No one answers. Pete moves over to Charles. “That’s the idea, right?” he says.
“Right,” Charles says.
“Maybe we should let her get some rest,” Susan says.
“Rest those feet,” Pete says, patting them under the covers. “Those feet are going to twirl you around the floor at the convention.”
“I’ve never been to a convention,” she says.
“Three weeks!” Pete says. “There are probably art galleries in Chicago. We can hit the pictures there, too.”
“I don’t know. I try to read books, but I never get through them.”
“Just read the section on that artist you like,” Pete says.
“What artist do I like?”
“You were talking about some artist.…”
“I said I never saw a painting of his that I liked, Pete.”
“Well, you will in Chicago,” Pete says. He grabs her foot and shakes it.
“See you tomorrow, honey,” he says.
“I guess so,” she says. “Where’s my Susan’s hand?”
Susan goes back to the bed and holds her mother’s hand.
“Good-bye,” Clara says.
“Rest,” Susan says, patting her hand.
“I might not go to the convention,” Clara says. “I might stay home and rest.”
Pete’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything. He smiles a big smile.
“See you tomorrow,” he says.
“Where’s my Charles?” she says.
“Oh, shit,” Charles says, loud enough for Pete to hear. He walks to his mother’s bed and gives her his hand.
“You were my first baby,” she says. “I guess that doesn’t matter to you, but it matters to me.”
“What do you mean?” Charles says, but her eyes are closed and she doesn’t answer. Deliberately. She wants them to leave thinking that she is still ill.
Charles tells Pete as they wait for the elevator that he and Susan are very tired — otherwise they’d enjoy that drink with him.
“You don’t like me,” Pete says. “I didn’t kill your father. He just died.”
The woman knitting in the sun room waves. Charles waves back. He looks at the phone. Two o’clock tomorrow.
“We’re just not very much alike,” Charles says.
Pete looks surprised; he expected some other answer. He pushes the “down” button again, straightens his coat collar.
“You’re not coming to dinner either, are you?” Pete says.
“Yes we are,” Susan says.
Pete smiles. “Ah!” he says. “That’s good. We’ll have a turkey.” He turns to Charles. Charles can’t bear to refuse.
“Sure,” Charles says.
“What could I get that you would like?” Pete says.
Charles feels sorry for him. He remembers him dancing in the room, remembers Pete refusing to sign his report card when he got a “B” in conduct, how he had to stay after school every day for a week, until the teacher gave up, because of the unsigned report card.
“Olives,” Charles says.
“Olives!” Pete says. “Any special kind?”
“Just regular olives,” Charles says.
“They come in jars with big ones or the small kind,” Pete says.
Charles does not like olives. Olives were one of the things Jim’s first wife always asked to have brought to her. She would eat olives with Tootsie Rolls, and then drink grape soda. The foods Laura named made a great impression on Charles; he has trouble forgetting them.
“The big ones,” Charles says.
“Big ones. I hope they can be found,” Pete says, pushing the “down” button again. Pete talks about things tirelessly. The woman waves to Charles again. He pretends not to see.
“We should have olives and celery and all the trimmings,” Pete says. “You know, Mommy wasn’t up to cooking at Christmas, but she’s up to it now. She’ll be dancing around that kitchen.”
“I’ll come cook it,” Susan says.
“That’s very nice of you,” Pete says.
Laura is baking bread. She is probably not still baking. It is probably out of the oven. The Ox is probably eating it. Charles is hungry; he would like some of that bread. More than that, he would like that dessert. More than that, he would like Laura.
“Kids dance nowadays, don’t they?” Pete says, riding down in the elevator.
“Not much,” Susan says. “Nobody does much of anything any more. I don’t even think there are many drugs on campus.”
“I should hope not,” Pete says.
“Well,” Charles says. “We’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Right,” Pete says. “Where are you parked?”
“To the left,” Charles says.
“Me too,” Pete says.
As they walk down the street, Pete says, “How’s the car holding out?”
“It runs okay. Uses a lot of gas.”
“If you ever want a good car wax, let me recommend Turtle Wax,” Pete says. “That’s really the stuff.”
“I’ll remember that,” Charles says.
“No you won’t,” Pete says.
“Turtle Wax,” Charles repeats, not wanting to have to hear again that he doesn’t like Pete.
“You don’t like me a damn,” Pete says. “But it’ll be good to have you to dinner all the same.”
There is an awkward moment when they reach Charles’s car.
“Headed home?” Pete says.
“Yeah. We’ll see you.”
“I guess I’m headed there,” Pete says, shrugging his shoulder toward a bar.
“Well, we’ll see you,” Susan says.
Pete nods his head. “See you,” he says.
“Poor Pete,” Susan says in the car.
“Nobody told him to marry her.”
“She did. She told me that once. She told him that if he was going to come over all the time, he should marry her.”
“Well, that should have told him,” Charles says.
“I feel sorry for him,” she says.
“Your friend left,” he says. “I forgot to tell you.”
“She didn’t have a good time, I guess.”
“What do you care? She’s just some girl on your floor.”
“Yeah,” Susan says. “She might have had a good time with Sam.”
“I don’t care if she had a good time or not,” Charles says.
“Sam’s really something,” Susan says. “Is he still selling clothes?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe we could ask him to dinner at Pete’s place,” Susan says.
“He wouldn’t come.”
“How do you know?”
“He doesn’t like Pete.”
“Does he know him?”
“We ran into him once in a hardware store. We were there to get a hammer for Sam. Pete got onto a thing about ‘security systems’—how Sam owed it to himself to install ‘a high-power security system.’ He ran around pointing out locks and bolts. You know — Sam hasn’t got anything anybody would bother to steal. He thought Pete was a jackass.”
“You’re the one who always says that. Sam probably didn’t say anything like that.”
“He said, ‘What a goon.’ ”
“Maybe he’d go to dinner anyway. You’d like him there.”
“Sure I would. I’d like to put him through that.”
“He came before.”
“That was when she was a lot better. The last time he came, her dress kept slipping off her at the table, and he was humiliated. You remember. You were there, weren’t you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Sure. It was just before you started college. Pete was in Chicago. She kept saying, ‘One of my men might be gone, but I have two others.’ Sam was humiliated.”
Susan combs her hair. She leaves her black mittens on, and Charles thinks that she looks like some weird animal with big paws. She’s a nice sister. He wishes he could think of something to do with her.
“If you stop at a store, I’ll buy something to fix for dinner,” she says.
“You feel like fixing dinner?”