Promises (38 page)

“Fred! You can’t mean that.”

“Listen, it breaks my heart. I know what Rufus means to Dan. But if I allow you to have a dog, I’ll have to allow every other tenant the same, and that won’t work. You can see why.”

As if Danny hadn’t been through enough! And this one would be the worst.

“Will you come over one evening and help me explain it to him?” she asked.

“Of course I will.”

So they told him, the three of them sitting in the den, while the subject of the discussion lay on the floor, holding a biscuit in his mouth as if he were smoking a pipe.

Danny did not cry. Instead, until they were through explaining, he sat quite still.

“What’s going to happen to him?” he asked, looking straight forward into the air.

Margaret’s throat quivered with her reply. “I’ll find a wonderful home for him. You know I’m good at that.”

“It won’t be his own home.”

“No, it won’t. This is something that Rufus, like the rest of us, will have to bear.”

Fred, also carefully avoiding anyone’s eyes, was staring at the floor. There was a long silence until Danny spoke again.

“It’s funny how I was promised another dog last summer, and now you’re even taking this one away.”

“It’s not your mother who’s taking it away,” Fred said with emphasis. “Not your
mother
.”

“I think—I’ll go up to my room now,” Danny said. And he walked out slowly while Rufus followed.

Things moved rapidly during the next weeks. There was to be a house sale, and Nina was coming to help sort out the worthless from that which was worth storing for the unknown future. Above all, the piano must be kept in storage.

“I’ll never be able to afford another one like it,” Margaret said, “in case Julie …” She did not finish.

Julie moved almost soundlessly through the house on tiptoe, as if she were trying to be unheard and unseen.

“Daddy feels sorry that we have to leave here,” she reported once and, with lifted eyebrows, searched her mother’s face for a response.

Margaret said only, “I’m sorry too.”

In the last week the evening came when Rufus was to be taken to his new home. Herself close to tears, Margaret collected the beloved dog’s possessions, ball, leash, basket-bed, and a bag of kibbled food. Danny watched.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” she asked as she put on her jacket.

“I have to go,” he answered.

Rufus, being too large to make a third in the front seat, rode in the back this night with Danny. No one spoke until they were almost at their destination, when Margaret said, “We have an understanding. They will give him back if we ever have room for him again.”

“We never will,” said Danny.

Carrying Rufus’s possessions, they went slowly up
the walk, slowly enough to allow Rufus some sniffing time.

The front door opened, and a woman exclaimed, “Oh, here he is! Isn’t he beautiful! Come in.”

“No, thank you,” Danny said, handing over the leash.

“But do come in,” the woman urged.

Margaret said quickly, “I think we’d better not. We have to get home.”

Rufus turned with them as they turned to leave.

“No,” Danny told him. “No, stay. Good dog, stay. Good-bye, Rufus.”

On the way home the silence in the car was fragile; a word would have shattered it into fragments. The merest touch of sympathy would have shattered the boy. When they reached home, he went to his room and closed the door.

Much later, on her way to bed, Margaret heard him crying, stifling his sobs in his pillow. And in her heart there arose a hatred such as she had never yet known, even during these last bad months.

“Adam Crane, you son of a bitch,” she whispered, she who despised coarse words, “I hope you burn in hell for what you’ve done.”

They left the house on a splendid day at the end of May. For the last time, when everyone was already sitting in the car, Margaret walked around the yard. They had left the croquet things in the hall closet; perhaps the new kids would play. The grill was there at the kitchen door; perhaps the new family would like to barbecue. She hoped they would keep the birdbath filled during the summer heat. Looking up, she saw that the mountain ash, Nina’s tree, was tipped with buds, each a little
ruby-colored cone, a gem. Stooping, she saw the green thrust of tulips breaking through the earth:
Angelique
, they were; in a few weeks they would be all pink and frilled like roses. So life went on.

Then she raised her head, stiffened her back, and climbed into the car.

“I
thought you’d need a little time to get settled before you had visitors,” Fred said on the third day.

He had brought an arrangement of irises and lilies in a wicker basket which, after he looked around the living room for a flat surface and found none, he placed on the all-purpose table in the “dinette.”

Margaret giggled. “Everything seems to end with
ette
,” she said. “Dinette. Kitchenette. Why not ‘bed-ette,’ or ‘bathette’?” She was absolutely drunk with fatigue.

“Seriously, you’ve done a great job here in no time,” Fred said. He looked around at the tasteful arrangement of photographs on the wall behind the double pullout sofa, the scarlet Oriental screen, and the overlong curtains from the old den, now looped back to fit the window.

“Louise and Gil gave us the screen. They bought it in Hong Kong and never used it. It’ll come in handy to hide a messy kitchen if there should be unexpected guests, won’t it?”

In the fragile state of her emotions a silly giggle could in a moment turn toward the brink of tears. Never in her life had she been on the receiving end of so much generosity. The double sofa-bed, on which she had been sleeping with Nina, had come from Gil and Louise; Nina had brought some lovely clothes from New York for the girls; a friend whose husband was in the moving business had refused to accept payment. All of this generosity had been bestowed with so much tact.…

“Everybody’s been so kind, and you most of all.”

“Why shouldn’t they be? You’ve always done your share. And more than your share. Here, can we move these books and make room for the flowers? Don’t tell me you’re already back at work.”

“I have to be. It’s the end of term with finals coming up. Also, I have to prepare for summer school.”

“You’re not having a vacation, some time off?”

“I can’t afford to.”

“It’s a disgrace. If anyone had told me twenty years ago that Adam Crane could do this, I’d have told him he was crazy.”

“And Adam Crane is worse than crazy,” said Nina, walking in with an armful of books. “But come, let me show you around. Here’s the girls’ room. The twin beds don’t match, but we’ll call that an original style. Style Nina Quatorze. The plaid rug that I adored is from my old room, and the cupboard—when Margaret was a child, she used to think it was a monster in the night—can hold some clothes, since there’s only one closet. Now here’s Danny’s room—I’ve put that—excuse me—that bastard’s computer in here. It’s a tight squeeze, but they’re all trim enough to squeeze. Kids need a computer, and this one is tops.”

“Well, it’s nice, mighty nice,” declared Fred. “Of course, it’s crowded. Actually I’ve built these apartments for young marrieds, retired couples, and singles. Hey, your lawyer lives here, Margaret! His apartment’s in B section over the slope. Come to the window.”

In a long curve the low red-brick buildings marched up from the road and scattered themselves among thick stands of trees.

“When we planned this, the idea was to save as many trees as possible. It makes it cool for walking and biking. Then there’s the park over there. It’s really beautiful. You can’t see it from here, but the first chance you get, you should go. It’s not far. Take Danny. He’ll make friends at the baseball field and get into a game before you know it.”

“Fred’s always so enthusiastic, so encouraging. He makes you feel optimistic,” Nina said after he left.

The two women, in jeans and work shirts, sat resting on the front steps. In reply to Nina’s observation Margaret only nodded. Her thoughts were tired and random. Suddenly she remembered Fred’s bouquet in its basket. Adam had never sent flowers.… And as suddenly, this fact took on a great significance: a man who had never given a flower to his wife! She sat there very still, absorbing the fact.

Nina patted her arm. “This won’t be forever,” she said.

“I’m only concerned about my children. Danny’s not himself at all. He’s too quiet, drawn inward.”

“Well, for one thing, it’s been a terrible blow to part with Rufus.”

“No, there’s something else. He doesn’t talk much about Adam anymore. Until recently, it used to be ‘Dad
this’ and ‘Dad that.’ I wonder … Poor little boy. It’s funny, he’s thirteen and almost as tall as I am, but I still see him as a little boy.”

“There they come,” Nina said, pointing down the road where the three were walking from the direction of the park.

And Margaret, gazing at the pair of girls and their younger brother, at these three who were now all she had, said slowly, “It’s like a bad dream. Do you know what I mean, Nina? All I ever wanted was to rear a beautiful, intact family. And now the family’s tainted and marked. For no matter how much love and care they receive, this will be engraved in their memories as long as they live.” Then, raising her voice, she called brightly, “How was it over at the park? Nice?”

“It’s a park,” Megan said.

“Well, I know that.” Better to take no heed of their moods right now, she reminded herself. And she invited them to sit down. “Come, join us. There are plenty of steps to sit on.”

“I’m going to my room—our room,” Megan said.

“Sure you don’t want to stay here? It’s Nina’s last day tomorrow.”

“I know, but I do have homework, Mom. There are still three weeks of school, Mom. Remember?”

“I do remember.” Ignoring the sarcasm, Margaret replied dryly, “Go on in, then.”

A pleasant little wind moved through the trees. Across the quiet street an old couple were sunning themselves on lounge chairs. This wouldn’t be so bad if there were fewer of us, she thought.

Just then, Danny, sitting with dejected shoulders and elbows on knees, gave a loud, attention-getting sigh.

“What is it, Danny? Can I do something?” Margaret asked, and when no answer came, continued gently, “Maybe you want to visit Rufus. Is that it?”

The boy glared and shouted, “No! I never want to see him again. And never
ask
me!”

“All right, I won’t. It’s just that I heard your sigh.” And remembering Audrey’s injunctions, she added, “I think, Dan, you’d feel better if you got to your homework.”

“I wouldn’t feel better. I hate school. What I’d like is to quit and get a job.”

“That’s silly talk for a boy your age.”

“Not really.” Megan spoke from the doorway. “It’s obvious that we need money pretty badly, and every little bit will help.”

Now Julie flared up. “You’re always so sarcastic. Dad says we’re not that poor at all. Mom got all that money from the sale of the house.”

“ ‘Dad says’! Anything
he
says isn’t worth that!” And Megan snapped her fingers.

“You want me to hate him. You all do. You do, too, Mom.”

Nina got up from the step and faced the two girls. “Now listen here,” she said sternly. “Nobody wants anybody to hate anybody. But truth is truth, and maybe, in spite of all your mother has been advised, it won’t hurt for you to know some truths. The small amount—and it’s very, very small—that your mother received from the house is all she and you have in the world. It has to be put away for a rainy day—you’ve heard about rainy days? It can’t be touched because nothing very much is ever going to be coming from your father. That’s for sure.”

“Men!”
Megan snorted. “All a woman gets from a man is a raw deal.”

“No,” Nina said, “you can’t put all the blame on men. You have to remember that in raw deals like this one, the third party is a woman.”

Nina’s honesty brought a sudden silence, since everyone there knew her personal story. Margaret would miss her strength, her loyalty, and the courage that did not blink. Very much moved, she tried to lighten the moment.

“We’re going to Uncle Gil’s for dinner, a farewell to Nina. Farewell until your next visit,” she said, appealing, soft eyed, to Nina. “Now we’d better get dressed.”

She would remember that summer, Margaret knew, as a time when only the kindness of friends had gotten them through it. The first few weeks were the worst, with cranky children competing for desk space, for quiet, and for the bathroom. Working on school papers in the middle of confusion was a nightmare. And yet, there were these moments.…

The anniversary, the twentieth now, fell on a Sunday. Whether it was Megan or Nina, who telephoned regularly, who had advised Julie and Dan, or whether they themselves had decided not to visit Adam that day, Margaret neither knew nor asked. When she awoke that morning, an instant awareness of the date enveloped her. And she lay there in the cluttered living room wishing that she had not awakened, wishing that she were someone else, anyone but Margaret Crane. The telephone rang, and Fred’s voice rang out of it.