room. Itâs not a shrine or anything, although it is exactly as it was when she left for college, but I do vacuum and dust in there once a week, although itâs amazing when you keep the windows closed how little dust accumulates. Although I suppose that makes perfect sense and isnât amazing at all. I have trouble sometimes distinguishing between the two: what is normal and what is amazing. Anyway, even though the sheets on the bed were clean I took them off and put on fresh ones. They were an old set of Holly Hobbie doll sheets Alice had loved when she was little, and I thought the Djukanovic girl might like them, despite being odd. I cleared out the top two drawers in Aliceâs dresser and moved all her cheerleading and field hockey trophies off her desk. I couldnât quite bring myself to open her closet. I donât know why, really, but I figured that a little girl who had been flooded out of her home wouldnât have much to hang up. Girls hardly ever wear dresses these days.
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The Djukanovics arrived about five oâclock, and despite the ice-cream social at the shelter, they seemed ready for supper. I showed them all to their rooms (there was only one little girl after all, named Wanda) and left them to settle in, which didnât take them long at all because by six oâclock they were sitting in the den, looking hungry. Mr. Djukanovic had put on the TV news without asking me if he might turn the TV on, which I thought was a bit presumptuous (maybe I didnât like the TV, or news, or something), but I was determined to be a gracious host. After all, it would only be a few days: the county was arranging to have those emergency mobile-home shelters set up behind the high school, and supposedly they were on their way from wherever they came from, from wherever the last disaster was.
The moment the Djukanovics pulled into the driveway, Robert had disappeared down into the basement, where he had lugged his leather-working equipment. Robert âtoolsâ leather belts and sells them through the website handtooledleatherbeltsbyrobert.com, which they helped him set up at the senior center. Theyâre always bringing young people in to teach seniors about technology and the Internet and what have you, and Robert is very keen on it. I stay out of it. I was disappointed by Robertâs subterranean defection, but I wasnât surprised, as he doesnât really interact with people anymore. He worked forty-five years as a car salesman and did very well for himself (and me too, for that matter) (and Alice), but he never really liked it and it didnât come naturally to him, and when he retired five years ago, he said he was never going to talk to anyone ever again. I donât think he included me and a few other people in this resolution, I think he meant he reserved the right to never again talk to anyone he didnât want to talk to, including, apparently, the Djukanovics.
So there they were in the den, listening to the TV news, or at least pretending to listen. Mrs. Djukanovic was wearing sunglasses for some reason I could not figure out and had fallen back into the cushions of the sofa in a way that suggested she might be sleeping. Her mouth was open. Wanda was sitting on the floor, playing with what looked like a Barbie doll with no arms. She wore pink eyeglasses that had those thick magnifying lenses and they did make her look a little like a googly-eyed fish. Only Mr. Djukanovic was watching the television. He sat with a disconcerting alertness, holding the remote in his hand, pointed at the TV screen as if the minute the news didnât agree with him he would click it off.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, and when it became clear that my presenceâor if not presence, for I rarely feel present anywhere these days, my existenceâwas not likely to be acknowledged in any way, I cleared my throat, which is of course a terribly schoolmarmish thing to do, and
Â
The Djukanovics arrived about five oâclock, and despite the ice-cream social at the shelter, they seemed ready for supper. I showed them all to their rooms (there was only one little girl after all, named Wanda) and left them to settle in, which didnât take them long at all because by six oâclock they were sitting in the den, looking hungry. Mr. Djukanovic had put on the TV news without asking me if he might turn the TV on, which I thought was a bit presumptuous (maybe I didnât like the TV, or news, or something), but I was determined to be a gracious host. After all, it would only be a few days: the county was arranging to have those emergency mobile-home shelters set up behind the high school, and supposedly they were on their way from wherever they came from, from wherever the last disaster was.
The moment the Djukanovics pulled into the driveway, Robert had disappeared down into the basement, where he had lugged his leather-working equipment. Robert âtoolsâ leather belts and sells them through the website handtooledleatherbeltsbyrobert.com, which they helped him set up at the senior center. Theyâre always bringing young people in to teach seniors about technology and the Internet and what have you, and Robert is very keen on it. I stay out of it. I was disappointed by Robertâs subterranean defection, but I wasnât surprised, as he doesnât really interact with people anymore. He worked forty-five years as a car salesman and did very well for himself (and me too, for that matter) (and Alice), but he never really liked it and it didnât come naturally to him, and when he retired five years ago, he said he was never going to talk to anyone ever again. I donât think he included me and a few other people in this resolution, I think he meant he reserved the right to never again talk to anyone he didnât want to talk to, including, apparently, the Djukanovics.
So there they were in the den, listening to the TV news, or at least pretending to listen. Mrs. Djukanovic was wearing sunglasses for some reason I could not figure out and had fallen back into the cushions of the sofa in a way that suggested she might be sleeping. Her mouth was open. Wanda was sitting on the floor, playing with what looked like a Barbie doll with no arms. She wore pink eyeglasses that had those thick magnifying lenses and they did make her look a little like a googly-eyed fish. Only Mr. Djukanovic was watching the television. He sat with a disconcerting alertness, holding the remote in his hand, pointed at the TV screen as if the minute the news didnât agree with him he would click it off.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, and when it became clear that my presenceâor if not presence, for I rarely feel present anywhere these days, my existenceâwas not likely to be acknowledged in any way, I cleared my throat, which is of course a terribly schoolmarmish thing to do, and
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