French Braid(63)

“Okay,” Candle said, “but how about the prices?”

“How about them?”

“These things cost thousands of dollars! It’s not fair!”

“Fair?” Mercy asked.

“You put way more work into your paintings, I bet.”

Her grandmother laughed. “Oh, hon,” she said, “it’s never wise to look over your shoulder.”

“Huh?”

“Just run the race on your own, I say. Don’t fret about the others.”

This didn’t make sense, for a moment, but then it did. Candle felt as if she’d had some burden lifted from her, and she gave Mercy a grateful smile and Mercy smiled back.



* * *



—

All the same, her grandmom did seem unusually quiet after that—distracted in some way, focusing on some private concern—because Magda had to ask twice if she’d like to get a drink down the street once they’d finished touring the gallery. “Drink?” she said vaguely, and Magda asked, “How much longer before your train?”

“Train? What? Oh!” Mercy said, and she checked her watch and said, “We should get to the station!”

So Magda hailed a cab for them, raising her right arm in a queenlike gesture, and they parted in a flurry of hugs and thanks and must-do-this-again-soons. “Goodness,” Mercy told Candle once they were settled in the cab. “I should have—I wish I’d reserved a later—I just didn’t know everything would take so long!”

“Can we still get a Nathan’s?” Candle asked her.

“A what, hon?”

“A Nathan’s hot dog?”

“Oh, I…The part I hadn’t planned on, you see, was the walk to the gallery. That was a long walk. It took way more time than I’d allowed for.”

Really the walk had not been long at all; it was just that Mercy was old. Candle heaved what she hoped was a noticeable sigh, but then she gave up and faced forward to focus on the traffic. Luckily it was an easy ride, and when they drew up in front of Penn Station, Mercy said, “See there?” as if she’d never had a moment of anxiety. “Plenty of time,” she said as she paid the fare.

But when they went to the information board to see when their train would arrive, she said, “Oh! It’s already here!” And then, “But we were going to get you a hot dog!” just as if this were the very first time the subject had come up. Candle said, “Never mind,” and Mercy looked relieved and turned immediately to lead the way to the escalator.

They descended to a dim underworld where their train sat quietly humming, its windows filled with bowed heads as if all the passengers were seriously thinking things over, although probably they were just reading. Mercy charged into the first car they came to, and when Candle, following, asked, “Shouldn’t we go to a car up front?” Mercy tossed back, “I just want to find two seats together.”

Which was exactly Candle’s point, because this car was almost full and no adjoining seats were available. So they had to walk forward anyhow, and it took a whole lot longer than if they’d walked forward on the platform.

Eventually, though, they found two empty seats side by side, and her grandmom slid in and plopped down and said, “Whew!” Then she turned to Candle, who was just getting settled herself, and said, “Oh, Kendall. Oh, hon,” in a low, stricken-sounding voice.

“What,” Candle said.

“Didn’t you want to buy a hot dog?”

“What?” Candle asked, and then, “That’s okay, Grandmom.”

“I’m so sorry! You should have reminded me!”

“I’m too full from lunch, anyhow,” Candle said.

And this was the truth, she realized. Besides which, she was starting to get a worried feeling. Worry always caused a sort of lump in her stomach.

The train gave a lurch, by and by, and glided out of the darkness and into the afternoon light, and a man’s voice on the loudspeaker welcomed them aboard and listed the cities they’d be traveling to. Not till he mentioned Baltimore did Candle fully relax. And eventually Mercy caught her breath and seemed more like herself, and when the conductor came by she promptly produced their tickets. “Well!” she said to Candle after he’d moved on. She took a flowered cloth hankie from her purse and blotted her face. “That was quite the foofaraw, wasn’t it?” she said.

Candle said, “It sure was,” because even though she’d never heard the word “foofaraw” before, it was easy enough to figure out its meaning.

The train had reached full speed by now. Other passengers were talking together quietly—all Baltimoreans, it seemed to Candle; all faded and soft and rumpled and relieved to be heading home. Her grandmother, though, was silent, and when Candle glanced toward her some time later she found her sound asleep, her head tilted against the window.

This time, Mercy hadn’t offered Candle the window seat. On the way up, she’d made such a point of it. Candle could see plenty from where she sat, but even so, she couldn’t help feeling a little bit neglected. I’m too young for this! she found herself thinking. She should be taking better care of me!

Mercy slept on, her handkerchief gradually uncurling itself on her lap.

They stopped at various towns in New Jersey; they stopped in Philadelphia; they stopped in Wilmington, Delaware. Candle hadn’t been to a restroom since lunch, but she figured she could wait. She gazed out the window at passing trees, most of them still fully leafed and not even starting to turn, and she traced their shapes invisibly on her seat cushion with her finger. She watched a woman diagonally across from her examine her face in her compact on three separate occasions, as if maybe she felt anxious about whoever was meeting her train.