are birds that nest in the same place for life. They go back no matter what. They’ll wade through the same muck all over again, die anyway.” She told me this after I’d just sent money to the World Wildlife Fund. “Save the pandas? Hey, no harm in trying! And you get a Glas_9780375422751_3p_all_r1.qxp 7/2/08 10:21 AM Page 66 66
Julia Glass
free tote bag, too. How much of your money went to that ? Rule number one, Lou: don’t give a cent if they promise you a tote bag.”
The trout was, as Sam declared, flawlessly awesome. I’d stuffed it with tomato, chili peppers, and cilantro from the garden. (My filet went into the freezer.) We ate on the verandah. Sam chose the music, and the first record he played was the Doobie Brothers. “We are livin’ on the fault line!” he sang softly, earnestly, as he held out my chair. Clem rolled her eyes at me.
Luke seemed less miserable, in part because he was ignoring Clem. He talked about the building of the Brooklyn Bridge, aiming his narrative at Sam and me. He had tears in his eyes when he told us about everything Roebling suffered to build his masterpiece, how in the end it literally killed him.
Sam was mesmerized. “I live right there, man,” he said. “I never knew all that. It’s shameful not to know the history of where you live!” He shook his head.
Clem said very little. She ate studiously, almost eagerly, but she paid only the slimmest attention to the conversation, as if it were so dull that she preferred the diversion of nearby trees, the darkened sky, the occasional passing car.
“Come to the kitchen,” I whispered. “Help me with dessert.”
I needed mint, to garnish the granita. Clem followed me out to the garden. As I groped among the bushy plants, I heard her inhale sharply behind me, almost a sob. “I swear,” she said, but nothing else. I stood up and turned around. “Cut this out right now. Whatever your big fat secret is, tell it to me now.”
“Now is not the time.”
I shook a handful of mint in her face. “Now is never the time, is it? Clem, no one can help you when you’re like this! Forget me. Luke hasn’t a clue what’s going on.”
“This was a mistake.” She went back to the house. I found her in the stone room, sitting on the table. I saw, in the brief moment before she heard the door, that she was fingering the fringes of Glas_9780375422751_3p_all_r1.qxp 7/2/08 10:21 AM Page 67 I See You Everywhere
67
her scar, absently, as if reading braille. “So this is it,” she said quickly, shifting her weight. “The place of culinary execution.”
She looked up. I looked up. Black hooks hung on chains from the ceiling.
“Game hooks.” Clem slid off the table and pointed beneath it, to the steel drain. “For the blood, what do you think?” She opened the drawer in the table, one I’d assumed would be crammed full of mittens, twine, pruning shears. It held several large sturdy knives, well used but honed.
“This guy’s a friend of yours?” She shrugged.
“Listen,” I said, slamming the drawer, “enough of your gloom! I let you come here, ruin this, this, what might have been this incredibly romantic evening, you won’t tell me what’s going on, you, you . . .”
I stopped because I had never seen her look like this. She watched me, almost submissive. She reminded me of the rabbits, the way they froze in the beam of the flashlight when I checked on them at night. “Sorry,” she said.
“Stop saying that. Just do something, tell me something, would you? You’re driving everyone crazy. Or me. You’re always so alone, such a goddamn martyr.”
She leaned against the table. “I’m not alone these days.”
“Yeah, well, there’s Luke to kick around now, that’s nothing new.”
“I’m not talking about Luke. I happen to be pregnant.” She stared at the coats hanging on the wall.
I stared at the coats as well, gaunt specters in the dim, windowless room. The only light came from the kitchen. I
Julia Glass
free tote bag, too. How much of your money went to that ? Rule number one, Lou: don’t give a cent if they promise you a tote bag.”
The trout was, as Sam declared, flawlessly awesome. I’d stuffed it with tomato, chili peppers, and cilantro from the garden. (My filet went into the freezer.) We ate on the verandah. Sam chose the music, and the first record he played was the Doobie Brothers. “We are livin’ on the fault line!” he sang softly, earnestly, as he held out my chair. Clem rolled her eyes at me.
Luke seemed less miserable, in part because he was ignoring Clem. He talked about the building of the Brooklyn Bridge, aiming his narrative at Sam and me. He had tears in his eyes when he told us about everything Roebling suffered to build his masterpiece, how in the end it literally killed him.
Sam was mesmerized. “I live right there, man,” he said. “I never knew all that. It’s shameful not to know the history of where you live!” He shook his head.
Clem said very little. She ate studiously, almost eagerly, but she paid only the slimmest attention to the conversation, as if it were so dull that she preferred the diversion of nearby trees, the darkened sky, the occasional passing car.
“Come to the kitchen,” I whispered. “Help me with dessert.”
I needed mint, to garnish the granita. Clem followed me out to the garden. As I groped among the bushy plants, I heard her inhale sharply behind me, almost a sob. “I swear,” she said, but nothing else. I stood up and turned around. “Cut this out right now. Whatever your big fat secret is, tell it to me now.”
“Now is not the time.”
I shook a handful of mint in her face. “Now is never the time, is it? Clem, no one can help you when you’re like this! Forget me. Luke hasn’t a clue what’s going on.”
“This was a mistake.” She went back to the house. I found her in the stone room, sitting on the table. I saw, in the brief moment before she heard the door, that she was fingering the fringes of Glas_9780375422751_3p_all_r1.qxp 7/2/08 10:21 AM Page 67 I See You Everywhere
67
her scar, absently, as if reading braille. “So this is it,” she said quickly, shifting her weight. “The place of culinary execution.”
She looked up. I looked up. Black hooks hung on chains from the ceiling.
“Game hooks.” Clem slid off the table and pointed beneath it, to the steel drain. “For the blood, what do you think?” She opened the drawer in the table, one I’d assumed would be crammed full of mittens, twine, pruning shears. It held several large sturdy knives, well used but honed.
“This guy’s a friend of yours?” She shrugged.
“Listen,” I said, slamming the drawer, “enough of your gloom! I let you come here, ruin this, this, what might have been this incredibly romantic evening, you won’t tell me what’s going on, you, you . . .”
I stopped because I had never seen her look like this. She watched me, almost submissive. She reminded me of the rabbits, the way they froze in the beam of the flashlight when I checked on them at night. “Sorry,” she said.
“Stop saying that. Just do something, tell me something, would you? You’re driving everyone crazy. Or me. You’re always so alone, such a goddamn martyr.”
She leaned against the table. “I’m not alone these days.”
“Yeah, well, there’s Luke to kick around now, that’s nothing new.”
“I’m not talking about Luke. I happen to be pregnant.” She stared at the coats hanging on the wall.
I stared at the coats as well, gaunt specters in the dim, windowless room. The only light came from the kitchen. I
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