One of the advantages of having a west-facing house was that I could sit on my front porch and watch the sunsets. That night had offered a good sky full of color, making the humid Saturday evening worth sitting outside in. I lingered there even after the last of the orange and pink had faded.
Leaning my head back against the wooden pillar, I let my eyes close and realized that I was so exhausted I could have fallen asleep right there.
Forcing my eyes open, I noticed a pair of headlights coming down the road. The car slowed as it reached my house, parking out front. It was Albert’s Buick. Holding my wristwatch in a thin beam of light that streamed from the living room lamp through the drawn curtain, I could see that it was well past time for any reasonable person to be out and about.
“Now, what are you doing here?” I asked as he came up the walk.
“Oh. Is this a bad time?” He stopped about a yard in front of the porch.
“It’s never a bad time.” I rubbed my eye with the knuckle of my right hand. “I don’t want to talk about Clara, though.”
“All right,” Albert said. “We can talk about something else.”
“In that case, have a seat.” I nodded at the pillar opposite the one I leaned on. “Would you like a 7 Up? I have a few bottles in the refrigerator.”
“That would be nice, thank you.”
I went inside, going up the stairs to check on Hugo before getting the pop bottles. By the glow of the night-light I could see where he lay, curled up in his bed with his thumb in his mouth. Flannery looked up at me from her place by his feet.
He slept so peacefully, so sweetly in the cool air of his bedroom.
I was glad.
I pulled the covers up over his shoulders and kissed his temple before going back downstairs, feeling the conflicting desires for him to sleep and for him to wake up so I could hold him a little bit.
I wondered if that was something that real mothers felt. There were so many mysteries about motherhood that I’d not yet figured out how to ask Marvel to explain. Then again, it little mattered if I ever understood them.
At best, I was just playacting the part of mother. Mine was a temporary role.
Albert sat on the porch waiting for me. When I handed him his bottle, he thanked me.
“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t bring you a glass,” I said.
“Not at all.” He took a conservative sip and closed his eyes in appreciation for the cool drink. “How’s Hugo doing?”
“All right for now.” I lowered myself to the porch, wishing there was at least a little something to cushion my behind and kicking myself for not thinking of that when I was inside.
He nodded and lifted his head. “I’m glad.”
“And how are you?” I put my bottle on the porch. “Anything happy you can tell me? I sure could use some good news.”
“Well, I might.” He closed his eyes. “I was saving it for when things settled down a bit.”
“Don’t wait.” I clapped my hands in front of my face. “Please tell me.”
“I auditioned for the LaFontaine orchestra.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I was accepted. I’m the very last chair, but it’s something.”
“Well,” I said. “How wonderful. I didn’t know that you still played.”
“I figured if I was going to keep the thing around, I might as well put it to use.” He shrugged. “I’m rusty. But I can only get better, right?”
“Haven’t you told anyone?”
“Just you.”
“I’m proud of you.” I put my hands on my chest. “This is the best thing I’ve heard in a week.”
“I’m glad I could make you happy.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but shut it, swallowing hard.
I decided not to press him on it. If he wanted to tell me, he would in time.
A car drove by, pulling into the driveway three doors down. The man who got out looked our way as if checking to be sure I was all right. I waved at him to let him know I was.
“You were brave to audition for the orchestra,” I said.
“I don’t know if it was brave or stupid.” He grinned at me before looking back to the sky.
“Did you know that I’ve only heard you play once?” I leaned against the pillar once again, drawing a long drink of my 7 Up. “It was right before Norman and I got married, and I’d come to the house to get something from your mother. She wasn’t there yet, and you thought you were all alone in the house.”
He’d been in the basement, and the tremulous, mournful tones of his cello traveled up the stairwell and into the kitchen where I’d let myself in. Pressed up against the wall, afraid to move an inch and make a noise, I’d listened to the song, rich and luxurious as velvet.
For weeks after, I felt odd around Albert, as if I knew a secret about him that he’d have rather kept to himself.
And it felt as if I was being ungrateful for not thanking him for the gift of that song.
That was what it had felt like. A gift.
“It bothered Mom that I was such a shy cellist,” he said. “I wish I would have played for her more than I did.”
“Albie, don’t you think that when you do something that makes the world a better place that it’s worth pursuing?” I asked. “When you make a delicious pie or say hi to someone on the street, it’s good. Every time you drive past my house to check on me, it’s good. Even if you always find me at my least dignified state.”
He grinned.
“How could it be selfish for you to play your cello when music gives others such joy?” I sniffled, nearly embarrassed by how emotional I was becoming in that moment. “It would be selfish if you kept it to yourself.”
We sat in quiet a few minutes, after which Albert got up, saying he needed to get some sleep before work the next day.
I took his empty bottle, holding it in the crook of my arm and watching him walk down the path toward his car. He opened the door, but before getting in, he said my name.
“Would it be all right . . .” He paused. “Do you think it would be okay if I visited Clara next week?”
“That might be nice for her,” I said.
He patted the roof of his car twice. “Well, good night, Betty.”
I lifted my free hand in a wave to him.
He waited until I was inside before driving away.