(lxxix)


Coffee, and we talk.

“Did you move?” I ask. Solicitous.

“No,” she says. Her eyes downcast. Conscience, or the affectation of conscience. “I packed, but then everyone has been so nice.”

“Ah,” I say. The nod begins on the upbeat. Understanding.

Ostentation? The boys, alarmed. Conciliation. Steps taken to preserve their little plot of Earthmother.

A side glance toward her chest. Perhaps not so little.

“They planted a garden,” she says.

Assuredly, Earthmother. And then, Candide: Mellowing out.

“They put zucchini in, they know I like zucchini.”

I nod again. Laughing inwardly, thinking, Good.

Gary enters. He waters his plants. We talk about plants.

“I like hanging plants,” she says. The peculiar smile. “The kind that droop, you know, not, you know, the kind that” — the significant pause — “stick up straight.”

I nod again. Laughing inwardly, thinking, Bad.

Later she remarks, smiling, when he's said he keeps his hair short so that he can feel the sun on the back of his neck, that it's like a woman's caress. — Is the sun feminine then? One's member, heliotropic.