“But after Chloe, we couldn’t have any more.”
“But you photograph children—maybe that’s a comfort.” She pats my wrist once with gentle diffidence; there’s a Band-Aid over the top of her hand, half covering a large purple bruise.
“Oh,” I say, “sometimes.”
“And your husband, Shevlin tells me he’s a teacher at a university. My, my.”
“History professor at Mason-Dixon College.”
“Isn’t that something. My goodness.” She shakes her head and smiles, so pleased with me and mine. Some of the locals in Dolley are suspicious of us Batemans because we’re outsiders; I can tell by the narrow way they eye us in the hardware store or at the gas station. Mr. Bender was the most suspicious of the lot, and now here is his kind-faced wife beaming at me, impressed with my life, my husband’s career. I feel accepted and embraced—it’s almost as if I’ve been forgiven for something. All of a sudden, I’m flooded with an intense longing for my mother.
“Does he just get down on weekends, or sometimes during the week, too? Depending on his schedule, I guess.”
“Andrew? No—he—we—” She was only making conversation, but she’s caught me flatfooted. I’m thinking too slowly to say something vague and change the subject; I stutter some more until, inevitably, understanding unclouds her face.
“Sweetheart, would you go get my pills for me?”
Mr. Bender squints at a cuckoo clock on the wall. “It’s not time yet, not for—”
“I know, but would you go get them anyway?”
I can tell by the look he gives her that he’s recognized a tone inaudible to me. He leaves the room without another word.
“I’m sorry—” she begins.
“No , no.”
“—and I just wanted to tell you that by myself , so as not to make it even worse.”
“It’s absolutely nothing.”
“But I would never have asked anything personal if I had my wits about me. I’m not all here yet, the doctor said I wouldn’t be for a while. Why, this morning I tried to put Shevlin’s teeth in instead of mine.” We look at each other with straight faces for a long second. Then, thank God, a light glints in Cottie’s eyes, and we let out whoops at the same time. Her shoulders shake; she throws her head back, mouth open—I could swear she’s got her own teeth in there, not false ones.
“Wooh, that felt good for a change.” She puts her hand flat on her chest. “In the hospital, I had to keep telling Shevlin, ‘Don’t make me laugh .’”
I have trouble imagining that. Mr. Bender, the cutup.
“Anyway. I’m sorry for butting into your business.”
“You didn’t, and it’s not a secret, it’s just—new. Andrew and I are taking a little time off, that’s all. So he’s up there and I’m down here. I’m sure it’s temporary.” I’m not sure of that, but I feel like reassuring her, fitting myself into what I imagine is this woman’s stable, sensible, old-fashioned world. I wonder how old-fashioned it is, though. She’s a surprise, not the Mrs. Bender I was expecting. She has clear hazel eyes that look directly at me with a wry knowing.
“How long have you been married?” she asks.
“Almost twenty years.”
“Oh, yes. Well, that’s when it starts to get pretty serious, isn’t it?”
“How about you and Mr. Bender?”
“Forty years this January. You’re lucky to have a place to go to while you sort things out. Once Shevlin and I didn’t talk for three weeks. I don’t remember what started it. Something to do with Danielle, probably, since that’s mostly what we’ve fought about in our lives.”
“You didn’t talk for three weeks ?”
“I kept holding out for a change in him. But I expect we wouldn’t be speaking to this day if I’d kept on that way. One thing I know, staying together doesn’t depend on feeling the same way about everything.”
“What does it depend on?”
She scrapes her fingernails over her chin, thinking. “Depends on letting a lot go. Not being so
“But you photograph children—maybe that’s a comfort.” She pats my wrist once with gentle diffidence; there’s a Band-Aid over the top of her hand, half covering a large purple bruise.
“Oh,” I say, “sometimes.”
“And your husband, Shevlin tells me he’s a teacher at a university. My, my.”
“History professor at Mason-Dixon College.”
“Isn’t that something. My goodness.” She shakes her head and smiles, so pleased with me and mine. Some of the locals in Dolley are suspicious of us Batemans because we’re outsiders; I can tell by the narrow way they eye us in the hardware store or at the gas station. Mr. Bender was the most suspicious of the lot, and now here is his kind-faced wife beaming at me, impressed with my life, my husband’s career. I feel accepted and embraced—it’s almost as if I’ve been forgiven for something. All of a sudden, I’m flooded with an intense longing for my mother.
“Does he just get down on weekends, or sometimes during the week, too? Depending on his schedule, I guess.”
“Andrew? No—he—we—” She was only making conversation, but she’s caught me flatfooted. I’m thinking too slowly to say something vague and change the subject; I stutter some more until, inevitably, understanding unclouds her face.
“Sweetheart, would you go get my pills for me?”
Mr. Bender squints at a cuckoo clock on the wall. “It’s not time yet, not for—”
“I know, but would you go get them anyway?”
I can tell by the look he gives her that he’s recognized a tone inaudible to me. He leaves the room without another word.
“I’m sorry—” she begins.
“No , no.”
“—and I just wanted to tell you that by myself , so as not to make it even worse.”
“It’s absolutely nothing.”
“But I would never have asked anything personal if I had my wits about me. I’m not all here yet, the doctor said I wouldn’t be for a while. Why, this morning I tried to put Shevlin’s teeth in instead of mine.” We look at each other with straight faces for a long second. Then, thank God, a light glints in Cottie’s eyes, and we let out whoops at the same time. Her shoulders shake; she throws her head back, mouth open—I could swear she’s got her own teeth in there, not false ones.
“Wooh, that felt good for a change.” She puts her hand flat on her chest. “In the hospital, I had to keep telling Shevlin, ‘Don’t make me laugh .’”
I have trouble imagining that. Mr. Bender, the cutup.
“Anyway. I’m sorry for butting into your business.”
“You didn’t, and it’s not a secret, it’s just—new. Andrew and I are taking a little time off, that’s all. So he’s up there and I’m down here. I’m sure it’s temporary.” I’m not sure of that, but I feel like reassuring her, fitting myself into what I imagine is this woman’s stable, sensible, old-fashioned world. I wonder how old-fashioned it is, though. She’s a surprise, not the Mrs. Bender I was expecting. She has clear hazel eyes that look directly at me with a wry knowing.
“How long have you been married?” she asks.
“Almost twenty years.”
“Oh, yes. Well, that’s when it starts to get pretty serious, isn’t it?”
“How about you and Mr. Bender?”
“Forty years this January. You’re lucky to have a place to go to while you sort things out. Once Shevlin and I didn’t talk for three weeks. I don’t remember what started it. Something to do with Danielle, probably, since that’s mostly what we’ve fought about in our lives.”
“You didn’t talk for three weeks ?”
“I kept holding out for a change in him. But I expect we wouldn’t be speaking to this day if I’d kept on that way. One thing I know, staying together doesn’t depend on feeling the same way about everything.”
“What does it depend on?”
She scrapes her fingernails over her chin, thinking. “Depends on letting a lot go. Not being so
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