Losing It (7 page)

“What about your toast?”

Lenore pushed in her chair and the droolly man stabbed her last sausage. They don’t have them in Italy. Because of the war.

“And your toast? Did you like your toast?”

“I’m going to call Julia,” Lenore said. “This is ridiculous! Mary Hoderstrom could have helped me!” She started walking down the hall. Nobody tried to stop her. It was all in the book anyway.

But where did they put her room? Her books were in her bedroom, on the shelf with the pictures. You go down the hall, past the bathroom and kitchen, past the spare room and the kids’ rooms, past the pictures of Julia and Alex, past Capt. Buzbie and Miss Muffin. But they changed it. Vaguely, Lenore could remember Mary’s room being something like this. But why would they put her back in Mary’s room? It was so long ago. Nobody told her what was going to be on the test.

She tried one door and another and another. Some of them were locked and some weren’t. In one of them an old bat said,
“You aren’t supposed to play cribbage!”
and dashed her foot against the bed. She was stark naked and her breasts drooped like a witch’s. Lenore drew herself up and said, “I can play cribbage with
anyone!”
and left.

“Can I help you, Lenore?” someone asked. The Italian woman who smelled nice. It was a pity, so attractive! But she’d have a hard time finding a husband.

Lenore said, “I’m trying to find the book.”

“What book?” the Italian woman asked.

It wasn’t a trick question but it was hard and she had to think it through. It was like walking where Daddy used to take them fishing. They’d walk and walk in the dark in the morning and their boots would slip and squelch. Daddy would say, “Shhh! Goddammit!” and suck on his pipe. “The fish can hear you!” You put your line in and wait and wait but you have to be quiet or you won’t get that niggly on the line.

“What book are we looking for?” the woman asked again and Lenore said, “Shhh! Goddammit!” but whispered and kind, so she’d know.

Julia was coming. Very soon. Lenore paced up and down the hall. She had her purses and her coat and was ready to go to Pullman’s.

But where was Julia? Pullman’s was going to close soon. You have to go at the right time. Lenore paced up and down. It was a smelly hallway. The carpet was green, it was ridiculous, and there were bright, sunny pictures all along. Cows and such. What a frightful expense. To put her up in a hotel like this when she just wanted to go back where she knew the kitchen.

Lenore said, out loud, “Capt. Buzbie would like very much to know where they are.” Nobody heard her. She walked to the door clutching her purses and her coat. She pushed to open the doors.

The Italian woman – the pretty one, unmarried, it was such a shame – said, “Where are you going, Lenore?”

Lenore said, “Julia’s here! She’s right here!” and then some old wreck fell on her side and the Italian woman had to look after her. So Lenore pushed at the heavy doors, pushed and pushed, but they wouldn’t open.

Lenore walked back down the hall into her room, right past all the boxes. It didn’t look like her place but there was the big picture of Julia and Alex, and there were Capt. Buzbie and Miss Muffin. Not even on the walls! Well, that explained it. Why the door didn’t work. Because you had to use the window. You had to bend double, it was so stupid, these modern places! Lenore never in her life thought she’d end up like this. She had to squeeze and kick hard to loosen it up. They were all rusty, in terrible condition, falling apart. She had to hang on. Pull her coat through, her purses, it was all such a mess. But Pullman’s was closing!

So she had to do it.

“I’m not sure which bus is which,” Lenore said. The young woman at the bus stop had a baby in a stroller and looked up in a friendly way.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked.

“To Julia’s house.”

“Which street is it on?”

“I tried to get to Pullman’s,” Lenore said. “But it was closed.” Then she pointed. “I think it’s down that way. One of those streets. Julia’s house.”

“Maybe the 108,” the young woman said uncertainly.

“She was divorced,” Lenore said. “A terrible thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was after the motorcycle accident, with what’s-his-name. You know.”

The young woman brushed a fly away from her gurgle baby.

“She was nasty after that,” Lenore said.

“Ah,” the young woman said.

“She always had a bad temper. Like Trevor. Always getting lost. In the snow.”

Lenore looked down the street, first one way, then another. Her wool coat was too hot for the afternoon but it would be too much to carry.

A bus approached and she caught her breath. Lenore stepped up to ask the driver.

“Julia’s house?” he said. “Where’s that?”

“It’s – well, I think it’s down that way,” Lenore muttered. It didn’t matter. She’d sit by the window and when she saw it she’d get off.

“Fare, please!” the driver said, but not at her, he just said it.

So hot! The wind blew in the open window like it was from a furnace register. Nothing looked familiar, the shops, streets, buildings. Switched so cleverly and quickly.

She turned to the bald man beside her with the awful breath. “Do you know if this bus is going to Julia’s house?” she asked politely.

He looked at her. “Where do you want to go?”

“Fare, please!” The driver was a stuck parrot.

They were all looking at her but nobody knew. Not the bald man, not the skinny woman with brown eyes, not the black boy with the knapsack. It all went rushing by. She should have been able to remember the name. Damn it!

Of course, her address book. Which purse? The white one. But first she had to take out her raincoat, her little umbrella, the scarves and lipsticks, a whole pile of whichever and other things, coffee mugs, strange notes. The ricer! What was it doing there? She made a heap on her lap but soon things fell on the floor and people leaned over to help.

“Excuse me! Oh, I’m sorry. So silly of me. Sorry!”

Then something caught her eye. On the street. That shop looked familiar. She craned her neck but the flapping bit slipped out of sight. A hardware? Kitchen store? Whatsit? When she stood up to get a better view, everything slid off her lap. In seconds Lenore was on her knees on the bus scooping. The ricer started to roll away but got stopped by its own handle. Too many people bent down to help.

“Please! I’m so sorry! It’s so silly!” she said again and again. Everyone had to wait while she decided where went what. If she got it wrong then she’d never find anything again. The brooch from Aunt what’s-her-name. With the green stone. Now what was that doing there?

Such a fuss. The driver even pulled over, stood up, helped her put her raincoat back in the white purse. Was that the right one? She was just not sure. So she got off, clutching, walked away. It was so hot. She looked back at where the hardware should have been. The one that Trevor used to disappear in. But it wasn’t there any more. They must have moved it. An older man worked there, very gentle. He always knew what you were looking for. You didn’t even have to describe it very well. He knew. He could go get it for you. And a good thing too, because that store was packed to the sky with screws and nuts and … and odds and such. You couldn’t find anything on your own. Which was why the man was there.

And that’s why it was so disappointing to look back and find he wasn’t there. Where do stores go? Lenore walked across the street, slowly so the cars could stop for her. Stood for a long while looking at the spot where the hardware should have been. It wasn’t fair. She longed to go in and have Trevor say what to do. He was a great man for that. He always knew. Not a moment in his life when he didn’t know exactly what to do. It wasn’t always the
right
thing but he never had any doubts at the time.
“Hello?” Lenore said the word in her funny voice that made everybody laugh. Usually, anyway. But this boy wasn’t laughing. He didn’t seem to know about anything. It was so noisy, Lenore was trying to get away.

“Are you all right, lady?” he asked. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his hair was sick yellow. He must have a disease, Lenore thought sadly.

“Hello
?” she said again, even funnier, letting him know it was all right. She was fine, except for the noise.

“How’d you get here?” he asked, stepping between the branches, just a little closer. It was very thick.

“I think I’m finished now,” Lenore said, pushing at one. It pushed right back at her.

“Do you need some help?”

“Off the track,” Lenore said, pushing at the branch. “I think I’m finished.”

“Here,” the boy said and stepped over a log, bent low under something thick, squeezed past some others. They shouldn’t keep it this way, she thought.

“How did you get here?” the boy asked. There was still a nasty bit between him and Lenore. He looked like he wasn’t sure he wanted to go through it. He hesitated as if Lenore might be able to pick her own way out.

“It’s a lovely day,” Lenore said.

“Where are your shoes?” the boy asked. It
was
uncomfortable. Stickies on her nylons. And mud. What was Julia going to say?

“Did you lose your shoes somewhere?”

“I think I’m finished,” Lenore said, sitting down. It seemed the only thing to do. There was a bit of a fallen-down thing
right there, but it started to give way as soon as she sat and then she had to get up again. It’s all being looked after very badly, she thought.

“Give me your hand,” the boy said, reaching through.

“I think I’m finished.”

“We have to go back this way to get to the path,” the boy said. “Just give me your hand.”

Lenore reached out to him and stepped halfway over and straight into the stickies. Everything was so badly managed. She clutched at her purses with her free hand but the blue one swung and got caught again and again. The boy started to break the branches with his hands. Carefully, as if they had all the time in the world.

“Did you get lost?” he asked.

“You never know,” she said, half-laughing. The hooks tore at her coat and tried to keep her purses. It had been a long time since she’d felt so cool on her toes.

“I saw some shoes by the river,” the boy said, pulling her. Gently. Almost like what’s-his-name. “Are those your shoes?” he asked.

It was no good. She wouldn’t make it this way. Honestly, anybody could see that. Lenore let go of his hand and dropped to her knees. Had to be careful to keep her coat out of the way and hang on to her purses, which dragged on the ground. Hooks in her hair. If you just keep your head down. She crawled through, tugging, keeping herself together.

“Don’t tell Julia,” she said finally, straightening up, wiping at the mud on her knees. The trail was right there after all. She wasn’t so far off. It was just so noisy.

“I won’t,” he said, walking beside her. Gentle, gentle. Something about him reminded her of someone. A real gentleman.

“You can call me Miss Muffin,” she said then and laughed, her first real laugh in a long time. Of course he didn’t understand and it was so hard to explain. Though the water was cold, it felt nice to wash her feet for a bit and listen to the river slipping past the stones.

“Can I take you somewhere?” he asked and Lenore bit her lip. She wanted to keep hold of the nice part. It never lasted these days, always went away. “Is there someone to call?” he asked.

“Sometimes there is,” she said, hugging her knees, trying, trying to keep hold.

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