Waveland by Frederick Barthelme

Author:Frederick Barthelme
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Divorced People, Gulf Coast (Miss.), Family Life, Fiction, Literary, Triangles (Interpersonal Relations), Roommates, General, Domestic Fiction
ISBN: 0307390934
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 2009-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

12

Ten days sailed by with minimum incident. Gail was missing in action a couple of nights, one overnight, but there were no visible wounds; and so, during this period, the three of them were a happy, if elaborated, family. They sat on the deck and watched ducks in the evenings. The third or fourth time they convened on the deck there were dozens of ducks about, maybe two dozen, squawking and running after one another in the grass at lake's edge. There were five swans—two full grown, white, and three that were younger, leggy and still gray. It was late afternoon.

“Are these swans doing the right thing?” Greta asked. “Is this the right time of year for them to have these babies?”

“They're late,” Gail said. “Maybe a month, maybe two, seems like.”

Vaughn had in mind the duck scene from the first season of The Sopranos. Tony by the pool, dreaming of another life. He had no idea about Greta. He never knew what she was thinking anyway. She was probably thinking about poisoning him the way women poisoned men on Court TV. Or maybe she was thinking about swans—how they're made, why they have those feet, what are feathers? It would be like Greta to look it up in the wildlife book her husband had given her.

Vaughn said, “You have that bird book. You could look it up.”

“What, Bo's bird book? How do you know about that?”

“Saw it at your house,” he said. “One day. You weren't there. It's inscribed.”

“I know that,” Greta said. “What, do I look like I'm pining away for Bo here? Not on your life. I'm Lucky Girl.”

“Annie Oakley,” Gail said. Then she looked up, caught the expression on Greta's face. “Just kidding,” Gail said. “Joking around.”

“Don't you start, too,” Greta said.

“Too?”

“Yeah. Your husband has the morbid curiosity blues every once in a while.”

“He's not my husband,” Gail said.

“Right. Sometimes I forget, you know?” She turned back to Vaughn. “I just don't picture you creeping around the house going through my things.”

“Ease up, will you? I pulled a book out of a bookcase.”

Greta waggled her hand. “You're right. Sorry. Just caught me by surprise. And I am lucky, after what happened to Gisele—her face, all that. I could be Girl With One Eye, but instead here I am with you, watching these ducks.”

Gail said, “They come because of the lake. If we didn't have the lake we wouldn't have the ducks.”

“That's right, honey,” Greta said.

“So he did that to her on purpose?” Vaughn said. “Ran her into that building or whatever it was?”

“It was a garage,” Greta said. “And, yes. He was a bastard.”

This was typical Greta-talk. Passing reference to the trouble she'd seen. Sometimes it was drug-related, her life on the lam in Los Angeles years before, skittering across town in the middle of the night in skimpy garments after being tossed out of a moving car by her husband, Bo, who was at that time a lowlife hanger-on in the screenwriting business. Her story

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