Wildlife by Richard Ford Page B

look into all of Warren’s drawers in there?’ my mother said, smiling and fanning herself. Her voice was still deep. ‘You’ll find out his secrets. I’m sure he has a lot of them.’
    ‘None that I wouldn’t share with him,’ Warren said. He had unbuttoned his top shirt button and was sweating under his arms.
    ‘When Joe’s father and I first married,’ my mother said, ‘I rented a sailor costume and did a little cute tap dance when he got home from teaching golf. It was an anniversary present. He loved it. Something made me think of that just now.’
    ‘I bet he did. I bet that was nice.’ Warren took his glasses off and wiped them with his napkin, then dabbed his eyeswith it. His face looked larger without his glasses and whiter. ‘Your mother’s a very passionate dancer, you know that, Joe?’
    ‘He means I’ll go till I drop,’ my mother said. ‘It’s hot as fire in this house, of course. Anybody’d drop dead.’ My mother looked at me as if she’d just noticed me for the first time since I came back into the room. ‘What would you like to do now, sweetheart?’ she said. ‘I’m sure we’re just boring you to death. At least I’m sure
I
am.’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re not. I’m not bored.’
    ‘Do you know how Warren injured his leg,’ my mother asked. She pulled a strand of damp hair away from her forehead and fanned her face some more.
    ‘No,’ I said, and I sat down where I’d been sitting at the dinner table, beside Warren Miller.
    ‘Well, would you care to?’ she said.
    ‘I guess so,’ I said.
    ‘Well. He was hit from behind by a big roll of barbed wire when he was wading across the Smith River up to his rear end. Isn’t that right, Warren? It was underwater, and you didn’t see it coming. Is that what you said?’
    ‘That’s right,’ Warren Miller said. He looked a little uncomfortable at my mother’s telling this.
    ‘And the lesson is what?’ My mother smiled. ‘Warren seems to think we need to learn a lesson from everything. The world should keep it in mind.’
    ‘Something’s always up there that can take you away,’ Warren Miller said, seated at the dinner table, his big legs crossed in front of him.
    ‘Or not,’ my mother said.
    ‘Or not–that’s right, too,’ Warren said, and smiled at my mother. He liked her. I could tell that was true.
    ‘Joe and I have to go home now, Warren,’ my mother said, and she stood up. ‘I’m irritable all of a sudden and Joe’s bored.’
    ‘I had hopes you’d stay all night,’ Warren Miller said, hishands on his knees, smiling. ‘It’s gotten colder. And you’re drunk.’
    ‘I
am
drunk,’ my mother said. She looked at the old piano behind her, and set the music down on the little stand. ‘That’s not a crime yet, is it?’ She looked at me. ‘Did you know Warren could play the piano, sweetheart? He’s very talented. You should be like him.’
    ‘There’s another bedroom,’ Warren Miller said, and pointed to the other room, where the light was on and the foot of another bed was visible.
    ‘I never intended to stay here all night,’ my mother said. She looked around the little living room as if she was looking for a coat to wear outside. ‘Joe’s a very good driver. His father taught him.’
    ‘You have to put something on,’ Warren Miller said. He stood up and went limping off into the other bedroom, the one I hadn’t been in.
    ‘Warren’s going to give me one of his wife’s wraps, I believe,’ my mother said, and looked annoyed. ‘You don’t mind driving, do you? I’m sorry. I am drunk.’
    ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind.’
    ‘Combat experience,’ my mother said. ‘That’s what my mother used to call it when my father would get drunk and roar in and start making demands. You’ll get a big promotion someday. Which is to say, you’ll be grown up and can leave.’
    Warren Miller limped back into the room, holding a man’s brown coat. ‘This’ll do a good