Ernie's Ark by Monica Wood

Author:Monica Wood [Wood, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: United States, Northeast, Community Life, Abbott Falls, New England, Short Stories (Single Author), General, Literary, Fiction, Short Stories, Travel, Social Interaction
ISBN: 9780345477163
Google: k_ca1tekK6cC
Amazon: 0345477162
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2002-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Visitors

James Whitten, software consultant

When James arrived at Karen’s new apartment, he could not help but note how young she looked, how honeyed and golden, as if to prove her contention that divorcing a man like James Whitten would take years off a sane woman’s face.

“What do you want?” she asked, politely enough.

“My mother died.”

The sweet folds near her mouth softened, making her look, suddenly, her age, which was forty-five, two years older than he was. “Oh,” she sighed, letting him in. “I’m sorry, Jamie. When?”

“Last night,” he said, moving into the polished light of Karen’s bay window, from which he could just make out the artful curve of the Golden Gate Bridge. “My father called me.”

She guided him to a chair, then sat across from him, knee to knee. “Your mother was a brave woman.”

“I bought two plane tickets,” he said. “I was hoping you’d come with me.”

“Of course I’ll come,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

“Because you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Jamie,” she said gently. “It’s just that I’m not suffering as much as we thought I would.” She lifted her head. “Did you think to call Carrie?”

He said nothing.

Karen swiped a hand through her hair—recently shorn, boyish and sexy—a gesture he recognized as irritation. “Do you even have her number?”

“An old one,” he said. “Who the hell can keep track?”

“I’ll call,” Karen said, getting up. She whisked into the bedroom, where he overheard enough to reassure himself that despite her denials, Karen shared his disgust at their daughter’s latest caper: singing in some Alaskan bar with her smug, prettyboy, guitar-smashing boyfriend. He went to the doorway of her bedroom, where she was just hanging up. “She claims she’ll call her grandfather,” Karen said, “but she won’t.” She flicked the briefest glance at James—chip off the old block—then hauled a suitcase out of the closet and threw it on the bed.

“There’s something you should know,” he said.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. “Let me guess,” she said, her lips drawing into a predictable line. “You didn’t tell them about the divorce.”

He shook his head.

“And I suppose you were thinking, Good old Karen, she’ll come to the funeral, make everything comfy, and then drop an oh-by-the-way as we’re getting back on the plane.”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

She snapped open the suitcase and dropped some underwear inside. “You said you’d tell them, Jamie.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He looked at the floor. He’d been hoping for a little more in the way of sympathy. “What difference does it make?” he asked. “You would have come anyway.”

“Not as your wife.”

“Technically, you still are,” he said.

Her eyes held him evenly. “Ten more days.”

He lifted his arms, a gesture reminiscent of a thief showing his empty pockets. “You were her daughter-in-law for nineteen years, Karen,” he said, fearful that she might change her mind. “You ought to be there.”

She stood up, her leggings bunched at the knees, making her look like a child at a parade. “Yes,” she quavered. “You bet I ought to be there.

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