There was a knock on the door the next morning and it took him a moment to realize and remember what he had seen, the milky blue opaque eyes dead and lifeless and unblinking and the woman undeniably dead, too, so still, so quiet.
He lay in the bed with the sheets twisted over him and stared at the ceiling until the knock came again. He looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly seven. Probably the boy.
His pants were lying on the floor and he got up and yelled that he was coming, then stepped into them and found his cigarettes and lit one and went up the hall to the kitchen and crossed to the door with just a little irritation toward the boy for waking him up so early. He unlocked it and swung it open and there stood Charlotte in her uniform, the dog fawning over her like a puppy.
“Well,” he said. “Surprise, surprise.”
She looked up at him and smiled that little smile. Then she stopped smiling.
“I ain’t coming in if there’s a woman here,” she said. He stepped back from the door.
“Come on in. Ain’t nobody here but me and the dog.”
She came in and he closed the door behind her, wishing he’d combed his hair, and wanting the house to be a little cleaner. He saw her looking at the mess, clothes piled up, dirty socks on the floor. His muddy boots sitting in the kitchen, empty cans on the table.
“I didn’t know if he’d remember me,” she said.
“Shit. Him? Get you a chair and sit down. Let me go comb my hair. Why don’t you make us some coffee? It’s up there in the cabinet. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay. I can’t stay but a little bit.”
He went back to his bedroom and put on some clean blue jeans and a white shirt that he buttoned halfway up. He combed his hair and brushed his lower teeth and his denture, her asking him things, saying yeah or naw until he finished. When he went back into the living room she was sitting on the couch and she had folded some of the clothes.
“Don’t worry about that stuff,” he said. “I’ll get it later. You put the water on?”
“Yeah.”
He busied himself picking up cans on the table, pouring what was left in some of them down the drain, putting the cans in the overflowing garbage can inside the broom closet. He looked at her and she looked awfully good to him. She’d fixed her hair differently, and she’d gained a little weight.
“You look good, baby,” he said.
“You don’t.”
“Well hell, I just woke up. What’s the occasion?” She looked down at her fingers and moved a little ring with a red stone in it. She looked back up and she looked uncomfortable.
“I just wondered were you going to see the baby. He’s been home for a couple of weeks now. Theresa would like for you to come see him.” She waited a moment. “And I’d like for you to come see him. If you want to. I think he looks like you.”
Years ago she would have broken and started crying. But that vulnerability in her eyes was gone now, all that cheerful hope. She was forty-seven now.
“I forgot your birthday,” he said, and got down two cups from the cabinet, set out the sugar, got milk from the icebox.
“I don’t want no coffee, Joe. I’ve got to get on to work anyway.”
He got the coffee pot and poured two cups of water and then looked over his shoulder at her.
“Hell, you don’t have to go to work till nine, do you? You got time to drink a cup of coffee I know.”
He fixed it for her and carried it to her and retreated back to the kitchen table so that there was at least a barrier of distance between them. He didn’t know what kind of thoughts she had about him now.
“Thanks,” she said. She pulled out her cigarettes and he got up and got her an ashtray.
“I thought you quit,” he said.
“I’ve cut way down. I don’t know if I could quit completely. Working up there helps. We can’t smoke inside the building any more. I don’t smoke but five or six a day. I feel a lot better.”
“You gained a little weight.”
“A little.”
She didn’t answer. For a while they sat in uneasy silence.
“I shouldn’t have come over,” she said. “I didn’t call first. I didn’t see no other vehicle outside. When did you get that new truck?”
“Yesterday.”
“I like it.”
“I do, too.”
She smoked nervously, like someone who didn’t know how to. After the first sip she didn’t touch her coffee again, just set it back on the small table out of the way.
“He’s got black hair.”
“Oh. The baby.”
“Who’d you think I was talking about?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Are you going to go see him? He’s your grandson. It looks like you’d want to. He’s cute as he can be.”
He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray and sipped his coffee.
“Last time I saw Theresa she wasn’t too happy with me.”
“That don’t mean she don’t want you to see your grandson, for God’s sake.”
“I’d rather see the little fucker that got her pregnant. I’d still like to have a talk with him.”
“And do what? Randy’s done had a talk with him. That was bad enough. My God. It’s a wonder I wasn’t pregnant when we got married. You ain’t forgot what it’s like to be young that quick, have you?”
He didn’t answer any of that. He sipped his coffee and looked out into the back yard, smoking his cigarette.
“All she wants is for you to go over sometime and see him.”
“Well. I didn’t know if she wanted me to or not. I didn’t want to be in the way or nothing. Is she doing all right?”
“She’s doing fine. She’s going back to school to get her GED and then she’s going to start out at Ole Miss part-time and work part-time.”
“Who’s gonna keep the baby?”
“Mama and Miss Inez. I’ll keep him at night if she needs me to. I don’t never go anywhere.”
“You want some more coffee?”
“No.”
“Well.” He got up and fixed another one for himself, scratching his arm where the lead itched sometimes. He’d thought about seeing if he could have it taken out. He wondered if she’d heard about that.
“Are y’all working now?” she said.
“Naw. We through.”
“How’d you do?”
“We did good. For all the bad weather we had.”
“I guess you paid cash for the truck.”
“Yep. That’s usually the easiest.” He stood at the sink with a fresh cigarette between his fingers, looking at the floor. “We’ve got plenty to do this winter. I got enough left to tide me over for once.”
“If you don’t lose it.”
“I don’t bet nothing but what I can afford to lose.”
“You used to not worry about it.”
“I’m more careful now. I don’t bet the grocery money no more.”
“That’s nice to know after all them baloney sandwiches we used to eat.”
“I had to eat em, too.”
“Yeah. And the kids did, too.”
The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment and he saw that she regretted them. After having to monitor him for so long it was a hard habit for her to break, he guessed. She looked at the door.
“I didn’t come over here for this,” she said.
“What did you come over here for, then?”
She got up from the couch and picked up her purse.
It had a long strap and she put it over her shoulder.
“I just wanted to tell you to come see that baby. Theresa ain’t mad at you. She’s just hurt because you ain’t been over. We don’t ask much no more.”
“That’s all you come over for?”
She turned her eyes to his face and said: “Not quite.”
“You need some money?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
She waited a long moment and then she walked to him, taking the coffee from his hand, undoing the top button of her blouse. He put his hand in there and touched her.
“You sure we ought to be doing this? We ain’t married, you know.”
He was smiling but she wasn’t.
“I need it,” she said.
“Okay.”
He took her hand and led her down the hall.