20
BRUNCH WAS THE FIRST THING I MENTIONED WHEN I SAW Frank the next day.
“Are you interested in that meal?” I said through a line of people.
The customers in front of me turned around.
“I’ll wait my turn,” I said.
When I got to the counter, I told him it was okay if he didn’t want to go. “I still want a cup of the Ethiopian, and I can pay.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t want you to pay. You’re supposed to try all the different brews. Didn’t you say you would?”
“Did I?”
“I told my dad about shade-grown beans. He wasn’t interested. But I’ll keep trying.”
“Great, so you don’t want to go to brunch?”
“I can’t right now. I have to work.”
“No, I meant Sunday. Isn’t that a thing? Sunday brunch? We’d be going with Nate and his girlfriend, Sabine. Not that we’re supposed to be equal to that. I know we’ve only been on one date, assuming it was a date, but we don’t have to address that now. I’d like you to come. If you want to. On Sunday.”
“I’d be honored to meet your brother.”
“Is that a big deal?” I guessed it was. I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I mean it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not, really.”
“Oh,” he said.
I searched for Enid, but there were no signs that she was anywhere near, and so I wondered: What if she had already located a superior artist, someone who could communicate with Belle from the dead, with cards and tea leaves, who could bring her back to life, someone who could reclaim lost souls? If only I could do that.
“I’m ready to taste the coffee anytime,” I said. “If the offer still stands.”
I got to about five pours from Frank before my legs began to tingle, and I could feel the caffeine swishing through me in hot bursts. My hand was trembling when Enid poked me to say hello.
“Hi!” What time was it? I needed to remember this. “Do you always come to the shop now?”
“I come whenever I feel like it,” she said.
“I’ll take the ginger green,” she said to Frank. “Nature’s youth elixir.” She stuck her thumbs in her belt loops.
“You want to know something?” She leaned in to whisper. “When I get a real yen for a cup of joe, I go to the shop four blocks down. You have to walk up three steps to get there, but it’s half the price! You should tell that boyfriend of yours.”
“Who, Frank? He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Well, it might help if you powdered your face and batted your lashes once in a while.”
She pushed open a gold lipstick container to reveal a fuchsia tip. I was worried she was going to press it on me, and that traces of her saliva would propel me into the aging process, or old people’s ailments like shingles or liver spots. But she slid a coat onto her own lips.
“It’s your job to be the garden,” she said.
“What garden?”
“You’re obviously the one who needs the tending, but you have to plant some flowers.”
“This isn’t about sex, is it? Because I don’t think I feel comfortable discussing that with you.”
“Don’t be disgusting,” she said. “This is about looking like a proper lady. That’s all.”
“I wore some makeup when we went out.”
“And today?”
“Makeup is not an everyday thing.”
I touched my eye, still traumatized by the memory of the mascara attempt the night before.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked. “Or a husband? I’m sure you do, the way you always look so put together. Is that a stupid question?”
“It is a stupid question,” she said. “Because I don’t look this way for anyone but myself.”
“Were you ever married?”
She inspected her fingers. “In my day, you hit a certain age, you found a fella you didn’t hate, and you got hitched. But everyone I knew was getting married, and they all seemed so miserable. So I waited. I thought I had it all figured out.”
“Then what?”
“Then nothing. All the good prospects went away, and I got stuck with Herb, years later than everyone else.”
“But you were happy?”
“Things aren’t always so black and white.”
She looked down, into her cup.
“He was a handsome devil. Don’t get me wrong. Jellyroll hair and a soft leather jacket. And such a charmer. When he told me he wasn’t the monogamous type, I thought, finally an honest man! But I was a fool. I didn’t know men always tell you who they are. They tell you from the first moment you meet them. I was just too stubborn to listen. And what did I know anyway? I thought we were the same. Neither of us wanted the traditional stuff. We both liked our freedom. But then—out of nowhere, one day he started painting this picture of a family. A little girl with curls, a little boy with a wagon, a big dog in the yard. Before long, he was bringing home these tiny booties and building a crib. Who wouldn’t get swept up in that?”
I thought about it. “I’m not sure I would.”
“Well, you’re smarter than me then,” she said. “Because it was just an image. None of it was real.”
“So you never had kids?”
Enid took a heavy breath. “It was too late. I was nearly forty by that time, and in those days—” She took a sip and grew quieter. “It just wasn’t what the universe had in mind.”
She seemed a little sad. I didn’t want to push further, so we sat there for a good while just sipping until I realized she was probably waiting for me to say something.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It wasn’t in the cards.”
“What happened to Herb?”
“He had a baby with someone else, he moved out, and that was that.”
“He hardly ever pretended to be anything else.”
I peeked over at Frank, who was busy at the counter organizing stacks of napkins.
“He’s a kind one,” Enid said, following my eyes. “Always with good intentions.”
I watched him wipe away a few spills.
“Just pretty up that face and get him to lower the price on the java,” she added. “I don’t like climbing the steps.”
THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON, Enid talked about Belle, about the paws again, and the waves of fur, the way she loved to roll in the grass, how she hated wearing sweaters. It was like she hadn’t talked to anyone for so long that she needed to get it all out. Belle’s food dish was lime green, and she owned the porch for sunbathing, as well as a marked pachysandra bush, and a spot on the living-room couch from which she could view the entire neighborhood—the same spot where she made her bed most nights, though she was never supposed to be on that couch in the first place.
I listened as best as I could, trying to contain my quickening heartbeat, and twitching eyelids, but it was hard when there was no promise of an end. Would she ever stop? Would I ever feel inspired enough to draw her? By this point, I had a number of false starts, little sketches of Belle’s imagined world, but nothing meaningful enough to keep.
“You know I don’t do regular portraits, right?” I finally said. “If I do this, it won’t be Belle really. It will just be me projecting Belle onto what I think could somehow happen in my alternate universe, which is probably just a variation on your interpretation of her, since I never knew Belle.”
“I don’t care about formalities. I just want something to remember her by.”
“You don’t have any photos?” I said.
“Didn’t we already go through this?”
“I wish I had more photos.” I wanted more than the few scattered shots of random days, rare moments outside, loose reproductions that had fallen away with our old house. “I guess I like concrete images.”
“Why?” Enid said. “They’re fake impressions of moments that never happened.”
She took a big gulp of her tea, which must have been cold by that point.
“Film captures real life,” I said.
“In posed form.” She tapped my page again. “Is that all you’ve got?”
There was very little.
“For now.”
“Oh well. My hip’s killing me anyway.”
I was relieved to see her get up.
“I’m done too,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”
When he saw us at the exit, Frank scampered out from behind his register.
“Is it okay if I call you?” he said.
This was what people did. They talked on the phone to the people they met before and after dates. I could do that. Maybe I could even have a boyfriend.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try to pick up.”
_________
ONCE FRANK BEGAN CALLING, he called a lot. Up to three times a day. While I appreciated the gesture, it was clear neither of us were phone people.
If something mildly entertaining was on, or if Harry was making a noise, or if I thought I heard Nate jiggling the lock, I’d get distracted. Since his responses were so often muted, he’d have to remind me he was there by asking random questions.
I imagined Frank jotting down possible topics on his steno pad before he called—categories on one side, examples on the other, like a late-night host who only asked what was on the card. Do you like scary movies? No. When did your parents meet? A summer in college I think? What’s your favorite ice cream flavor? Chocolate brownie. This is the way I sketched him a few times when I was bored. Inquisition Man—full of questions without answers.
“How did Harry get his name?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said, actually stopping my sketch to engage. “I guess he just looked like a Harry. But it’s true; I could have done better.”
“I like his name.”
“I could have thought of something Egyptian, you know? Because the Egyptians worshipped cat gods, something more regal.”
He took a minute. “But Harry’s not from Egypt.”
“Of course not—directly, but it would be best to find a name to represent the traditions of his lineage. Like Nefertiti or something.”
“Isn’t Harry a male?”
It sometimes felt like we were having separate conversations.
Yet, a week later, it was almost like we were a couple.