felt a little reluctant to look there today, considering what had happened the last time she’d knocked on Magill’s door.
Actually, she hadn’t knocked; the door had been ajar, so she’d just pushed it open and taken a single step in. Magill, sitting at his desk, working at his computer—she thought—had jumped out of his chair like a man with a hotfoot, whirling around so fast he lost his balance and started flapping his arms, falling, falling, finally collapsing on top of his bed. What in the world —she’d started to go to him, then she’d processed the image on his computer screen: naked ladies, cheerleaders, having their way with a hairy, muscular, happy-looking young man in a locker room. She could tell they were cheerleaders because of the imaginative ways in which they were using their pom-poms. Magill’s horrified face made her giggle, but the action on his computer monitor made her blush. She mumbled something: “Oh, sorry, should’ve knocked,” and Magill, spread-eagle on the bed, picked up the pillow and dropped it on top of his head. She left.
So she approached his ground-floor room with caution now, but before she even got close she heard the stagy, unnatural rhythm of soap opera dialogue blaring through the closed door. Along with everything else, Magill’s hearing was supposed to have been affected by his skydiving accident. She knocked, waited. Knocked again louder.
He opened the door.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She could swear he looked guilty again. She started to back up, but then she saw Nana half sitting, half lying on his bed with her foot on a pillow, watching the small TV across the room. Holding a plastic glass in her hand.
“I only gave her a swallow, a thimbleful, I made it almost all 7 UP.”
Caddie came all the way in. The room smelled like cigarettes and booze. “You gave my grandmother a drink ?”
“A little Seagram’s, a spot. She saw me pouring it and asked if she could have some. What could I say?”
“No?” She wasn’t really upset, but he looked so defensive, she felt she ought to be. “I wish you hadn’t,” she said crisply, “it’ll only put her to sleep. And what if Brenda finds out?” Drinking was forbidden except on special occasions.
Magill reached around her and slammed the door. He had on regular clothes today, not sweats or pajamas, and his knee pads but no football helmet. He used the furniture for help getting across the room to the bed, first the desk, then the top of a chair. That probably didn’t have anything to do with alcohol, though; any fast movement could send him sprawling.
“Hey, Caddie,” Nana said, just noticing her. “Come over and sit. We’re watching our story.” She patted a place between her and Magill on the bed. “Zander just found out about the baby, what’s-her-name’s baby, this girl right here. What’s her name?”
“Laura,” Magill mumbled, sounding sheepish. He moved his legs reluctantly, and Caddie sat at the bottom of his rumpled bed. He and Nana lay side by side with their backs propped on pillows, cozy-looking, a couple of old pals.
“I didn’t know you two had a story.”
“This girl’s pregnant but she couldn’t tell Jason because she thought he loved the other one, Rachel,” Nana informed her. “Shh, listen.”
A slick, shiny, blue-black-haired, distraught young man in shirtsleeves and a vest was telling a blonde girl, “Laura, for the love of God, why didn’t you tell me? Darling, darling, did you think I’d be angry? Oh, sweetheart—”
Laura began to sob. Whenever anybody cried, in life or on screen, Caddie cried, too. She had to blink fast and swallow down a sympathetic lump when Zander and Laura embraced, both of them crying now in extreme close-ups, mashing their faces against each other, holding on so hard it looked painful. Stirring music swelled and a commercial came on.
“That’s not how it was when I told my boyfriend I was pregnant.”
Caddie reached for the remote
Actually, she hadn’t knocked; the door had been ajar, so she’d just pushed it open and taken a single step in. Magill, sitting at his desk, working at his computer—she thought—had jumped out of his chair like a man with a hotfoot, whirling around so fast he lost his balance and started flapping his arms, falling, falling, finally collapsing on top of his bed. What in the world —she’d started to go to him, then she’d processed the image on his computer screen: naked ladies, cheerleaders, having their way with a hairy, muscular, happy-looking young man in a locker room. She could tell they were cheerleaders because of the imaginative ways in which they were using their pom-poms. Magill’s horrified face made her giggle, but the action on his computer monitor made her blush. She mumbled something: “Oh, sorry, should’ve knocked,” and Magill, spread-eagle on the bed, picked up the pillow and dropped it on top of his head. She left.
So she approached his ground-floor room with caution now, but before she even got close she heard the stagy, unnatural rhythm of soap opera dialogue blaring through the closed door. Along with everything else, Magill’s hearing was supposed to have been affected by his skydiving accident. She knocked, waited. Knocked again louder.
He opened the door.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She could swear he looked guilty again. She started to back up, but then she saw Nana half sitting, half lying on his bed with her foot on a pillow, watching the small TV across the room. Holding a plastic glass in her hand.
“I only gave her a swallow, a thimbleful, I made it almost all 7 UP.”
Caddie came all the way in. The room smelled like cigarettes and booze. “You gave my grandmother a drink ?”
“A little Seagram’s, a spot. She saw me pouring it and asked if she could have some. What could I say?”
“No?” She wasn’t really upset, but he looked so defensive, she felt she ought to be. “I wish you hadn’t,” she said crisply, “it’ll only put her to sleep. And what if Brenda finds out?” Drinking was forbidden except on special occasions.
Magill reached around her and slammed the door. He had on regular clothes today, not sweats or pajamas, and his knee pads but no football helmet. He used the furniture for help getting across the room to the bed, first the desk, then the top of a chair. That probably didn’t have anything to do with alcohol, though; any fast movement could send him sprawling.
“Hey, Caddie,” Nana said, just noticing her. “Come over and sit. We’re watching our story.” She patted a place between her and Magill on the bed. “Zander just found out about the baby, what’s-her-name’s baby, this girl right here. What’s her name?”
“Laura,” Magill mumbled, sounding sheepish. He moved his legs reluctantly, and Caddie sat at the bottom of his rumpled bed. He and Nana lay side by side with their backs propped on pillows, cozy-looking, a couple of old pals.
“I didn’t know you two had a story.”
“This girl’s pregnant but she couldn’t tell Jason because she thought he loved the other one, Rachel,” Nana informed her. “Shh, listen.”
A slick, shiny, blue-black-haired, distraught young man in shirtsleeves and a vest was telling a blonde girl, “Laura, for the love of God, why didn’t you tell me? Darling, darling, did you think I’d be angry? Oh, sweetheart—”
Laura began to sob. Whenever anybody cried, in life or on screen, Caddie cried, too. She had to blink fast and swallow down a sympathetic lump when Zander and Laura embraced, both of them crying now in extreme close-ups, mashing their faces against each other, holding on so hard it looked painful. Stirring music swelled and a commercial came on.
“That’s not how it was when I told my boyfriend I was pregnant.”
Caddie reached for the remote
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