seventeen
In the morning I woke determined to spend some time with my mother. I lay on the couch, still groggy, working out the logistics. Susan could go off to FunnyFest alone, I supposed, and I could take the Caddy to the nursing home; maybe I’d bring Mom down to Washington Crossing, if they’d let me. This seemed like a plausible scheme, and afforded me the momentum to get up and rummage through the fridge for picnic elements. What I found was less food than archived material, so I pulled on the dishwashing gloves and began deaccessioning, lobbing each fungal mass into the trash bag until there were only unopened condiments left, inertly maturing in their glass cloisters. I sponged down the shelves, put on some pants and headed for the South Side Market, five or so blocks up the street. Their prices were insane, geared toward shoppers who would rather pay four dollars a pound for butter than wait in a checkout line with poor people, but I was driven, and charged it all to a crusty old credit card. I came back to the sound of the shower — Susan, I supposed, was up — and bustled around the kitchen making sandwiches and fresh iced tea.
The bathroom door opened, and footsteps came toward me down the hall. “Sleep well?” I called out.
It was Pierce standing there, his cheeks scrubbed raw and sunken like ruined vegetables. His voice came out quiet and cracked. “Fine, I guess.” He eyed the sandwiches.
“Do you want one?” I said.
He nodded. I took a sandwich out of its plastic bag and handed it to him. He took a little bite off the corner, then began tearing off huge chunks with his front teeth, as if he had just chased and killed it on the savanna. I watched him while I made another sandwich.
“Another?” I said. He swallowed the last bite, then shook his head no, so I bagged the fresh sandwich too. I gathered together my makeshift lunch and put it in a paper grocery sack, then slid it into the austere recesses of the fridge.
“Have you been eating?” I asked him.
“Mostly raisins.”
“Just raisins?”
He shrugged. “Other dried fruits, too.” He put one gently shaking hand on his stomach. Already his cheeks looked a little fuller, though that might have been my imagination. “Other things seemed poisoned, somehow. I’m a little worried about the sandwich.”
“How’d it taste?”
He nodded. “Good. Going on a picnic?”
“I thought I’d go visit Mom, maybe take her out to Wash Crossing.”
“Can I come?”
“Yeah, sure. Should I make you another sandwich? For lunch?”
He looked at the pile of ingredients, eating them with his eyes. “Would you?”
“Absolutely.”
He stuck out his hand, to steady himself against the counter. “I think I might lie down for a bit.”
“Maybe you ought to.”
He walked halfway across the living room before he stopped, his hands out at his sides like a dancer’s. “Tim?”
“Yeah?” His voice had the quality of a wax-cylinder recording, tremulous and faint.
“There’s somebody else in the house, man.”
“It’s my friend, Susan. My editor. Do you remember?”
“No.”
“She’s in town for the weekend. I told her to stay in my room. Is that okay?”
He made it the rest of the way to the couch, supporting himself with delicate gropings of the chair, the end table. “That’s cool, sure,” he said.
I sat down with him. We turned on the TV, but since it was Sunday there were only religious shows on. Pierce noticed the Family Funnies videotape lying out by the VCR. “Were you watching that?” he said.
“Yeah. Brad Wurster did the animation, you know. He’s the guy teaching me cartooning.”
He was silent for some time, touching his face lightly, like one might a lover’s. “I don’t think you ought to be doing this whole thing. You can stay here forever for all I care, in fact that would be really cool, but you should get some kind of job instead.”
I took a minute to let that sink in. “Do you have any reason for telling me that?” I said. “Because it’s really hard to pass up. It’s a lot of money.”
He snorted. “Money corrupts, bro,” he said, half-ironically. “And besides that, you won’t ever stop. And you’re too nice a guy to do it.”
Nice. The innocent chime of it filled me with gratitude. I reached out and touched his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his seat.
“Jesus!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I backed off a few inches, trying to stifle the urge to touch him again.
“It’s okay, but. Man alive.” He shuddered. I waited for him to get back on the subject of me and the strip, but he never did, only held himself against an ambient and imaginary chill. I heard movement in the hall.
“Hi,” Susan said. “Pierce. Remember me, Susan?”
He managed a smile. “I guess we never officially met.”
She extended a hand to be shaken, and I cringed, but Pierce took it gently. “Forgive my, you know, inhospitality. I’m coming off a spell.”
“Sorry.” She seemed not to be made uncomfortable by this, and I was relieved.
“Well, you know,” Pierce said.
There wasn’t much to talk about after that. I told Susan to help herself to breakfast — I had bought some cereal — and that Pierce and I were headed for the nursing home. “I can meet you back here at some point,” I said.
She nodded. “Well, okay,” she said, and headed for the kitchen. I felt like I had let her down, and didn’t know what to say. What were the rules for accommodating one’s editor-friend? I had no idea. I was baffled enough to want to cry.
In the Cadillac, Pierce said, “She’s cute.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Are you, you know?”
“No!” I paused to swerve around a dead animal. “I like her.”
“She’s cool.”
I half-turned to him. “What’s your girlfriend like?”
“She’s a witch,” he said.
“That’s not very kind of you.”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “She’s a witch. Like, a wiccan. Herbs and spells and shit. She lives in the Pines.”
I thought about the sand I’d seen on the floor of the Cadillac. It was still there now. “She’s a Piney? You’re dating a Piney witch?” A lot of people do not know that there is a giant forest in the middle of New Jersey, called the Pine Barrens. It’s all trees, sand and cranberry bogs, and is home to the cleanest natural water and most isolated people within five hundred miles.
“I wouldn’t call it dating,” Pierce said, but I could see he already thought he had said too much. I didn’t say anything more about it.
The first thing I noticed at the nursing home was Bobby’s car, parked at the far end of the lot, away from the other cars. I pointed it out to Pierce, and he nodded. “I forgot,” he said. “They come on Sundays. It’s like, their day.”
“They don’t like it when other people come? Does Rose come weekends?”
“Rose comes Tuesdays, I think. Mornings. Bitty during the week, but I don’t think lately.” He slumped in the seat. “I’m sure he’ll be pissed. Whatever.”
We found Bobby, Nancy and Samantha in my mother’s room, sitting in a small row of identical aluminum chairs. Nobody was saying anything, and my mother’s eyes were closed. Everyone but Mom turned when we entered. “Hi,” I said to them and grinned to show that I meant it.
Bobby stood up. “This is unexpected,” he said. He looked weary. The ruddy plumpness that usually came off as healthy now seemed like the result of some sort of infection, as though his thick skin was going to slough right off.
My mother’s eyes were open now. “Well. Is this a party?”
“Hey, Mom,” I said. She squinted at me. As far as I knew, nothing was wrong with her eyesight.