A Certain Slant of Light (31 page)

  
"What're you doing?" she said, looking at the pile of clothes.

  
"Just sorting a few things," I told her.

  
"Do you not like Brad Smith?"

  
I was so surprised I didn't answer.

  
"You don't have to go with anybody," she smiled. "I'm chaper
oning. You can ride with me."

  
She was talking about the boy she'd arranged to take me to
the church dance. "Is that tonight?"

  
"Tonight?" She repeated the word and her smile faded.
"What's the matter with you?"

  
"I'm all right." I smiled as best I could. "Let me know when
to set the table."

  
"It's Tuesday," she said. "Paper plates for game night.
Hawaiian okay?"

  
"Hawaiian?" I placed the scarf I'd just folded in the drawer
and started folding another. "Yes."

  
"Where has your mind been?" she frowned.

  
"I have a quiz tomorrow," I said.

  
"Ever since you fainted on Sunday, you've been acting funny."

  
"Sorry," was all I could think to say.

  
"Are you done studying?" she asked.

  
"Yes."

  
"I'm ordering now. Meet you in the den in half an hour."
Then she paused. "What happened to your hair?"

  
I touched my head, which was still damp from my bath.
"Don't ask," I said on a whim, and it seemed to help. She left
with a little laugh.

  
I put the clothes back in the drawer and picked up the button
James had given me. I was about to put it in my book bag when I
thought, what difference would it make? I pinned it to the out
side of the bag.

  
Cathy wasn't in the dining room or kitchen. When I found
her, she was setting three folding chairs up around a card table
between the two couches in the middle of the family room. Although it would've been easier to use the chairs from the
Prayer Corner, she didn't touch them. They were sacred space,
apparently. The large TV was dark, but soft music was coming
from somewhere. She had a boxed game called Monopoly sitting out. The distance behind her eyes as she unpacked the game sad
dened me. It seemed as if humans had lost the ability to make their own fun. The more they were gifted with inventions, the
less they needed one another. They didn't sing or play fiddle at the hearth; they turned on the stereo. They didn't tell stories on the porch; they watched television. Cathy laid out thin plastic plates with knives and forks wrapped in paper napkins like
Christmas crackers, but it didn't feel at all festive.

  
"I'm not going to be that little iron this time," she said. "I
want to be the ship."

  
She placed three tiny metal toys in one corner of the playing
board—a little dog, a top hat, and a little ocean liner. When the
doorbell rang, she called, "Dan, it's the pizza!"

  
A minute later, Dan walked into the family room with a pi;
box lifted on one hand as if he were a waiter. He had changed
into a casual shirt and smiled at us, yet I had a feeling it wasn't
his wife and daughter or the food that was making him smile. He looked as if he had just remembered a joke but was not planning
on repeating it. He set the pizza box down on the end table beside
one of the couches. I was surprised by the beautiful smell that
came with it. I had seen plenty of pizzas but never tasted one.

  
"I don't know about Monopoly," he said.

  
"We haven't played it since last month," said Cathy.
'It's just that I have to go in to the office later," he said. "I
don't know if I'll have time."

  
Cathy stopped and stared at him. "Jenny, please go get the
soda and cups."

  
I went quickly, feeling that Cathy wanted me out of the room.
Unfortunately the cups and the bottle of soda were easy to find on the kitchen counter. I walked back down the hall at a snail's
pace, listening to the voices of Jenny's parents.

  
"I know it's family night," he said. "I'm here. I can stay for an hour. I just need to go in and rework an account with Steve."

  
"You promised that Tuesday nights would be off-limits."

  
"I'm doing the best I can." He sounded more like her father
than her husband. "I don't think it's too much to ask for you to be
supportive and understanding about my work. I try to earn a good
living to make sure my family is taken care of. Don't you think
I'd rather play Monopoly than do paperwork?"

  
I stood outside the door, wishing I could sit on the roof.

  
"Jen?" Dan called.

  
Cathy still looked unhappy when I came in. Dan put a slice of
pizza on each of the three plates. Cathy poured the soda. I sat be
tween them like a pet.

  
"We can play Monopoly," said Dan. "I'll just give you two
equal shares of my wealth when I have to leave." He reached in
the box and took out the miniature iron, switching it for the ship, which he tossed into the box. "Dad, Mom, and Pup," he said.

  
He hadn't noticed that his wife had made a new choice, chosen a marker that was the symbol of freedom and adventure and
left behind the little housewife iron. I watched her, waiting to see
whether she'd stand up for herself.

  
"No, it's all right." Cathy looked weary. "Let's play Scrabble. That's faster."

  
She stood and scooped up the Monopoly game, sliding the
board and pieces back into the box.

  
"That sounds good," said Dan.

  
Cathy brought another box and opened it. I understood this
game better. I'd seen Mr. and Mrs. Brown play it with friends sev
eral times.

  
"Cathleen?" Dan intended to sound tender but failed.

  
She finally looked her husband in the eyes and gave him a
smile I knew was a lie.

  
"That's my girl," he grinned, standing to give her a kiss on
the cheek.

  
I almost made the mistake of tasting the pizza on my plate
while Cathy arranged all the Scrabble pieces to lie upside down but then Dan said, "Why don't you ask grace tonight, Puppy?"

  
They bowed their heads, eyes closed, Cathy with her hands
clasped under her chin. I folded my hands and tried to remember
a prayer. They hadn't said grace at the Brown's. It had been a long
time. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate. Then a bone-white tablecloth with blue violets painted on the corners came into my
mind, and a grisly fear shook me. For a moment I could hear
shutters rattling and branches drumming against the wall out
side. I was standing now looking down at an empty table covered
with this painted cloth. The table trembled, the flowered edges of
the cloth flapped as if coming alive. I looked around the dim
room—the fireplace with the hanging pot, the sink and pump,
the straw broom standing in the dark corner. Although the win
dows were shut, the panes of glass creaked in their frames, and a
phantom draft rippled the white cloth across the table. I held
something heavy on my left hip.

  
"Not a silent prayer." Dan's voice awakened me.

  
I opened my eyes, relieved to find the plastic plates lying qui
etly in front of me.

  
"Dear God
..."
I closed my eyes again, grateful that I did not return to that quivering white cloth. "Bless this food. Amen."

  
"Amen," said Dan. I wouldn't look at Cathy, but I could tell
she was staring at me. I'm sure that I did not sound like Jenny
when I prayed.

  
Pizza was luscious. I chewed intently, studying every flavor,
inspecting the piece in my hand, trying to understand the spices.
It was like a recipe for catsup but more peppery and less sweet. A
memory of watching a hunk of brown sugar dissolve in a pot of
stewing tomatoes fled as Cathy spoke.

  
"Choose letters."

  
I chose seven squares, perching them in a row on the little
wooden pew of my Scrabble rack. Dan checked his watch while
Cathy folded over the top sheet of a small tablet of paper. As I
tasted root beer for the first time, I must've made a surprised
sound, for they both turned to me. I relaxed as the burning in my
mouth tingled away and left a sweet flavor like anise and vanilla.

  
"Like ginger beer," I smiled. "I like it."

  
"Beer?" Cathy frowned at me. "What did you say?"

  
"She's kidding," said Dan.

   
I preferred the pizza to the game, but I played my turns with
out rousing suspicion. The phone rang, and when Cathy went to
the little table by the couch, Dan paused, watching her.

  
"Hello?" Cathy hesitated with the phone to her ear. "I can't
hear you. I'm hanging up."

  
She returned to the table. "I hate that."

  
"Wrong number?" asked Dan.

  
"Dead air." Cathy sat down. "Should I star sixty-nine?"

  
"No," he said. "If they call back, I'll get it."

  
She looked at him.

  
"In case it's an obscene phone call," he added.

  
The phone rang again, and Dan got up. "Yes?" he said, with the receiver to his ear. "Steve. Did you just call?" He paused.
"Must've been a wrong number. What's up?" He listened. "Okay.
That sounds good." Another pause. "In about half an hour or
forty-five minutes."