bare feet heading toward her bedroom, and then a pause and then hard shoes clopping out again—or maybe boots. Something big and heavy. Clop-clop toward the kitchen, clop-clop back down the hall. The swabbing of a mop across the bathroom floor. Well, so. It would all be taken care of.
Agatha relaxed and let her eyes fall shut. She might even have slept a few minutes. She saw sleep-pictures floating behind her lids—a black cat hissing and then Ian rattling his dice and all at once flinging them into her face and causing her to start. Her eyes flew open. The lights were still on, and the radio was playing a Beatles song. Ice cubes clinked in a glass. The cloppy footsteps came down the hall, and there was her mother outlined in the doorway. From the ankles up she was thin and fragile, but on her feet she wore two huge shoes from Danny’s closet. She came over to Agatha’s bed, shuffling slightly so the shoes wouldn’t fall off. “Are you awake?” she whispered.
Agatha said, “Yes.”
She realized that Thomas must not be. His breathing had grown very slow.
Her mother sat on the edge of the bed. In one hand she held a glass of Coke and in the other her brown plastic pill bottle, uncapped. Probably that was what had rattled in the dream; not Ian’s dice after all. She tipped the bottle to her mouth and swallowed a pill and then took a sip of Coke. She said, “Do you believe this? Do you believe a person would just have to fend for herself in this world?”
“Won’t the plumber come help?” Agatha asked.
“Everything is resting on my shoulders.”
“Maybe Grandma Bedloe knows a plumber.”
“It’s Howard Belling all over again,” her mother said, which was confusing because, for a second, Agatha thought she meant that the plumber was Howard Belling. “It’s the same old story. Unattached, they tell you. Separated, they tell you—or soon about to be. And then one fine morning they’re all lovey-dovey with their wives again. How come other people manage to have things so permanent? Is it something I’m doing wrong?”
“No, Mama,
you
didn’t do anything wrong,” Agatha said.
Her mother tipped another pill into her mouth and took another swallow of Coke. The ice cubes sounded like wind chimes. She raised one foot, her ankle just a stem above the clumsy shoe. Agatha thought of “Clementine.”
Herring boxes without topses, sandals were for …
“No wonder men aren’t afraid of things!” her mother said. “Would
you
be afraid, if you got to wear gigantic shoes like these?”
Yes, even then she would be, Agatha thought. But she didn’t want to say so.
Her mother bent to kiss her good night, brushing her face with the soft weight of her hair, and then she rose and left. Her shoes clopped more and more faintly and her ice cubes tinkled more distantly. Agatha closed her eyes again.
She tried to ride away on the beat of rhymed words—
herring boxes without topses
and
Johnny over the ocean, Johnny over the sea, Johnny broke a milk bottle, blamed it on me
.
Nibble, nibble, like a mouse
, she thought.
Who is nibbling at my house?
She kept repeating it, concentrating.
Nibble, nibble …
She fixed all her thoughts upon it.
Like a mouse
… But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push back the picture that kept forming behind her lids. Hansel and Gretel were wandering through the woods alone and lost, holding hands, looking all around them. The trees loomed so tall overhead that you couldn’t see their tops, and Hansel and Gretel were two tiny specks beneath the great dark ceiling of the forest.
3
The Man Who Forgot How to Fly
I n his ninth-grade biology class, Ian had watched through a microscope while an amoeba shaped like a splash approached a dot of food and gradually surrounded it. Then it had moved on, wider now and blunter, distorted to accommodate the dot of food within.
As Ian accommodated, over and over, absorbing the fact of Danny’s death.
He would see it looming in
Agatha relaxed and let her eyes fall shut. She might even have slept a few minutes. She saw sleep-pictures floating behind her lids—a black cat hissing and then Ian rattling his dice and all at once flinging them into her face and causing her to start. Her eyes flew open. The lights were still on, and the radio was playing a Beatles song. Ice cubes clinked in a glass. The cloppy footsteps came down the hall, and there was her mother outlined in the doorway. From the ankles up she was thin and fragile, but on her feet she wore two huge shoes from Danny’s closet. She came over to Agatha’s bed, shuffling slightly so the shoes wouldn’t fall off. “Are you awake?” she whispered.
Agatha said, “Yes.”
She realized that Thomas must not be. His breathing had grown very slow.
Her mother sat on the edge of the bed. In one hand she held a glass of Coke and in the other her brown plastic pill bottle, uncapped. Probably that was what had rattled in the dream; not Ian’s dice after all. She tipped the bottle to her mouth and swallowed a pill and then took a sip of Coke. She said, “Do you believe this? Do you believe a person would just have to fend for herself in this world?”
“Won’t the plumber come help?” Agatha asked.
“Everything is resting on my shoulders.”
“Maybe Grandma Bedloe knows a plumber.”
“It’s Howard Belling all over again,” her mother said, which was confusing because, for a second, Agatha thought she meant that the plumber was Howard Belling. “It’s the same old story. Unattached, they tell you. Separated, they tell you—or soon about to be. And then one fine morning they’re all lovey-dovey with their wives again. How come other people manage to have things so permanent? Is it something I’m doing wrong?”
“No, Mama,
you
didn’t do anything wrong,” Agatha said.
Her mother tipped another pill into her mouth and took another swallow of Coke. The ice cubes sounded like wind chimes. She raised one foot, her ankle just a stem above the clumsy shoe. Agatha thought of “Clementine.”
Herring boxes without topses, sandals were for …
“No wonder men aren’t afraid of things!” her mother said. “Would
you
be afraid, if you got to wear gigantic shoes like these?”
Yes, even then she would be, Agatha thought. But she didn’t want to say so.
Her mother bent to kiss her good night, brushing her face with the soft weight of her hair, and then she rose and left. Her shoes clopped more and more faintly and her ice cubes tinkled more distantly. Agatha closed her eyes again.
She tried to ride away on the beat of rhymed words—
herring boxes without topses
and
Johnny over the ocean, Johnny over the sea, Johnny broke a milk bottle, blamed it on me
.
Nibble, nibble, like a mouse
, she thought.
Who is nibbling at my house?
She kept repeating it, concentrating.
Nibble, nibble …
She fixed all her thoughts upon it.
Like a mouse
… But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push back the picture that kept forming behind her lids. Hansel and Gretel were wandering through the woods alone and lost, holding hands, looking all around them. The trees loomed so tall overhead that you couldn’t see their tops, and Hansel and Gretel were two tiny specks beneath the great dark ceiling of the forest.
3
The Man Who Forgot How to Fly
I n his ninth-grade biology class, Ian had watched through a microscope while an amoeba shaped like a splash approached a dot of food and gradually surrounded it. Then it had moved on, wider now and blunter, distorted to accommodate the dot of food within.
As Ian accommodated, over and over, absorbing the fact of Danny’s death.
He would see it looming in
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