wrong today, or that anything would come up that Tillie couldn't handle? Tillie, in fact, was looking as filthy as Tygue, and even Bert looked as though he needed a bath. The three of them were covered with mud. Tillie even had a great smudge of it on one cheek, and there was lots of it matted in Tygue's hair, but they looked delighted with themselves.
Tygue was waving frantically now and shouting something. It was time to move. To get out of the car. To be Mom again. And Tillie was peeling a pair of overalls down from her shoulders. The outfit she was wearing underneath was scarcely more elegant, and as always when returning from Carmel, Kate instantly felt overdressed. She grabbed her handbag and stepped out of the car. Her day as Tom's Kate had ended. It was Tygue's turn now. She took a deep breath of the fresh country air, and then sighed as she reached down to pat Bert, snuffling happily at the cuffs of her slacks.
Hi, guys. What've you been up to?
Wait till you see, Mom! It's terrific! I did it! I did it! Tillie didn't do nothing! Anything. To hell with it. Nothing was good enough. She was too tired to correct him, and too happy at seeing him safe and sound.
She didn't, huh? Well, guess what? She had already scooped him into her arms, mud and all, and he was squirming to be free.
Come on, Mom, you gotta come look.'
Can I have a kiss first? But she had already given him one, and was holding him close, as he looked up at her with that heart-melting smile of a boy of six.
Then will you come look?
Then I'll come look. He bestowed a perfunctory kiss and pulled ferociously at her arm. Wait a minute, what am I going to look at? Not snakes again ' right, Tillie? She cast a rapid eye in the older woman's direction. Tillie had said nothing yet. She was a woman of few words, particularly with other women; she had more to say to Tygue than to Kate.
But there was a certain warmth and respect between them. Tillie didn't really understand what Kate did at the typewriter, but the one published book she could tell her friends about had impressed her. It hadn't been much of a book, sort of a nonsense novel about fancy people in San Francisco, but it had been published, and that was something. And she said she had another one coming out in a month. Maybe she'd be famous one day. And anyway, she was a good mother. And a widow too. They had that in common. There was something different about her, though, that kept a distance between them. She wasn't a snob, and she didn't put on airs, and she didn't have anything anyone else didn't have. There was just a feeling one got about her. It was hard to explain. Refined. Maybe that was it. It was a word Tillie's mother had used. She had said Kate was refined. And smart. And pretty maybe, but too thin. And there was always that sad, hidden look in her eyes. But Tillie knew that one, she had seen it in the mirror for years after her own man had died. Not for as long as she'd seen it in Kate's eyes though. The look was still as fresh in her eyes as it had been when she'd first met her, after Tygue was born. Sometimes Tillie wondered if the writing kept her pain alive. Maybe that was what she wrote about She didn't really know.
Tillie watched now as Kate rounded the corner of the house, impatiently pulled along by her son, and then they both stopped and Tygue grinned broadly and held tightly to his mother's hand. He was still such a little boy yet now and then he seemed very grown up, probably because his mother often talked to him as though he were already a man. But that wouldn't do him any harm. Tillie had done that to her own boys, after their father died. It brought back memories, watching the boy look up at his mother in front of the patch of garden they'd worked on all day while she was gone.
We made it for you. Half of it's flowers and half of it's vegetables. Tillie said we should do vegetables so you could make salads. You know, peppers and stuff. And next week we're gonna do herbs.
Tygue was waving frantically now and shouting something. It was time to move. To get out of the car. To be Mom again. And Tillie was peeling a pair of overalls down from her shoulders. The outfit she was wearing underneath was scarcely more elegant, and as always when returning from Carmel, Kate instantly felt overdressed. She grabbed her handbag and stepped out of the car. Her day as Tom's Kate had ended. It was Tygue's turn now. She took a deep breath of the fresh country air, and then sighed as she reached down to pat Bert, snuffling happily at the cuffs of her slacks.
Hi, guys. What've you been up to?
Wait till you see, Mom! It's terrific! I did it! I did it! Tillie didn't do nothing! Anything. To hell with it. Nothing was good enough. She was too tired to correct him, and too happy at seeing him safe and sound.
She didn't, huh? Well, guess what? She had already scooped him into her arms, mud and all, and he was squirming to be free.
Come on, Mom, you gotta come look.'
Can I have a kiss first? But she had already given him one, and was holding him close, as he looked up at her with that heart-melting smile of a boy of six.
Then will you come look?
Then I'll come look. He bestowed a perfunctory kiss and pulled ferociously at her arm. Wait a minute, what am I going to look at? Not snakes again ' right, Tillie? She cast a rapid eye in the older woman's direction. Tillie had said nothing yet. She was a woman of few words, particularly with other women; she had more to say to Tygue than to Kate.
But there was a certain warmth and respect between them. Tillie didn't really understand what Kate did at the typewriter, but the one published book she could tell her friends about had impressed her. It hadn't been much of a book, sort of a nonsense novel about fancy people in San Francisco, but it had been published, and that was something. And she said she had another one coming out in a month. Maybe she'd be famous one day. And anyway, she was a good mother. And a widow too. They had that in common. There was something different about her, though, that kept a distance between them. She wasn't a snob, and she didn't put on airs, and she didn't have anything anyone else didn't have. There was just a feeling one got about her. It was hard to explain. Refined. Maybe that was it. It was a word Tillie's mother had used. She had said Kate was refined. And smart. And pretty maybe, but too thin. And there was always that sad, hidden look in her eyes. But Tillie knew that one, she had seen it in the mirror for years after her own man had died. Not for as long as she'd seen it in Kate's eyes though. The look was still as fresh in her eyes as it had been when she'd first met her, after Tygue was born. Sometimes Tillie wondered if the writing kept her pain alive. Maybe that was what she wrote about She didn't really know.
Tillie watched now as Kate rounded the corner of the house, impatiently pulled along by her son, and then they both stopped and Tygue grinned broadly and held tightly to his mother's hand. He was still such a little boy yet now and then he seemed very grown up, probably because his mother often talked to him as though he were already a man. But that wouldn't do him any harm. Tillie had done that to her own boys, after their father died. It brought back memories, watching the boy look up at his mother in front of the patch of garden they'd worked on all day while she was gone.
We made it for you. Half of it's flowers and half of it's vegetables. Tillie said we should do vegetables so you could make salads. You know, peppers and stuff. And next week we're gonna do herbs.
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