Some Other Town by Elizabeth Collison Page B

taking no notice. It is fruitless with Frances, I should of course know. She understands only what she chooses. And so while she and the others move on with their talk, I feel my thoughts move on as well, or rather, I should say, back again. Back to that packet of sugar, that is, and the crucial point I noticed as Ben spun it.
    Which I should have caught right away of course, first thingearlier in the evening. It is an unfortunate lack of awareness on my part when encountering a new man socially—a disability of sorts, actually—and I have been trying for keener perception.
    So now that night with Ben it occurs to me at last to stop and take a look. And there on his hand, the one with the sugar packet, there on the left fourth finger, there, after all, it is—a gleaming and gold wedding band. Gold, fat, and rubbed smooth as a river. He is married, this Ben Adams. Long married. I am having late night coffee with a long-married man.
    Which need not change anything at all, of course. That is what occurs to me next. We are only just having coffee. We have only just met. Still, it is a new point, this wedding band, and something I will have to think over.
    â€œI have two geese,” Ben Adams says then. “A goose and a gander. On the farm where I rent.”
    I look at him, nod. But I’m still not fully attending. I am wondering instead so do I mention the ring, or maybe Ben Adams’s wife? “Well now,” I could say. “Doesn’t your wife mind? About the geese, I mean. I would think they’re a responsibility.” It is the kind of thing women say, I believe, although I’m not really sure of the point. It may be only to acknowledge you’ve seen the ring, you know that this man is married. And that it’s all right with you, all right. You yourself are just having coffee. It makes no difference at all if the man you are with just now all alone and getting to know and possibly like is in fact actually married. It is not that you have designs. You are only just having coffee.
    I nod at Ben. “Geese,” I say. “Yes. I’ve heard they are friendly birds.”
    We both of us just look down at our mugs. Ben gives his anotherswirl, I take a sip from mine. The coffee is cold. Well, we are probably both thinking about leaving.
    But just then, the truck stop front door opens wide and “Janice!” a large man calls. He makes a wild-eyed scan of the room. “Janice, I know you’re in here. Come back out to the car now, Janice.”
    Ben shoots me a look. We are the only ones here in the truck stop, the man at the door must see this. “Oh-oh,” Ben says to me, low.
    Our waitress appears from her back room. “Larry,” she says. “Now calm down there, Larry.”
    â€œI’ve lost Janice,” the man says to our waitress. He lowers heavily onto the counter’s end stool, bows his head, and with no further notice, starts to sob.
    â€œLarry, Larry,” the waitress says. She goes to him, rubs the top of his head.
    The man’s back and shoulders are heaving. “Janice,” the man cries, “Janice. Where is Janice?”
    â€œThere, Larry,” the waitress says. “Shh. It’s all right.”
    The large man lifts his head to look at her. From our booth we can see his face is swollen and red, soaked wet from the tears. And we can smell the alcohol on him.
    Ben stands, walks over. “Need help?” he says. It’s not clear if he’s asking the waitress or Larry.
    â€œIt’s OK,” the waitress says. “It’s just Larry. He comes in a lot. When it gets bad, I just call the cops.”
    Larry places both arms on the counter, leans forward, drops his head. He lies then, chest and face on the counter
    â€œIt’s his wife,” the waitress says. “He just misses his wife, that’s all.”
    The waitress turns to check Larry, who has now gone into a moan. She turns back to