The Prize by Jill Bialosky

Author:Jill Bialosky [Bialosky, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781619026551
Publisher: Counterpoint

18 CONNECTICUT

HE FOUND HER in the game room, smaller than in his memory, playing cards with a group of other residents before dinner.

“Edward,” she said, happy to see him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.” She turned her cheek for his kiss and introduced him to the others at the table. “The snow’s supposed to get worse. Was it snowing when you drove in, darling?”

“Not too bad yet.” It was the first snowfall of the season.

Rising unsteadily, and more slowly, she reached for her cane. He hadn’t noticed it before. He held her arm and led her to the sitting room, which smelled of decaying fruit. On the sofa an elderly man slept sitting up with his mouth open. A woman in a wheelchair stared into the fireplace. This is what the end looks like, he thought. They found two empty overstuffed chairs in a corner of the room. The afternoon light slowly faded from the window.

“Get us some tea, darling.” She pointed to a narrow table near the entrance to the room where tea was set out for the residents.

She was small and neatly groomed, dressed in a plaid wool skirt, blouse, and cashmere sweater, a Kleenex tucked into her sleeve. He leaned over to hand her a cup of tea. A musty smell rose off her sweater. Sipping her tea, she ran her eyes along him as she had when he was a boy, remarking if his hair was too long, or a pimple was on his chin. She never missed a beat. When he was a boy she was happiest, his father was happy too—Sundays in the park, walking to school, his father on one side of him, his mother on the other, each holding one of his hands, their long car rides to the city to see a concert or go to a museum.

“How are you?” He unbuttoned his jacket, reluctant to take it off.

“I’m fine, darling. And you? You look tired.” She brushed her hand across his temple. “You’re not giving Holly any trouble?”

He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Maybe a little.”

“And my granddaughter?”

“Growing up. Almost sixteen.”

She smiled and smoothed her skirt over her lap. “I’m knitting her a sweater for Christmas.” He glanced at his mother’s hands. Blue cordlike veins, blotches of age spots. The flesh had fallen off her bones. They’d have to eventually cut off her wedding band, he thought morbidly; it was trapped beneath an arthritic knuckle the size of a garlic bulb.

“Your father didn’t get to see you become a man, and look at you now. You look so handsome, darling. And your work is going so well.” She spoke to him as if he were still her little boy. Her eyes shifted to the wall above him and then filled with tears.

“Always in that dusty study like some nocturnal creature.” She shook her head. “I used to wonder what he’d be like if he spent more time with us.”

Edward remembered coming home to his mother in the kitchen preparing supper or doing laundry, one day indistinguishable from the next.

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