We Only Know So Much (5 page)

eight

A
side from meals, one of the few times when the family convenes (to describe their dinner conventions as interactions would be a profound misnomer) is when Gordon calls them all together to play games with their grandparents, about once or twice a week after dinner. Priscilla usually huffs but comes to the table anyway; she still has a soft spot for her grandfather. Otis actually likes these gatherings; he loves every member of his family, and in spite of their various distractions, he likes hearing anything they have to say about their day. Vivian usually finds reasons to quit early, but it’s one of the few things they can all do together that Theodore’s still decent at. Occasionally they play Dictionary. Priscilla particularly hates this game, it’s way too hard, she despises writing and doesn’t see why she should be forced to do it
like supposedly for fun
, seeing as how it isn’t; she’s always the last to finish and no one ever guesses her definitions. Otis loves it, thinks it helps with his crosswords, and Gordon loves it as well, although he’s always been a bit confused about the concept of the game, tending to actually try to think of the real definition of each word, rather than trying to come up with a definition that will fool people. Lately, though, they’ve been playing a card game called Spite and Malice, the main object of which is to be the first player to get rid of all their cards by playing them essentially in numerical order one on top of another.

This is where everyone goes during Spite and Malice: Often the TV is on, so there’s that. Anyone has the option to check out that way, and it’s a popular choice. Gordon, before the Trudy incident, is as present as anyone, at least to the extent that he will find things to explain, as always, whether they relate to the game or not. Jean tries hard to stay present, but she sees James’s image on all the face cards—there he is holding a scepter, or bedecked in a crown or a silly hat—and, since the game is played with multiple decks, there are a lot of face cards and a lot of Jameses. Priscilla sends texts between turns. Mott curls up under the table. There’s barely room for him there, but he seems to like being right in the middle of things, equal distance to everyone. We suspect he misses James, even though he appears happy with the Copelands, but that’s just a guess; we don’t know how dogs think. Otis is usually engaged, unless a favorite cartoon is on. Theodore, well, sometimes he’s in and sometimes he’s out. If it’s dark out and the pond lights catch his eye, he may go to that, and if it’s light out and a ground squirrel walks past the window, he’ll keep his gaze in the general spot where the squirrel was last seen, just in case it comes back.

Vivian, who may have been the one who passed the talking gene down to her grandson, is also the one who has the least patience for his information sessions. The fact of Vivian is that she has trouble if she’s not the focus of attention, which at this point tends only to happen outside of the house or with strangers. Strangers love Vivian, and she knows it. She has her charms, but they’re longer-lasting if you haven’t heard her stories before. So these games are so much better for everyone when the occasional guest is over. Talk too long about something she’s not interested in, something not-Vivian-related, and Vivian will find reasons to get up, go to the other room, come back five minutes later and say,
Oh my heavens, are you still talking about
books
?
Vivian will never say this out loud, but she misses her husband terribly. She doesn’t like to complain, doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her. It wasn’t that her husband had listened to her one hundred percent of the time either, he’d been known to lower the volume on his hearing aid a time or two, but he’d never fallen out of love with her, always found her thoroughly charming, and she knew it. Would and did do anything for her. And he’s gone. Vivian will often mention how long they were married,
seventy years!
But she’ll never confess to feeling sad about it.
He lived a good life. We had a marvelous life together. When it’s your time, it’s your time
, she’ll say.

Tonight they do have a guest: their neighbor Pete has stopped by with a coffee cake. He’s a friendly guy, a little older than Gordon, sincerely gets a kick out of Vivian, and comes by once in a while just to be
neighborly
. The Copelands don’t ever return this favor, but he doesn’t mind. He has other friends. Anyway, he’s heard Vivian’s complete collection of stories more than once, but he’s amused by her. Tonight she’s chewing his ear off about the heyday of her
magnificent
rose garden, the one she’d kept up for forty years.
Forty years!
Vivian always says this twice. She had not wanted to let it go, but the burden of upkeep had fallen largely on Theodore after her husband and daughter-in-law died, and the garden had withered before Jean and Gordon moved in.

Anyway, Vivian had wanted to revive the rose garden,
which even had miniatures, Priscilla used to love those so when she was small
, or at least a smaller version of it, it would give her
such joy, and you can plainly see there’s plenty of room
, Vivian says to Pete, pointing to the meadow in back.
What is it, five acres, Jean?
Vivian knows full well it’s only four, but loves a chance to remind everyone that the property had even once had a barn that
at one time housed horses, you see. Anyway,
someone
doesn’t think a rose garden is such a terribly good idea.
Someone knits her mouth into the little circle again as this is said, she’s heard this more than once before. Jean had admired the roses, but knew what went into maintaining them, and who would end up providing the maintenance.
Oh well, at least I still have my African violets
, Vivian says.
Did you know that I used to attend conventions all around the country? Some of mine have won prizes, you see!

Pete has heard this, too, but doesn’t say so.
Wonderful
, he says, appearing genuinely impressed.

You must drop by sometime, dear, and I’ll show them to you.

I’d be delighted, Mrs. Copeland.

I can even give you a cutting, if you like! Oh, those delicate blooms give me endless joy, I’m sure you’ll see why. Of course, they’re not terribly easy to care for.

Jean is well aware that African violets are not easy to care for, because she is the one who cares for them, mostly.

Here’s a little game they play: Vivian asks Jean to come in and water the African violets,
Just the ones that are up too high
for her to reach. This accounts for about thirty plants; Vivian’s bedroom and living room are essentially overrun with African violets, and a third of them are on high shelves (which number quite a few around here, considering Vivian’s petite stature) or on plant hangers because they won’t fit elsewhere. Jean smiles and says
Of course, Vivian
. Then, after Jean has watered these, Vivian will say,
Oh, well, these over here are getting a bit out of reach now, too.

Jean will say,
No problem, Vivian
.

Vivian will tell the story of a certain
prize-winning
violet here, about how she’d had a new suit tailor-made
all the way from Marshall Field’s in Chicago
for the occasion, about the particular
Mountbatten Pink
color of the blooms and the deep lavender of the underside of the leaves, about how this prize-winning violet, named for her, is still popular today.

Jean will clench her teeth, smile, and say,
Yes, I think I remember that story.

Vivian will say,
Oh! Well, then. I suppose you do.

At night, Jean will dream of going in and smashing every last one to the ground.

nine

A
t school the next day, Otis lingers around his cubby when he hangs up his coat, waiting for Caterina, hoping for some interaction. He’ll take anything, get nothing. Instead, he’ll act like he’s doing something in his own cubby, retrieving some homework from his book bag, rearranging the décor—he’s not really committed to a particular ruse; fortunately no one’s paying attention right now—and so he has a few moments to make mental notes about the contents of Caterina’s cubby and their possible meaning. He sees: a pink hooded sweatshirt on the back hook. An extra pair of sneakers for gym, neatly parallel on the bottom of the cubby. A plastic box, with an entire clean and folded outfit, just in case a change is needed. (Recommended for all students, but not everyone is so tidy about it. Otis has already worn his original set of extra clothes, stored not in a plastic box but in a plastic grocery bag, prefers not to talk about why they were needed, and has not yet mentioned it to his parents, nor has he been motivated on his own to replace them. You might think he would be, that it would call less attention to the undiscussed event, but he simply keeps forgetting. Ordinarily this might have been noticed by a teacher, but because Otis has taken pains to fold the clothes, making it look as though the clothes in the bag were simply the original spare set and not ones he’d already worn and, we assume, soiled in some way, although this is information we are not privy to. We know a lot, but not everything.) None of this provides him with any new information about his love, although it does inform us as to a bit of her charms for him. He’s noticed a bit of a discrepancy between her tidy persona and some of her idiosyncrasies he feels he alone sees, and appreciates, and he may be right about that, not that it’s going to help him with her at all. Not just the chewing of the pigtail but also the weird crossing of her feet under her desk, nearly wound around each other in a way that seems not quite possible. Also, the inside of her desk is straight-up messy, lousy with artworks, old homework assignments, and chewed pencils. All this together, the cubby, the desk, the girl, Otis finds to be magnificent. It should be said that Caterina is certainly very cute, her light brown hair is always brushed or in pigtails, and she wears colorful, coordinated stylish kid outfits, but she is not all that much more popular than Otis is. She’s extremely shy, and she’s got kind of a stone face, which makes her a little less cute than she really is. Except to Otis. To Otis it’s all one big brilliant nebula of girl.

Something happens between Otis and Caterina this day, or something that Otis considers to be a something that Caterina considers to be a blip. At recess, on the playground, several kids are seated on a bench that’s probably actually a railroad tie. Six of them are lined up, a couple of them are talking, a couple of them are just resting for a moment before they run back into the mix. Otis is sitting not too far away from Caterina; a couple or three kids could sit between them and totally mess things up, but no one does. Caterina has brought with her a tiny Tupperware serving of jelly beans. Otis feels sure he could easily fit anything that could fit into this Tupperware container into his mouth in one bite, with room to chew and swallow; this is to say, this is an absurdly small Tupperware container, a container that itself might well fit into an adult mouth, say, his dad’s. After picturing this for a moment, he turns back to Caterina—and notices that she has been eating these jelly beans one by one, usually in three bites, three riveting bites. How could such a small thing be divided into three bites? Can you even taste that much of a bite? At what point of smallness of a bite can you even register flavor? Can you even chew such a third bite? Would your teeth even meet to chew this bite of a bite or would they just come down and rest on the tiny bit of a jelly bean, but not mash down on it? Is Caterina’s mouth just so small that she cannot manage more than a third of a bite of a bean at one time? Does she just love the beans so much that she absolutely
must
savor them this way? These are the sorts of things Otis finds to wonder about Caterina.

Caterina has six jelly beans left in her container: two pomegranate-flavored, three birthday cake, and one jalapeño.
Want these
, she says to Otis, holding the container out over the space between them. It’s sort of a question, sort of not, a flat question, and her face indicates only the smallest fraction of her displeasure with these flavors, but she’s not about to expound on it. Otis reaches for the beans, which she spills into his palm, this moment, naturally, occurring in super slow motion for him. He sees each marvelous bean suspended in midair, each one glistening with a tiny but dazzling halo of light, these beans, every one, blessed by god, he is sure. Otis has never thought anything about god until this moment, but right now he is certain that god is shining his holy light on these beans. Otis says
Thanks!
with an exclamation point he immediately wishes he could take back, but if it registers with Caterina, it isn’t apparent. She gets up to go back inside, expressionless. Otis watches her walk away and holds the beans in his hand, imagining that this is what Jack felt like, that his blessed beans are magic, and could surely sprout into a giant beanstalk solely on account of having been touched by Caterina’s hand.

Now what to do? Eat them? He wants to eat them so bad. He could eat some of them and save some of them. If he eats them, it’s like she’d practically be with him all the time, forever. (At least until he pooped. Could he somehow just hold it in forever after this? Is that possible? Why do we have to poop anyway?) Or, but, he could just save them and look at them. Keep them in a special place. Build them a shelf, or a pedestal. Or six little pedestals. With lights on each one, like in a museum. But he can’t help himself. He has got to eat at least one of these jelly beans in three bites. He has three birthday cake. He will eat one. If he eats just one of the birthday cake, he will still have two left; he could even eat two birthday cake and one pomegranate and still have one of each kind left to keep, to say,
These are the flavors Caterina gave me
. So he starts with the birthday cake. He bites down on what he imagines to be a third of the bean. He notices that you do not get a huge burst of flavor with this much of a bean, but it’s enough for him to discern why Caterina has rejected this flavor. It sounds like it’d be great. Birthday cake! But it isn’t. It’s something he can’t quite name, and it’s not bad enough to spit out, but he knows it doesn’t work. He remembers now about that birthday cake Sno-cone he had that one time at the beach that didn’t work, either. He had cried and cried because he didn’t want to eat it, and Priscilla had called him
Baby! Baby Freak!
, which made him cry even harder, so Jean bought him a new Sno-cone, reliable blue raspberry. Still, he tries to keep this bit of bean in his mouth for as long as he can, until the slight, sugary mass melts away. He takes another third of a bite, and, like some kind of wine expert—or, to be more exact, his dad—rolls it around in his mouth for subtleties of flavor, then takes the third bite. Yes, Otis thinks, this is not very good. Otis imagines all the things he will now be able to discuss with Caterina based on this birthday cake jelly bean. This one birthday cake jelly bean will lead to endless conversations about crossword puzzles, about caterpillars and math problems and does she have a mean big sister too. It is the key to their future.

On the ride home from school, Otis reports to his mother about Caterina and the beans.
She eats jelly beans in three bites.
Jean nods, she does think this is interesting, but is not indicating this strongly enough for Otis’s satisfaction.
Not the big ones, Mom,
Jelly Bellies. Otis emphasizes these two words by raising his eyebrows and sticking his neck out toward his mother.
Jelly
Bellies
. Now Jean gets it, that this is not about Jelly Bellies, nodding more solemnly so that Otis knows that she knows, even though he kind of thinks it really is about Jelly Bellies, in the sense that he’s not stopping to think that if some other kid ate their Jelly Bellies in this way, he might never have noticed.

His mother, in turn, reports to him more of the details of her love of James. She begins a story that relates to Otis’s in her mind, but we’ll see if that’s the case.
When I first met James, I noticed that he had organized all his books by the color of the spine. I’d seen things like this on design websites before, books organized in various unconventional ways
,
but never in person, and I was so impressed with how each color was arranged from light to dark on the shelf. It was so beautiful, like a work of art. I always wondered how he ever found a book he was looking for if they weren’t alphabetical or anything. He had a lot of books. I spent a lot of time contemplating this, Otis. I could probably have asked him about it the first time I noticed, but I got all up in my head about it and even after we started sleeping together, I was never able to bring myself to ask.

Otis is lingering, in his mind, somewhere between
up in my head
and
sleeping together
and imagines these things literally. Sleeping together as an idea troubles him far less than
up in my head
; actually, it doesn’t trouble him at all. He has had sleepovers.
Up in my head
he can’t quite picture. He pictures himself, on a chair, sitting inside a skull.

And now I’ll never know
, Jean says. Otis doesn’t really hear this, thinking about himself inside himself, which is just as well. Jean begins to cry, though she tries to keep from sobbing in the hope that Otis won’t notice. At first he doesn’t, but then she inhales in a way that catches his attention; she sounds kind of like a sheep. Fortunately Jean knows that Otis doesn’t know why she’ll never know, although he doesn’t ask, doesn’t even ask why she’s crying, so she lets it go.