Things You Should Know by A. M. Homes Page A

By the side of the bed is a book of stories, an empty water glass, and an old alarm clock, ticking loudly.
    â€œCan I help you?”
    Ray is in the room. She doesn’t know how he got there, how he got down the stairs without a sound.
    â€œI was just looking for a book,” she says.
    â€œWhat book?”
    She blushes as though this were a quiz. “Robinson Crusoe.” She knows it is a book her brother had, a book they used to look at as children.
    He takes the book from the shelf and hands it to her.
    She sneezes. “Cat,” she says.
    â€œBless you,” he says. “You’ll excuse me,” he says, edging her out of the room. “I want to refresh myself before dinner.”
    In the downstairs bathroom, each of his personal effects is arranged in a tight row on top of a folded towel—tooth-brush, comb, nail clippers.
    The cat’s litter box is in the corner. There are four little lumps in it, shit rolled in litter, dirt balls dusted in ash.
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    Her mother sits at the table. “I haven’t had chow mein since Aunt Lena used to make it with leftover soup chicken.”
    There is the scrape of a matchstick. Ray lights two tall tapers.
    â€œEvery night we have candles,” her father says. “Ray makes the effort.”
    Ray has changed his clothes, he’s wearing an orange silk shirt, he seems to radiate light. “From the Goodwill,” he says, seeming to know what she is thinking. “It must have been a costume. In the back of the neck, in black marker, it’s written—‘Lear.’”
    â€œI’m tasting something delicious,” her mother says, working the flavors in her mouth. “Ginger, soy, oh, and baby corn. Where did you find fresh baby corn?”
    She has something to say about everything. “Such sharp greens. Olives, what an idea, so Greek. The color of this pepper is fabulous. Red food is very good for you, high in something.” She gobbles. “Eating is such a pleasure when you don’t have to cook.”
    â€œDid you take care of your errands?” her father asks Ray.
    â€œYes, thank you,” Ray says. “Every now and then it helps to use a car. I filled it with gas.”
    â€œYou didn’t need to.”
    â€œAnd I put a quart of oil in. I also checked the tires; your right rear was down a little.”
    â€œThanks, Ray.”
    She hates him. She absolutely hates him. He is too good. How does a person get to be so good? She wishes she could get behind it, she wishes she could think he was as wonderful as he seems. But she doesn’t trust him for a minute.
    â€œMore,” her mother says, holding her plate up for seconds. “What’s the matter—you’re not eating?”
    She shakes her head. If Ray is poisoning them, putting a little bit of who knows what into the food, she wants none of it. “Not hungry.”
    â€œI thought you said you were starving.”
    She doesn’t answer.
    â€œWhite rice and brown,” her mother says. “Ray is kinder than I could ever be. I would never make two rices.”
    â€œTwo rices make two people happy—that’s easy,” Ray says.
    Her mother eats and then gets up from the table, letting her napkin fall into her plate. “That was wonderful—divine.” She walks out of the room.
    It takes her father longer to finish. “Great, Ray, really great.” He helps clear the table.
    She is left alone with Ray.
    â€œMarriage is a difficult thing,” Ray says without warning. She wonders whom he is talking about and if he knowsmore. “I was married once.” He hands her a pot to dry. “Attachment to broken things is not good for the self.”
    â€œIs that where you got to be such a good cook? You’re really something, a regular Galloping Gourmet.”
    â€œTo feed yourself well is a strong skill.” He speaks as though talking in translation.
    â€œWhere are you