She leaned against the side of the house, hugging her stole around her and staring out at the horizon. Where the sea and sky should have met, there was a gray impenetrable mass of fog between them. She dreaded the time when this mass would begin to move because nothing, no one, could stop it. The sea would disappear, then the beaches, the foothills, the mountains. Streets would be separated from streets, houses from houses, people from people. Everyone would be alone except the women with a baby growing inside them. She saw them nearly every day in stores, on corners, getting into cars. She hated and envied the soft, confident glow in their eyes as if they knew no fog could ever be thick enough to make them feel alone.
Howard was watching her. “Let me get you a sweater, Virginia.”
“No, thank you.”
“You look cold.”
“It’s just nerves.”
They crossed the lawn and the concrete driveway and Ellen’s experimental patch of dichondra with a Keep Off sign in the middle. From the beginning, neither the dichondra nor the sign had stood much of a chance. The sign had been bumped or kicked or blown to a 45° angle, and between the dichondra plants were the marks of bicycle tires and children’s sneakers. The sneaker marks were about the size that Jessie would make, and Virginia had an impulse to lean down and push some dirt over them with her hand so that Jessie wouldn’t be blamed. But she realized she couldn’t do such a thing in front of Howard; it would only aggravate his jealousy of the child. So, instead, she stepped off the flagstone path into the dichondra patch, putting her feet deliberately over the imprints of Jessie’s.
Howard opened his mouth to say something but he didn’t have time. Mike was coming out of the gate of the patio fence, carrying some fishing tackle, a windbreaker, and three hamburgers still steaming from the grill.
Mike grinned at Howard and Virginia but there was impatience behind the grin, as though he suspected they would try to keep him there talking when he had other and more interesting things to do.
Howard said formally, “Good evening, Michael.”
“Oh hi, Mr. Arlington, Mrs. Arlington. If you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got some of the gang waiting for me. We’re going fishing at two o’clock in the morning.”
“That’s pretty early even for fish, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure whether fish sleep or not.”
“I’m not, either. Well, good luck anyway.”
“Thanks, Mr. Arlington. So long.”
Virginia hadn’t spoken. She was still standing in the dichondra patch looking vague and a little puzzled, as if she was wondering how she got there, and whether fish slept or not. Her high heels were sinking further and further into the ground like the roots of a tree seeking nourishment and moisture. For a moment she imagined that she was a tree, growing deeper, growing taller, putting out new leaves and blossoms, dropping fertile seeds into the earth.
Then Howard grasped her by the arm and it was an arm, not a branch, and it would never grow anything but old.
“For heaven’s sake, what are you doing, Virginia?”
“Would you really like to know?”
“Yes.”
She let out a brief, brittle laugh. “I’m pretending to be a tree.”
“You’re acting very peculiar tonight.”
“I’m a very peculiar woman. Hadn’t you noticed that before, Howard? Surely those sharp eyes of yours couldn’t miss anything so obvious. I’m not like other women, I’m a freak. There’s something missing in me.”
“Take my hand and I’ll help you out of there.”
“I don’t want to get out. I like being a tree.”
“Stop playing games. Are you going to let me help you?”
“No.”
“All right.” Without further argument he picked her up and lifted her out of the dichondra patch. He had to exert all his strength to do it because she’d made herself limp — arms, legs, waist, neck. “O.K., tree, you’ve just been uprooted.”
“Damn you. Damn you.”
“That’s better. Now suppose we go inside and you can start pretending you’re a person.” He opened the gate for her. “Coming?”
“I have no choice.”
“You’d have even less choice if you were a tree.”
They went into the patio and Howard closed the gate behind them with unnecessary force. The loud bang seemed to Virginia to be a warning, like a shot fired over her head.
“Come in, come in,” Dave said. “Welcome to Brants’ Beanery.”
He was standing at the barbecue grill wearing an apron over his Bermuda shorts and T-shirt, and drinking a can of beer. Ellen sat barefoot at the redwood picnic table, slicing an onion. Neither of them looked as though they expected company or particularly wanted any.
Even though Virginia had known this was how it was going to be, she felt a stab of resentment, aggravated by a feeling, a hangover from her childhood, that she was the one who was wrong, and no matter how hard she tried, she always would be. She had spent an hour dressing and fixing her hair but Dave didn’t even look at her. He had opened a can of beer for Howard and the two men were already deep in conversation, one on each side of the barbecue pit.
Virginia sat down beside Ellen. “Anything I can do to help?”
“It’s all done, thanks. I wouldn’t allow you to touch a thing in that dress, anyway. I’d feel so guilty if you spilled something on it. It’s simply gorgeous.”
Virginia had to take it as a compliment but she knew it wasn’t. Ellen’s voice was too objective, as though the dress had nothing to do with Virginia personally; a gorgeous dress was a gorgeous dress and it didn’t matter who wore it or who owned it.
“It’s not new,” Virginia said. “I mean, it’s just been lying around.” For a whole week it had been lying around, waiting for an occasion. Now the occasion had arrived, hamburger and onions and baked beans in the next-door neighbors’ backyard. She thought wildly and irrationally, damn you, Howard. You didn’t have to bring me here.
“I thought perhaps it was the one you bought last week at Corwin’s,” Ellen said. “You told me about it.”
“No, no, I took that back. I’ve had this dress since — well, since before you even moved here. That seems ages ago, doesn’t it? I feel so close to you and Dave and Mike and, of course, Jessie.” She glanced hastily in Howard’s direction to make sure he hadn’t overheard the name. He was still engrossed in his conversation with Dave. “Where is Jessie?”
“In the front room watching television.”
“I’ll go in and say hello. I have a little something for her.”
“Virginia, you shouldn’t, you’ll—”
“It’s nothing at all, really, just a piece of junk jewelry. I saw it in a store window this afternoon and I thought Jessie would like it.”
“She’s too young to wear jewelry.”
“It’s only a small ring with an imitation pearl. I had one exactly like it when I was six years old. I remember it so clearly. My hands grew too fast and it had to be filed off.”
“It won’t have to be filed off Jessie,” Ellen said dryly. “She’ll lose it within a week.”
“Then you don’t mind if I give it to her?”
“I suppose not.”
Virginia rose and crossed the patio, moving with unaccustomed agility as though she wanted to get away before she could be called back.
Jessie was curled up in a corner of the davenport, her chin resting on her knees, her arms hugging her legs. Her eyes widened a little when she saw Virginia in the doorway but it was the only sign of recognition she gave.
“Hello, Jessie.” Virginia went over to the television set. “May I turn this down a minute?”
“I... yes, I guess.”