Chapter 19 Peggy
Quiet days and cold, quiet nights where I have lain awake listening to him tapping the keys of his word processor at the far end of the boat.
Sammy has been rummaging more in his LEGO box. I measure his sense of self and his sense of safety by how deep he pushes his hands into the plastic bricks. He has already endured too much this year.
I walk toward home, if you can call it that.
Other boats have hand-painted flowerpots and elaborate hanging baskets.
Not ours.
I pause for a moment before I board. Earlier, in my lunch break, I kissed the back of an envelope and then dropped it in the mailbox outside the library.
My signature. Black ink. Acceptance of the offer to publish my book.
I have not told Mrs. Appleby yet. I do not want to jinx it until everything is countersigned.
And I will not mention it tonight either.
I will wait until a good time, probably after he has finished his draft.
But quietly, contained mostly within my own skin, within my own frame, there is a surge of hopefulness.
Kissing that envelope and pushing it through the narrow slot.
Knowing it will mark the beginning of something and the end of something else.
The canal bank is muddy.
I skirt a puddle shining with oil-slick rainbows, and step on the timber boards.
Drew’s right there in his jeans and his work shirt, rag in hand, polishing his trophy.
“Good day?”
“All right,” I say. “You?”
“Fair,” he says, turning the trophy over carefully in his hands, his fingers wrapped around the defined, carved edges of its granite base, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the engraved words: Most Promising Writer.
I remove my jacket and hang it up. There is a torn piece of yellow paper on his desk.
“What’s that?”
“See for yourself.”
I reach to pick it up and it falls to the rug. I bend down. It is Drew’s handwriting. Kim, and then a local phone number.
“New girlfriend?”
“Don’t start.”
“What is it, Drew?”
“You’ll think it’s dumb.”
“What is it?”
He places his trophy down carefully and then sits on one of the camping chairs. The wind rattles the window in its frame.
“One of the guys at the yard, Big Stan. He talked about it, I don’t know why, and it got me thinking.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Drew.”
He sighs. “Big Stan and his old lady, they weren’t seeing eye to eye like they used to. He says they went up to the health center. Talked to this Mrs. Assell, some kind of counselor, for marriages. Kim, her name is. And they all had a chat together. It’s dumb, I told you it was.”
“A counselor?”
“I should never have let him give me her number.”
“No, it’s all right.”
“Big Stan says she was the wife of a miner, he’s passed now, and she understands real life. She knows our county, our town, the levees, and the barges, she knows about the old days, the good times, and the sour. And she listens, gives you time to talk things through.”
“I think that sounds good.”
“You would.”
“Have you…”
“Have I what?”
He lifts his chin. Angles it.
“Have you called her yet, Drew?”
“Not my thing. But Stan’s still in touch with her and he told me today there’s been a cancellation. Last minute. He thinks we could go tonight if we wanted.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“You don’t want to go?”
“I wouldn’t be interested but Stan says she’s decent. Can listen and smooth things, you know. He vouches for her.”
“Wouldn’t do any harm. Mrs. Assell, you say?”
“That’s it.”
“Is there an appointment slot? What time?”
“Not sure I’m going. Just letting you know it’s a possibility. Thought it might be interesting for my fiction. Call it research.”
I do not say anything.
A boat passes by and our home moves gently in the water.
“The slot’s at seven thirty at the health center.”
“Next to the library, Drew. I know it.”
He shakes his head. “Incorrect. It’s not that health center. It’s up by the dozer rental place, near the old crane yard.”
“I’ll go if you want.”
He nods to himself. “Big Stan says she’s sensible.”
I wash towels in the sink and he cleans out the bilge pump. Sammy comes home and takes three conkers from his coat pocket.
“Don’t put them on the table,” I say. “Good gracious, they’re beautiful! Look at the shine on them.”
“Biggest horse chestnuts in the state,” he says, grinning. “I’d put money on it.”
“How was school, Sam?”
“All right.”
“Your father and me, we’re probably going out tonight. You’ll have the boat to yourself until about nine. Don’t break anything.”
“You’re going out?”
“Just for a short while.”
“Where?”
“Doctor.”
What little color he had drains from his face. “Doctor? Mom? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing like that. Nothing to worry about, my love.”
There is a large crow in the alder tree by the water’s edge and it is cawing. Like it is trying to warn us all.
“How was school?” asks Drew as he comes back in.
“All right. Mom says you’re going into town?”
“You’ll be the man of the boat. You can handle that?”
“Course I can.”
“Making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for supper,” I say. “We got white and whole wheat. Which do you want?”
“Whole wheat.”
He wants white. I know he does. But he also wants to impress his father. If there is anything in the world my Samson desires, it is the approval and respect of his dad.
“Peg,” says Drew.
I look at him.
“I went up to the marina today after work. Filled up the tanks and emptied the cassette. Had the motor running most of the afternoon. Plenty of hot water in the tank for once. As we’re going out you can run a hot bath.”
Samson and I both stare at him.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I’ll just have a few inches.”
“Won’t hear of it. Go fill it up for her, boy. Up to the faucet, good and hot, and put some froth in it.”
“You sure?”
“Course I am.”
He makes the sandwiches and brews coffee. We eat by the fire while the bath is filling. Samson is smiling for the first time in a long time. I begin to clear away the plates, but Drew says, “Boy’ll do that. You get in the tub. I’ll shave by the fire like my father used to.”
My stomach is uneasy. It is like someone came and turned my whole universe around. It looks the same but it is upside down now. Inside out.
The water is deep and there are bubbles and it smells like fresh-cut flowers. I slide the door shut and exhale. The tightness in my shoulders starts to ease. Roses. Warm air. The room is heady with steam and I can hardly see straight.
I undress.
Cold linoleum floor. Wet window.
Plunging my hand into the water I sense my forehead start to loosen.
This has been a good day.
We can turn things around.
I step in and the relief as I sink down and let the heat take me in its grip is immense.
Blessed numbness through every part of my body.
Sammy will be outside doing his history assignment at the dinette table and Drew will be shaving with a bowl and mirror by the fire. My eyelids grow heavy. The memory of sweet jelly on my lips. I lie still on the bottom of the tub and watch the tiny bubbles flex and burst.
The warmth has penetrated deep and my brain is easing.
I close my eyes.