sip.
“It’s like you started speaking French,” Elyse said.
“How’s this?” Isobel said. “We can get Benny to do real work now. Stuff that will make a difference, like the wiring.”
“That’s worthy of a celebration,” Elyse said.
Isobel folded the paperwork into a square and put it in her pocket. She looked at T. J. and narrowed her eyes. “Why do this in person? Seems like the sort of news that goes through the postal service.”
“I thought if we talked in person, I might convince you to go on that date I keep asking about,” T. J. said, setting his cup on the table, and looking at Lizzie. “You know it took me all weekend to get up the nerve to knock on that door? I drove by on Friday and couldn’t even get out of the car. On Saturday I made it up to the top of the stairs before I turned around.”
“Date,” Lizzie echoed.
In a rush, as if he’d prepared a speech, T. J. began to apologize for his behavior when they first met and told Lizzie that afterward he felt bad, like he’d kicked a puppy. He kept seeing her in the hallway dressed up in her grandmother’s clothing and how, instead of looking vulnerable, she looked determined. “The difference between the possible and the impossible is a person’s determination,” he said as if it were a closing statement.
Elyse laughed. “Are you asking her out?”
“Of course he is,” Isobel said. “And I’m sure she’d love to, wouldn’t you?”
Lizzie had lost track of the conversation, but without knowing why, the no that had started to form on her lips changed to a yes when she looked into T. J.’s eyes. They agreed to brunch the following Sunday, and then he left with their coffee mug, one of Elyse’s cranberry-orange muffins, and Lizzie’s interest.
As February closed in on March, Lizzie watched Benny from the safety of the house. She brought boxes of Grandma Mellie’s possessions into the kitchen and sorted through the crap. From what Lizzie observed, Benny didn’t work. He supervised. In the empty lot next to the house, which he referred to as the staging area, he’d parked a half-size recreational vehicle and plastered a vinyl sign to its side that read LaRusso Construction. Each morning he arrived with four or five day laborers in the back of his orange truck, gave them directions in Spanish so rudimentary that Lizzie wondered if he’d learned it from watching Sesame Street , and then shut himself inside the RV. He’d come out at lunch to check on the progress and then again before quitting time.
Isobel didn’t like him. When she was home, she shadowed his workers, pointing out their flaws directly to them. More than once she stormed over to Benny’s camper-cum-office to complain, and afterward he’d meekly asked Lizzie to help Isobel be a little less hands-on. Elyse, on the other hand, had let her interest in Benny and his stories develop into a near obsession. It was if she were cataloging his life. To what purpose, Lizzie couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t sexual and it wasn’t fatherly. If it weren’t so improbable, she’d say they’d become friends.
The last Thursday of the month, as Benny was giving his day’s report, Elyse arrived home with a small bag of groceries and announced her intention of trying to use the cast-iron waffle maker. “Breakfast for dinner,” she said and then greeted Benny with a kiss on the cheek. He spoke in low whispers to Elyse, who covered her mouth like a schoolgirl to laugh. The giggling unnerved Lizzie. She clapped Benny on the back and told him to go home before his workers demanded overtime.
Elyse sighed watching Benny leave. She opened the fridge and talked about the recipes she’d been finding tucked away inside Grandma Mellie’s kitchen. “Time stopped around here,” she said, taking out a can of lard. The effort Elyse put into food puzzled Lizzie, who saw meals merely as fuel for what her body needed to accomplish on any given day; and then there was Isobel, who after
“It’s like you started speaking French,” Elyse said.
“How’s this?” Isobel said. “We can get Benny to do real work now. Stuff that will make a difference, like the wiring.”
“That’s worthy of a celebration,” Elyse said.
Isobel folded the paperwork into a square and put it in her pocket. She looked at T. J. and narrowed her eyes. “Why do this in person? Seems like the sort of news that goes through the postal service.”
“I thought if we talked in person, I might convince you to go on that date I keep asking about,” T. J. said, setting his cup on the table, and looking at Lizzie. “You know it took me all weekend to get up the nerve to knock on that door? I drove by on Friday and couldn’t even get out of the car. On Saturday I made it up to the top of the stairs before I turned around.”
“Date,” Lizzie echoed.
In a rush, as if he’d prepared a speech, T. J. began to apologize for his behavior when they first met and told Lizzie that afterward he felt bad, like he’d kicked a puppy. He kept seeing her in the hallway dressed up in her grandmother’s clothing and how, instead of looking vulnerable, she looked determined. “The difference between the possible and the impossible is a person’s determination,” he said as if it were a closing statement.
Elyse laughed. “Are you asking her out?”
“Of course he is,” Isobel said. “And I’m sure she’d love to, wouldn’t you?”
Lizzie had lost track of the conversation, but without knowing why, the no that had started to form on her lips changed to a yes when she looked into T. J.’s eyes. They agreed to brunch the following Sunday, and then he left with their coffee mug, one of Elyse’s cranberry-orange muffins, and Lizzie’s interest.
As February closed in on March, Lizzie watched Benny from the safety of the house. She brought boxes of Grandma Mellie’s possessions into the kitchen and sorted through the crap. From what Lizzie observed, Benny didn’t work. He supervised. In the empty lot next to the house, which he referred to as the staging area, he’d parked a half-size recreational vehicle and plastered a vinyl sign to its side that read LaRusso Construction. Each morning he arrived with four or five day laborers in the back of his orange truck, gave them directions in Spanish so rudimentary that Lizzie wondered if he’d learned it from watching Sesame Street , and then shut himself inside the RV. He’d come out at lunch to check on the progress and then again before quitting time.
Isobel didn’t like him. When she was home, she shadowed his workers, pointing out their flaws directly to them. More than once she stormed over to Benny’s camper-cum-office to complain, and afterward he’d meekly asked Lizzie to help Isobel be a little less hands-on. Elyse, on the other hand, had let her interest in Benny and his stories develop into a near obsession. It was if she were cataloging his life. To what purpose, Lizzie couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t sexual and it wasn’t fatherly. If it weren’t so improbable, she’d say they’d become friends.
The last Thursday of the month, as Benny was giving his day’s report, Elyse arrived home with a small bag of groceries and announced her intention of trying to use the cast-iron waffle maker. “Breakfast for dinner,” she said and then greeted Benny with a kiss on the cheek. He spoke in low whispers to Elyse, who covered her mouth like a schoolgirl to laugh. The giggling unnerved Lizzie. She clapped Benny on the back and told him to go home before his workers demanded overtime.
Elyse sighed watching Benny leave. She opened the fridge and talked about the recipes she’d been finding tucked away inside Grandma Mellie’s kitchen. “Time stopped around here,” she said, taking out a can of lard. The effort Elyse put into food puzzled Lizzie, who saw meals merely as fuel for what her body needed to accomplish on any given day; and then there was Isobel, who after
Similar Books
