French Braid(28)

He shut the fridge door and moved toward her slowly, with feigned reluctance, which made her cluck in exasperation. He took the receiver and said, “Hello?” and then, “Oh, hi, son.”

David said something on a rising note, and Robin said, “We’re okay. How about you?”

Something-something from David.

“Ask about Thanksgiving,” Mercy said in a piercing whisper.

“Huh? What? Your mom wants to know about Thanksgiving.”

Another murmur from David.

“Well, I don’t know. Just whether you’re coming home for it, I guess,” Robin said, and Mercy gave another cluck and grabbed the receiver from him. “David?” she said. “You know they run a shuttle over the holidays, right? From school to the Greyhound bus station, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, but seems to me that’s a long way to come for just a couple of days,” David said.

“It’s not a couple of days; it’s Wednesday, Thursday, Friday—”

“I was thinking it would be a good time to get my history paper out of the way,” David said.

Mercy said, “Couldn’t you do that in Baltimore?”

Robin was studying her face.

“Well, but here I’ve got the library and all.”

“Oh,” she said.

“How’s Robby doing? She learn to walk yet?”

“Walk? I don’t know. Just about,” she said. It seemed like very hard work, this conversation. “So, I’ll give you back to Dad,” she said. She held the receiver toward Robin, but he drew away and waved his arms in a crisscross pattern in front of him. She put the phone to her ear again and said, “I guess he must’ve said all he has to say.”

“Okay, so, bye, Mom,” David said.

“Bye, hon.”

She hung up.

“He’s not coming?” Robin asked her.

She shook her head.

“Well. It’s only natural,” he said. “Got his friends around, his studies…”

“I know that,” she said.

“This is a good sign, in fact.”

“I know,” she said.



* * *



—

Who they did have for Thanksgiving was Morris Drew.

Lily showed up at the studio one weekday morning, having first looked for Mercy at the house, she said; and she’d barely settled on the daybed before she announced her purpose. “Mom,” she said, “I’m not coming to Thanksgiving this year unless I can bring Morris.”

This wasn’t completely unexpected. She and Mercy had, of course, been in touch by phone over the past few weeks—maybe not as often as Mercy would have liked, but enough for her to know that Lily and Morris were still very much a couple; that B.J. had agreed to a divorce as if he didn’t even care; and that Morris’s divorce was already underway. Now Lily said they’d bought a three-bedroom house in Cedarcroft and the two of them were moving in as soon as they’d had the roof replaced. “That’s why it was such a bargain,” she said. “Morris talked the price way down. Of course he knows all about such things.”

And Morris’s poor wife? And where had B.J. gone, exactly? And what was the news of the baby?

But the baby was the only one Mercy felt she could ask about.

The baby was fine, Lily said nonchalantly. (She still didn’t seem noticeably pregnant, although she wore an overblouse that made it hard to tell.) She pulled a Polaroid from her purse: a photo of a standard white cottage with an awning above the front stoop. “This time next year, you can come to our place for Thanksgiving,” she said. “Isn’t it darling?”

“Yes, it’s—”

“But this year it’s not ready yet for guests,” she said. She slipped the photo back into her purse. She said, “I know what you’re going to say. I know Dad is in a huff. Last night on the phone he told me I could only bring B.J. to Thanksgiving. Like that was even an option! B.J.’s moved down to Fells Point.”

“You talked to Dad on the phone?” Mercy said.

“Yes, and he said you were working late. Did he not tell you I called?”

“I guess he didn’t have a chance to,” Mercy said. (She had spent last night in the studio, and this morning for the very first time she had not gone home for breakfast.)

“But you can persuade him, Mom; I know you can. You can change his mind. All this while he’s been claiming B.J.’s so irresponsible, remember? And Morris is very responsible. He’s going to be such a good provider, and a good father, besides; he’s always wanted kids. Won’t you make Dad let us come for Thanksgiving?”

“Well, of course I will, honey,” Mercy said, and she said it with confidence. There was no way Robin would willingly lose touch with his own daughter. Why, family was more important to him than anything! He had spent too much of his youth without one, was why.

“All he needs,” she told Lily, “is for Morris to, maybe, explain a little bit more. You did kind of take your dad by surprise, you know. So here’s what: you two come by the house this evening, and we’ll leave the men in the living room while we go fix refreshments. Then Morris can tell your dad how he knows this was a shock, never meant for things to work out this way, just fell head over heels in love the instant he laid eyes on you. And then he’ll announce about the baby: how he realizes the timing’s unfortunate but he’s thrilled about it anyhow, totally respects you, totally wants to stand by you…Well, you know.”