and chicken soup.”

“Lawyers are good bluff ers,” said David. “It comes with the territory.”

“No doubt,” said Jacob.

A slight breeze ruffled the napkins on the table. Jacob noticed that the sky had darkened considerably. He took a last spoonful of cantaloupe from his fruit cup before moving onto the grapefruit. As he ate he looked at goose bumps forming on Anna's downy arms. She shivered, a pouting expression on her lips.

“There's something I don't understand,” she said. “When you woke up this morning, how did you know the cats wouldn't follow you anymore?”

“An excellent question,” said Jacob. “All I can tell you is that it has to do with the dream.”

“Yes?” said Anna. She looked at Jacob expectantly.

“But I shouldn't get ahead of myself,” said Jacob. “Before I tell you about the dream you must know that yesterday, for the first time since May, since graduation, I was unable to write.”

“Happens to the best of us,” said David.

“It used to happen to me all the time,” said Jacob. “More often than not I would be entirely blocked. I used to come to you for advice.”

“I remember,” said David.

Anna crossed her bare legs and smiled at Jacob.