Field Notes on Love(22)

They’ve spent only twenty minutes together. Maybe thirty.

But still, there’s already something familiar about her, standing there in the doorway with a book in her arms, and Hugo can’t help wondering if maybe the thing he was missing earlier was her.





For the past few hours, Mae had watched a steady tide of people drifting into the café, ordering hot dogs and cookies and chips, trying not to spill their cans of beer as they tottered out again. Each time the door opened, she found herself looking up as if waiting for something, though she wasn’t sure what.

It isn’t until this very moment that she realizes maybe it was Hugo.

The waiter motions her over, and she picks her way through this strangest and narrowest of restaurants, giving Hugo a nod as they meet in the aisle.

“Hi,” she says, and he grins at her.

“Hi.”

They’re seated at a table with an elderly white couple who are already poring over their menus. Hugo slides into the booth first, and Mae joins him, careful to leave a few inches of space between.

“Hello there,” the woman says with a faint Southern drawl. “I’m Ida. And this is my husband, Roy.”

Mae starts to introduce herself at the exact same moment that Hugo says his name. They exchange a glance, both a little flummoxed, but Ida just smiles at them.

“Where are you two from?”

Hugo says, “England,” and Mae says, “Just up the road,” the words once again crossing between them. Part of her wants to laugh and part of her wants to crawl under the table. It’s like dancing with someone you don’t know very well, and she feels like she should apologize for stepping on his toes.

    “You two are either very much in sync,” Roy says, “or very much out of sync.”

“England and New York?” says Ida. “That’s quite the long-distance relationship.”

“Oh no,” Mae says quickly. “We’re not—”

“You know, Roy was in the navy when we first met, so we had to write letters between visits. But I suppose the world is a lot smaller now.”

“Not too small,” Hugo says with a smile. “Still takes a bit of time to cross it by train.”

Their waiter appears, and Roy is ready for him. “I’ll have a burger and an apple pie. I know what you’re gonna say—you’ll be back to take dessert orders later. But last time, they ran out of pie. So I’m not taking any chances. In fact, we should get slices all around.”

The waiter seems to realize it’s pointless to object.

Once they’ve all placed their orders, Hugo sits back in the booth. “So you’re old pros at this train business, then?”

“Oh yeah,” Roy says. “Ever since I retired, we’ve been going pretty much every summer. Right, hon? Different route each time. It’s a great way to see the country.”

“Is this your first trip?” Ida asks, and both Hugo and Mae nod. “You’ll love it. Trains can be very romantic, you know.”

Hugo—who has just taken a bite of a roll—starts to cough, and Mae tries not to laugh. “We’re actually not—”

But Ida is already off again, talking about the various trips they’ve taken: the one where they stopped off at the Grand Canyon and the one where the train broke down outside Baltimore. At some point, Roy picks up the thread, and then Ida tags in again, and they go back and forth like that through the salad course and straight into dinner.

    “We did one in Canada once too,” Ida says when they’re all done eating. She glances down at her empty plate. “The summer after our son died.”

Mae lowers her glass, her throat suddenly tight. Across the table, Ida’s eyes are watery, and they all go quiet for a moment, searching for the right thing to say. Then Roy reaches out and puts a big hand over his wife’s smaller one.

“Remember the dinners on that trip?” he asks in a gruff voice. “We ate like royalty.”

The wrinkles on Ida’s face rearrange themselves as she breaks into a smile. “We really did,” she says, looking at him so fondly that Mae almost feels like she and Hugo are intruding.

It’s fully dark outside now, the night punctuated only by the glowing windows of farmhouses and the occasional town, and Mae can’t help thinking about all the miles Ida and Roy have crossed, all the sights they must’ve seen.

The waiter arrives with apple pie for everyone, and Hugo closes his eyes after taking a bite. “I have to admit I was expecting the food to be rubbish, but this is brilliant.”

Roy grins at him. “You know what they say.”

“What?” Hugo asks, his face blank.

“Oh, uh…as American as apple pie.”

Hugo frowns. “What is?”

“Well, anything American, I guess,” Roy says a little less certainly. “But especially apple pie.”

“Huh,” Hugo says, stabbing at his pie. “I hadn’t heard that one.”

    “How long have you been over here, sweetie?” asks Ida, and to Mae’s amusement, Hugo looks at his watch.

“Just about thirty hours now.”

Across the table, Ida and Roy both stare at him.

“Oh,” says Roy. “So you two met across the pond, then?”