Remarkably Bright Creatures(50)

“Tova! Evening, love,” Ethan Mack calls from the Shop-Way deli, where he’s wiping down tables.

“Hello, Ethan.”

Right up at the front of the grocery section, there’s a display of sundries, including pens. She scans the options: Rollerball or felt-tip? Gel or ballpoint?

Ethan tucks his rag in his apron pocket and saunters over, slipping into his station behind the register. “How’s the bum leg holding up, then?”

Tova leans on her cane. Her one concession. “Healing as expected, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it! Modern medicine is brilliant, innit? Can you imagine livin’ in cave-people times? You tweak an ankle and they leave you behind for the dinosaurs to eat!”

Tova raises an eyebrow. He can’t be serious. Dinosaurs never lived concurrently with so-called cave-people, or any people at all. They were separated by sixty-five million years. But then, maybe Ethan never had occasion to learn this. Tova, like every mother of a little boy, had gotten a thorough education in dinosaurs when Erik was young. At one point he’d checked out so many dinosaur books the library put a hold on Tova’s card.

Ethan shuffles, looking sheepish. “Anyway. Help you find something?”

“I need a black pen.”

“A pen? I won’t let you pay for a bloody pen! Here.” He plucks one from behind his ear, where it must have been hiding in his bushy mass of reddish frizz. “Don’t remember if this one’s blue or black, though.” He tries to wake the ink, scribbling on a scrap of paper next to the cash register. The tip of his tongue peeks between his lips as he focuses.

“Thank you, but I’ll take these. And I’m happy to pay for them.” Tova puts a two-pack of classic ballpoints on the counter.

Ethan’s pen starts to cooperate, producing a mess of marks on the scrap. “Eh! This one’s blue anyway. But you’re welcome to have it as a backup. Can never have too many pens!” He offers it to her.

Tova chuckles. “I beg to differ! Before he passed, Will used to swipe them from restaurants and bank counters. Our junk drawer was always overrun with them.”

“Aye, doesn’t surprise me. Think I might’ve looked the other way while he walked off with a ballpoint or two from the deli, over the years. He used to come here and have a sandwich and read a book a couple of times a week, but I’m sure you know that.”

The smile on Tova’s face hangs there, for a long moment, like it’s unsure whether to fall off or not. Finally, she says warmly, “Yes, he did like to get out of the house. Thank you for not calling the authorities on account of the pens.”

Ethan bats a hand. “He was a good bloke, Will Sullivan.”

“Yes, he was.”

“Well, then.” Something in Ethan’s voice reminds Tova of a soufflé that’s begun to sink. “Guess you definitely don’t need this.” He tucks the pen he’d offered her into his apron pocket.

“It was a very kind offer. But the form states specifically to use black ink.”

“A form?” Ethan blanches, his tone now wary. “What form is that, love?”

“An application,” she answers evenly.

“I knew it!” Ethan’s jaw flaps. “You’re doing it. Moving up to that . . . home. Tova, love. That place! It’s . . . not you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Ethan sniffs. “What I mean is, it’s not good enough for you.”

“Charter Village is one of the finest facilities in the state.”

“But Sowell Bay is your home.”

To Tova’s horror, her eyes well, stinging. She sets her jaw, willing the tears away. Evenly, she explains, “Mr. Mack, I am a practical person, and this is a practical solution. I’m not a young woman. I’m, well . . .”

Her gaze drifts to the boot. Ethan’s follows, and Tova would swear that, under his big beard, his chin is trembling. She places a hand on his freckled forearm, the wiry hairs tickling her palm. His skin is surprisingly warm.

“I’m not moving right this minute, Ethan.” Technically, this is true. It will take some time for the house to sell. For Charter Village to review her bank statements, eighteen-dollar photos, and black-ink-printed forms.

“Aye” is all Ethan says.

“And it’s the right plan,” she adds. “Who else will take care of me?”

The question hangs in the air for a long moment. Finally, Ethan says, “Well, this is an important application. You don’t want those pens, then.” He nods at the two-pack. “Those are rubbish.” After running a searching finger along the display, he pulls off a different package, this one with a flashier logo. “Cadillac model, right here.”

“I’ll take it, then. Thank you.”

“Anytime, love.”

She clears her throat. “How much?”

He bats a hand. “Like I said. Won’t let you pay for a pen. It’s on the house.”

“No, no.” For the second time today, Tova removes a twenty from her pocketbook. “Ring them through later and you keep the rest. For making the recommendation. Thank you.”

“If you want to thank me,” Ethan blurts, “perhaps you’d join me for tea sometime.”

Tova freezes. “Tea? Here?” She glances at the deli.