The Garden Path (23 page)

“Ashtabula, Ohio,” he said. He wore a squashed-looking fishing hat pulled low on his forehead. “Great place to grow up. I went to Bunker Hill School, and on the first day the teacher, Miss Agnes, said to us—she talked real fast, like ‘Take a piece of paper fold it into sixteen squares and draw a picture in each square.'” He raced through the sentence, making the twins squeal with laughter. “So I drew a dog in each square. Very painstakingly. The same dog, over and over. For some reason I thought that was what she wanted us to do. I can still see that dog—little barrel-shaped body, bullet head, stand-up ears, skinny little tail like a hook.
Brown
dog, with a red collar. Anyway, when I got done—and mighty proud of myself, too—Miss Agnes said to me, ‘Ellington—'”

“
Ellington? That's
why you're called Duke?”

“Don't let it get around,” Duke grinned at her. “‘Ellington,' she said. ‘
Why
do you put such limits on your imagination?' And I looked around and saw that the other kids had drawn cats and houses and sunshines and apples, and they were all laughing at my sixteen brown dogs, and I burst into tears.”

The twins' voices were shrill with delight. “Tell Susannah what happened then!”

“Well, I don't know if I should,” said Duke. His eyes were smiling under his hat, and his round cheeks were pink with pleasure. “It's pretty embarrassing.”

“Come on, Daddy. Tell her!”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I'm ashamed to say I wet my pants.” The twins squealed. “How I ever got through school I'll never know, after that beginning.”

He talked all the way to Mystic, egged on by his daughters, telling Susannah stories of his childhood and the twins'. Susannah listened with amusement. It surprised her, the better she got to know Duke, what good company he was; shouldn't such a wholesome, uncomplicated, decent man—devoted dad, grieving widower, clever businessman, proponent of nuclear disarmament, solar heat, vegetarianism, and no television—be dull? Shouldn't—Susannah was being ruthlessly honest with herself, looking out the window at the fresh new greens of the landscape, listening to Duke with half her brain and thinking hard with the other half—shouldn't the
nice
man in her life, the man she was increasingly viewing as a contrast to Ivan's selfish whims, turn out to be colorless and flat? Ashley versus Rhett Butler, Linton versus Heathcliff? And yet it wasn't that way at all. Duke entertained her enormously, while she felt nothing but irritation and uneasiness, lately, with Ivan. And she blushed—chuckling, meanwhile, at Duke's description of the pathetic bunch of non-athletes he once got together for a baseball team—and chided herself for letting such a fantasy develop: that Duke would rescue her from Ivan, that she could solve her problems with Ivan by means of Duke, that if she didn't produce her own children she could be Mommy to the twins, that the faithful considerate husband she'd been wishing for years that Ivan would be, was sitting by her side, talking about sandlot baseball in Ashtabula, Ohio.

It frightened her, that she could have such thoughts, but she was angry with Ivan. He had seemed to blame her for getting her period, as if she'd done it deliberately to thwart him. “At least it shows everything is working, anyway,” she had said, to cheer him up. “The fact that I'm so regular, every twenty-eight days, like a machine.”

But that had been a mistake—he took it as blame, an insult to his own fertility. Why hadn't she seen he would? she had scolded herself, and the thought had immediately followed:
why do I always have to tiptoe with him
? She was sick of gauging his moods and weighing her words; and, God knew, he was heavy-footed enough with her. She lashed back at him and they had a full-fledged argument, and he had refused to go to Mystic with them. Later, getting ready to leave, she braided the twins' hair—then, at their insistence, braided her own as well—and wondered whether Ivan had started the quarrel in order to provide himself with an excuse to stay home. She suspected, though they left him out in the yard digging up the vegetable garden, that he had plans of his own that were more interesting than mucking around in the dirt. For once, his broad T-shirted back bent over a pitchfork failed to move her. He didn't look up to wave when they left, even though Duke honked and the twins yelled good-bye.

“He's still stewing over the stove business,” Duke said.

“Let him,” Susannah replied, and Duke looked at her in surprise.

With her hair in braids, Susannah felt years younger, not much older than the twins. She kept looking at her long face, reflected in the green Aquarium tanks, crisscrossed by stingrays, piranhas, and sharks. She made faces at her reflection, and hung on to the ends of her braids with her hands, enjoying the gentle tug of her hair against her scalp. The twins called her Rapunzel; they twirled the ends of her braids with their plump hands, and her hair whirred softly past her ears.

Mary Claire, the quieter twin, sat on her lap during the dolphin show, watching soberly while the dolphins jumped through hoops and fetched gold rings and played ball. Only when they barked for fish did she laugh. Mary Grace watched from Duke's shoulders, closer to the pool, and when the trainer asked for a volunteer to throw the animals a fish she cried, “I will! I will!” nearly falling from her perch, but a little boy in the front row was chosen.

“Boys get everything,” she said over lunch in the cafeteria. “Girls don't have any luck.”

“That's not always true,” Duke said. “Look at Susannah. Not only is she a good writer but she has these pretty long pigtails.” He reached out, shyly, to touch one. “I'd say she's mighty lucky.”

“And three cats,” said Mary Claire.

“That's not the same as getting picked to throw a fish,” said Mary Grace, unconvinced.

“But it's pretty good,” said Mary Claire, and took Susannah's hand.

Susannah and Duke were being vegetarians again, so they had salads for lunch, and afterwards they drove to Stonington, where they wandered up and down the quaint, narrow streets looking for the address of the man with the cash register.

“We could ask someone,” Susannah suggested.

“Never!” said Duke.

“Daddy hates to ask directions,” Mary Grace said.

“It's a nice day for a walk,” Duke said firmly.

Susannah breathed in deeply. The air tasted clean and salty; the day was cool and full of promise, with a brisk little wind and plenty of sun—weather that was valueless unless it followed a cold winter. “It's just the kind of day I used to love, and that I missed out in Los Angeles,” Susannah said.

The twins ran on ahead, and when they were out of earshot Duke said to Susannah, “I want to talk to you about something while I've got the chance.”

“Oh God, Duke, what?” Not on this perfect day, she felt like saying. She looked desperately at the sun shining on a pink azalea bush, as if it was her last glimpse.

“I probably shouldn't even mention it,” Duke said. “But I'm getting a little worried about Ivan.”

“How come?” she asked, thinking how she really didn't want to know. When the wind wasn't blowing the sun was hot, and she and Duke stopped in the shade of a tree thick with shiny young leaves.

“I don't think his heart is in this—the restaurant.” He looked at her, frowning in a way that made his pointed nose turn white at the tip. Susannah had on thin-soled sandals; in the hiking boots Duke habitually wore he was just her height. “It's my fault,” he went on. “I talked him into it because it was what
I
wanted. What he wanted was to come east. It seemed the perfect setup, but—” He shrugged. “I have to admit now that I had my doubts, but I suppressed them. And I'm beginning to think I've gotten us all into something that isn't going to work out.”

Susannah felt desolated. She remembered how she had doubted, and then become sure. Now here was doubt again. She looked for a place to sit; there was nothing but the curbstone, so she sat down on it, and Duke sat beside her. The twins were petting a cat on someone's front walk. In the yard was a plaster niche lined with shells, a statue of the Virgin, abundant hyacinths. “But he's never
said
he didn't want to go on with it, Duke. And he's worked so hard.”

“I know he has, he's been great, you both have,” Duke said quickly. “But his heart isn't in it,” he said again. He sighed and looked down at his scarred hands. “He used to want to talk about it all the time—remember? Now he's not interested. It's you and I who talk about it—who hang around the place and make plans. Ivan's always out somewhere.”

“It's the delay,” Susannah said, but she wondered if she was right. Was it more than that? More than the stove, and restlessness, and wherever he went on his days off? She was scared. If they didn't run the restaurant with Duke, what would they do? She thought of her father, quietly dying back in California. For this she had left him there alone: for
what
?

“He hardly talks to us, Susannah. I keep getting the feeling it's you and me against Ivan, and that's not right.” He touched her hand lightly. “You're his wife, I'm his best friend—used to be, anyway. We shouldn't be allied against him. But it keeps working out that way. Even today—here. Why isn't Ivan with us?”

“We had a fight.”

“Oh. Well.” Duke was silent. He looked up the street at the twins; they were squatted down on either side of the cat, talking to it. “But there are plenty of other times, Susannah. Almost
all
the time. Afternoons, nights, Ivan's out somewhere. You wait—we'll get home and he'll be out.” He looked at her, troubled. “Ivan and I used to be such good friends. Even when you two were in California—maybe
especially
then. I suppose I should think about that. Maybe we get along better when we don't live in the same town—same house, at least.”

There was another pause. Susannah wore a full black skirt; she looked down at her thin, white shins protruding from her skirt like crutches, covered with a fur of blonde hairs. She tucked her legs beneath her skirt. “Maybe if Ivan and I moved,” she said. “Got an apartment.”

“I'm not trying to get you to move out,” Duke said. “Don't misunderstand me, Susannah. I don't really think that's the trouble. It's a lot more than that. But it's also simply that Ivan doesn't seem to be cut out for the restaurant business.”

“But we're not even
in
the restaurant business yet, Duke.”

The twins had moved off down the street, and they got up to follow. The cat accompanied them a way, then abandoned them and trotted off behind a house, tail up. Duke walked in silence, with his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the twins. “No, but …” He looked at Susannah and shook his head. “Hell, he doesn't even like food, he doesn't care what he eats or what he eats it off of, he just wants everything cheap and immediate—as if we were running a fast-food joint. He doesn't understand about quality. He actually suggested we use canned mushrooms when he saw the price of fresh ones.” Susannah smiled, and Duke did too, after a minute. “Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous when you get down to canned mushrooms.”

“No, it's not so ridiculous, Duke. I know what you mean. But—”

“I know,” he interrupted her. “If I pulled out now, or you two did, I'd owe you a bundle. Don't think I'm not aware of that.”

“That's not what I was going to say.” She paused a moment, stopped walking, and put her hand on his arm. “I was going to say I think you're wrong about Ivan not being interested in the restaurant. I think he's as interested in it as he is in anything right now. But he's got two things on his mind.” She felt herself blush, but she went on. “Getting me pregnant and chasing women.” She laughed self-consciously and removed her hand from his arm, but they continued to stand still on the narrow sidewalk together. “And if you think those two things are incompatible, you don't know Ivan.”

“Oh, I know Ivan,” Duke said. “I know about the women, too, Susannah.”

Her heart dropped—it was true, then, it was like old times, nothing had changed. Tears came to her eyes, and she became aware that she had cramps and a headache. “That bastard,” she whispered, and Duke drew her to him briefly and let her head rest on his shoulder. Yes, it was a relief, a release, an indulgence, a profound pleasure to stand supported by a trustworthy, sweetsouled man like Duke. The ugly thought that had been circling all these weeks articulated itself in her head:
he
does it, why shouldn't
I
? She imagined going to bed with Duke, his plump, comfortable body, his infinite tenderness. Desire stirred her but she realized, sorrowfully, that it was for Ivan. Infidelity didn't interest her any more than divorce did—Ivan's unceasing faithlessness, in fact, puzzled her as much as it hurt.

They stood there a moment on the quiet sidewalk, and then she pulled away with a laugh. “But that's nothing new. And God knows it doesn't concern you. I'm sorry I brought it up, Duke. I just wanted to make you understand about Ivan.”

He looked at her with an expression she couldn't fathom: tenderness? pity? “I'm the one who ought to be sorry, Susannah—laying all this on you. Obviously, it's much worse for you than it is for me—his absences and all that. God, I'm an insensitive clod.” An elderly couple walked by, hand in hand, and looked curiously at them. Duke tipped his hat and smiled; they smiled hesitantly back and passed on. “And you, on the other hand, are a good writer, and you have those pretty long pigtails. I still think things will come right for you.”

“I hope that's true,” she said. “I do love him, Duke.” She felt she had to say it, to kill off her trashy fantasies right there. Rapunzel, indeed. She was no princess in a tower, she was a whiny woman married to a philanderer whom she had no intention of leaving—an old story, older than Rapunzel.