As Good As Gone (9781616206000) Read Free Page B

of the refrigerator, Bill pushes aside the wedge of watermelon, the bowl of creamed cucumbers, the tinfoil-­covered tub of potato salad, and the half-­eaten ham—all items he returned to the racks only moments before. “I could have sworn I had another beer in here,” he says.
    â€œOne isn’t enough?” Marjorie asks. She knows her husband’s habits well; Bill drinks infrequently and seldom more than a single beer.
    â€œI spent part of the day in Calvin Sidey’s company,” Bill says, “in his oven of a home. So no, one’s not enough.” He means the remark as a joke, but it elicits no laughter. He gives up on the idea of a second beer and returns to his place at the kitchen table.
    Marjorie stands across the room from him, her arms crossed as if she feels a chill. That, of course, is impossible. Nightfall has not brought any relief from the day’s heat. “I just don’t understand.” She speaks so slowly even the last word comes out as two. “I thought when we talked about this before, we decided it wasn’t a good idea.”
    Only now does it register on Bill that his wife has dressed herself for the holiday. She’s wearing a sleeveless red bandanna blouse knotted at her midriff, blue pedal pushers, and white sneakers that might have been Ann’s. Her dark freshly curled hair has been combed out to frame her small, pretty heart-­shaped face. Yes, her pretty face, even when it’s darkened by a frown, as it is now.
    â€œI’ve reconsidered,” says Bill. “I think this will work. And to everyone’s benefit.”
    Marjorie crosses the room, pulls out a chair, and sits down wearily across from him. She takes off her glasses, and she rubs her eyes. When Bill told her of the arrangements he made for his father’s visit, she said nothing. But now she’s had time to worry over all the implications of her father-­in-­law’s visit.
    â€œYou
think
it will work? You want to trust the care of our children to a man they barely know, who barely knows them, a man who abandoned his own children . . .”
    Bill lights a cigarette, even though each one he’s smoked in the last few hours has left a bitter, dusty taste in his mouth. “Why is it, Marjorie, that I’ve been able to forgive my father and you haven’t? I was the one he left.”
    â€œMaybe because there are some things people shouldn’t be forgiven for.”
    â€œIs that,” Bill asks, “for us to decide?”
    For the moment, Bill holds the advantage. Marjorie’s religion teaches that it falls only to God to judge, and it’s a lesson she tries to obey. In consternation, she rubs her hand across the tabletop as though there are wrinkles in the Formica that could be smoothed out like a tablecloth.
    â€œBesides, it’s not just for the kids,” Bill says. “I think we’d both feel more comfortable knowing a man is in the house. But he knows the business too and probably better than Don or Tom. After all, Dad used to be in real estate.”
    â€œBut he’s not in the business anymore,” Marjorie quickly points out. “He’s a cowboy, an old cowboy who’s never shown the slightest interest in his grandchildren. Why would we leave Ann and Will in the care of a man who might walk off?”
    â€œThat happened once and under special circumstances, Marjorie. He deserves a second chance.”
    â€œA
chance
—do you hear what you’re saying? You want to take a chance with Ann and Will? And he’s had plenty of chances, hasn’t he? He didn’t have to leave, but he didn’t have to stay away either. He could have come back to you and Jeanette at any time.”
    â€œYou know as well as I do,” Bill says sternly, “what kept him away.”
    â€œEven grief has its limits.”
    â€œAnd I’m not talking about grief alone.”
    â€œYou’re so