The Cider House Rules (76 page)

'It's not quite like that,' he started to tell her, but she shook her huge head and looked away from him.

'I got eyes,' Melony said. 'I can see what it's; like—it's like
shit.
It's ordinary, middle-class shit—bein' unfaithful and lyin' to the kids. You of all people!' Melony said. She had her hands thrust in her pockets; she took them out and clasped them behind her back; then she jammed them back in her pockets again. Every time she moved her hands, Homer flinched.

Homer Wells had expected to be attacked by her; Melony was an attacker; but this was not the attack he had expected. He had imagined that he would, one day —when he saw her again—be a match for her, but now he knew that he would never be a match for Melony.

'Do you think I get my rocks off embarrassin' you?' Melony asked him. 'Do you think I was always lookin' for you—only to give you a bad time?'

'I didn't know you were looking for me,' said Homer Wells.

'I had you figured all wrong,' said Melony. Looking at her, Homer Wells realized that he'd had Melony figured all wrong, too. 'I always thought you'd end up like the old man.'

'Like Larch?' Homer said.

'Of course, like Larch!' Melony snapped at him. 'I {612} figured you for that—you know, the missionary. The dogooder with his nose in the air.'

'I don't see Larch quite that way,' Homer said.

'Don't be snotty to me!' Melony cried, her raw face streaked with tears. 'You've got your nose in the air—I got that part right. But you ain't exactly no missionary. You're a creep! You knocked up somebody you shouldn't 'a' been fuckin' in the first place, and you couldn't even come clean about it to your own kid. Some missionary! Ain't that
brave?
In my book, Sunshine, that's a creep,' Melony told him.

Then she left; she never asked him about the job; he never got to ask her how her life had been.

He went upstairs to the bathroom and threw up; he filled the sink with cold water and soaked his head, but the throbbing had no end. One hundred seventy-five pounds of truth had struck him in the face and neck and chest—had constricted his breathing and made him ache. A vomit taste was in his mouth; he tried to brush his teeth but he cut himself in the hand before he saw the blade. He felt nearly as paralyzed above the waist as he knew Wally must feel below. When he reached for the towel by the shower door, he saw what else was wrong, he saw what was missing from the bathroom: the blank questionnaire, the one he'd never returned to the board of trustees of St. Cloud's was gone. It didn't take Homer Wells long to imagine how Melony might answer some of the questions.

This new panic momentarily elevated him above his own self-pity. He called the orphanage immediately, and got Nurse Edna on the phone.

'Oh, Homer!' she cried, so glad to hear his voice.

'This is important,' he told her. 'I saw Melony.'

'Oh, Melony!' Nurse Edna cried happily. 'Missus Grogan will be thrilled!'

'Melony has a copy of the questionnaire,' Homer said.

'Please tell Doctor Larch—I don't think this is good news. That old questionnaire from the board of trustees.' {613}

'Oh, dear,'Nurse Edna said.

'Of course she might never fill it out,' Homer said, 'but she has it—it says where to send it, right on the thing. And I don't know where she's gone; I don't know where she came from.'

'Was she married?' Nurse Edna asked. 'Was she happy?'

Jesus Christ, thought Homer Wells. Nurse Edna always shouted into the telephone; she was so old that she remembered only the days of bad connections.

'Just tell Doctor Larch that Melony has the questionnaire. I thought he should know,' said Homer Wells.

'Yes, yes!' Nurse Edna shouted. 'But was she happy?'

'I don't think so,' Homer said.

'Oh, dear.'

'I thought she was going to stay for supper,' Wally said, serving the swordfish.

'I thought she wanted a job,' Angel said.

'What's she been doing with herself?' Wally asked.

'If she wanted to pick apples,' Candy said, 'she can't be doing too much with herself.' 'I don't think she needed the job,' Homer said.

'She just wanted to look you over, Pop,' Angel said, and Wally laughed. Angel had told Wally that Melony had been Homer's girlfriend, which Wally had thought was very funny.

'I'll bet your dad never told you about Debra Pettigrew, kiddo,' Wally said to Angel.

'Oh, come on, Wally,' Candy said. 'That wasn't serious.'

'You left something out,' Angel said to his father; Angel pointed his finger at Homer.

'Yes,' Homer admitted. 'But Debra Pettigrew wasn't anyone special.'

'We used to double-date,' Wally told Angel. 'Your old man usually got the back seat.'

'Come on, Wally!' Candy said. She'd given Homer and Angel too many asparagus; she had to take some back, or {614} there wouldn't be any for Wally or herself.

'You should have seen your old man at his first drive-in,' Wally said to Angel. 'He didn't know what drive-ins were for!'

'Maybe Angel doesn't know what they're for!' Candy said sharply to her husband.

'Of course I know!' Angel said, laughing.

'Of course he knows!' Wally said, also laughing.

'Only Bedouins don't know,' said Homer Wells, trying to go along with the fun.

After supper, he helped Candy with the dishes while Angel drove around the orchards with Pete Hyde; after supper, almost every night, the boys had a game—they tried to drive through all the orchard; before it was dark. Homer wouldn't let them drive in the orchards after dark—not after the apple crates had been put out for the pickers.

Wally liked the twilight by the swimming pool. From the kitchen window, Homer and Candy could see him sitting in the wheelchair; he had tipped his head back, as if he were staring at the sky, but he was watching the spiral drifting of a hawk over the orchard called Cock Hill—some smaller birds were pestering the hawk, flying dangerously close to it, trying to drive it away.

'It's time to tell,' Homer said to Candy.

'No, please,' Candy said; she reached around him, where he was working at the sink, and dropped the broiler rack that the swordfish had been cooked on into the soapy water. The rack was greasy and stuck all over with charred bits of fish, but Homer Wells immediately pulled it out of the water—without letting it soak— and started scrubbing it.

'It's time to tell everyone everything,' said Homer Wells. 'No more waiting and seeing.'

She stood behind him and put her arms around his hips; she pressed her face between his shoulder blades, but he did not return her embrace—or even turn to face her. He just kept scrubbing the broiler rack.{615}

'I'll work it out with you, any way you want to do it,' Homer said. 'Whether you want to be with me, when I tell Angel—whether you want me with you, when you tell Wally. Any way you want it, it'll be okay,' he said.

She hugged him as hard as she could but he just kept scrubbing. She buried her face between his shoulder blades and bit him in the back. He had to turn toward her then; he had to push her away.

'You're going to make Angel hate me!' Candy cried.

'Angel will never hate you,' Homer said to her. To Angel, you've always been just what you are—a good mother.'

She held the serving tongs for the asparagus, and Homer thought that she might attack him, but she just kept wrenching the tongs, open and closed, in her hands.

'Wally will hate me!' she cried miserably.

'You're always telling me that Wally knows,' said Homer Wells. 'Wally loves you.'

'And you
don't
love me, anymore, do you?' Candy said; she started to blubber; then she threw the serving tongs at Homer, then she clenched her fists against her thighs. She bit down so hard on her lower lip that it bled; when Homer tried to dab at her lip with a clean dish towel, she pushed him away.

'I love you, but we're becoming bad people,' he said.

She stamped her foot. 'We're
not
bad people!' she cried. 'We're trying to do the right thing, we're trying not to hurt anybody!'

'We're doing the wrong thing,' said Homer Wells. 'It's time to do everything right.'

In a panic, Candy looked out the window; Wally was gone from his position at the far corner of the deep end of the pool. 'We'll talk later,' she whispered to Homer. She grabbed an ice cube out of someone's drinking glass; she held the cube to her lower lip. Til see you by the pool.'

'We can't talk about this around the pool,' he told her.

'I'll meet you at the cider house,' she said; she was {616} looking everywhere for Wally, wondering what door he'd come in—any second.

'That's not a good idea, to meet there,' said Homer Wells.

'Just take a walk!' she snapped at him. 'You walk there your way, I'll walk there my way—I'll meet you, Goddamn it,' she said. She made it into the bathroom before Homer heard Wally at the terrace door.

Candy was grateful for the special bathroom equipment —especially the sink at wheelchair level, like a sink for children in a kindergarten, like the sinks at St. Cloud's (she remembered). She knelt on the bathroom floor and hung her head in the sink; she turned her face under a faucet; the cold water was continuous against her lip.

'How are the dishes coming?' Wally asked Homer, who was still laboring over the broiler rack.

'Kind of messy tonight,' Homer said.

'I'm sorry,' Wally said genuinely. 'Where's Candy?' he asked.

'I think she's in the bathroom.'

'Oh,' said Wally. He wheeled himself over to the corner of the kitchen where the serving tongs and a few broken bits of asparagus were on the floor. He leaned down and picked up the tongs, which he delivered to Homer at the sink. 'Want to see the last couple of innings of the ball game?' he asked Homer. 'Let Candy do the fucking dishes.' Wally wheeled himself out of the kitchen; he waited in the driveway for Homer Wells to bring the car around.

They took Candy's Jeep, keeping the top down. It wasn't necessary to take the wheelchair; it was just a Little League game, and Homer could drive the Jeep right up to the foul line and they could watch the game from the car seats. The town was thrilled to have a lighted field, although it was stupid to play Little League games after dark; it kept the little kids up later than was necessary, and the field wasn't that well lit—home runs {617} and long foul balls were always lost. The tiny in fielders seemed to lose the high pop-ups. But Wally loved watching the kids play; when Angel had played, Wally had never missed a game. Angel was too old for Little League now, and he found watching the games the depths of boredom.

The game was nearly over when they arrived, which relieved Homer Wells (who hated baseball). A worried fat boy was pitching; he took the longest time between pitches, as if he were waiting for it to grow so dark (or for the lights to fail so completely) that the batter could no longer see the ball at all.

'You know what I miss?' Wally asked Homer Wells.

'What's that?' said Homer, who dreaded the answer. Maybe walking, Homer thought—or maybe he's going to say, 'Loving my wife; that's what I miss.'

But Wally said, 'Flying. I really miss flying. I miss being up there.' Wally was not watching the ball game but looking above the tall field lights at some point high in the darkness. 'Above everything,' he said. 'That's how it was.'

'I never did it,' said Homer Wells.

'My God, that's true!' Wally said, genuinely shocked. 'That's right, you've never flown! My God, you'd love it. We've got to arrange that, somehow. And Angel would really find it exciting,' Wally added. 'It's the thing I miss most.'

When the game was over and they were driving home, Wally reached across to the gearshift and popped the Jeep into neutral. 'Cut the engine just a second,' he said to Homer. 'Let's just coast.' Homer turned off the key arid the Jeep ambled silently along. 'Cut the headlights, too,' Wally said. 'Just for a second.' And Homer Wells cut the lights. They could see the lights from the Ocean View house ahead of them, and both of them knew the road so well that they felt fairly secure just freewheeling in the darkness, but then the trees rose up and cut their view of the lighted house, and there was an unfamiliar {618} dip in the road. For just a moment they seemed to be completely lost, possibly plunging off the road into the dark trees, and Homer Wells turned the headlights back on.

'That was flying,' Wally said, when they pulled into the driveway—ahead of them, gleaming in the headlights, the wheelchair was parked in waiting. When Homer carried Wally from the Jeep to the wheelchair, Wally let both his arms lock around Homer's neck. 'Don't ever think I'm not grateful to you, for all you've done, old boy,' Wally told Homer, who put him very gently in the chair.

'Come on,' Homer said.

'No, I mean it. I know how much you've done for me, and I don't usually get the opportunity to say how grateful I really am,' Wally said. He kissed Homer smack between the eyes, then, and Homer straightened up, clearly embarrassed.

'You've certainly done everything for me, Wally,' Homer said, but Wally dismissed this with a wave; he was already wheeling himself toward the house.

'It's not the same, old boy,' Wally said, and Homer went to park the Jeep.

That night when Homer put Angel to bed, Angel said, 'You know, you really don't have to put me to bed anymore.'

'I don't do it because I have to,' Homer said. 'I like to.'

'You know what I think?' Angel said.

'What's that?' asked Homer, who dreaded the answer.

'I think you ought to try having a girlfriend,' Angel said cautiously. Homer laughed.

'Maybe when you try having one, I'll try one, too,' Homer said.

'Sure, we can double-date!' Angel said.

'I get the back seat,' Homer said.

'Sure, I'd rather get to drive, anyway,' Angel said.

'Not for long, you won't rather drive,' his father told him.{619}

'Sure!' Angel said, laughing. Then he asked his father: 'Was Debra Pettigrew big like Melony?'

'No!' Homer said. 'Well, she was on her way to being big, but she wasn't that big—not when I knew her.' 'There's no way Big Dot Taft's sister could have been small,' Angel said.