Our Souls at Night (10 page)

On a Sunday they sat at the kitchen table over their morning coffee. There was an advertisement in the
Post
about the coming theatrical season at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. Addie said, Did you see they’re going to do that last book about Holt County? The one with the old man dying and the preacher.

They did those other two so I guess they might as well do this one too, Louis said.

Did you see those earlier ones?

I saw them. But I can’t imagine two old ranchers taking in a pregnant girl.

It might happen, she said. People can do the unexpected.

I don’t know, Louis said. But it’s his imagination. He took the physical details from Holt, the place names of the streets and what the country looks like and the location of things, but it’s not this town. And it’s not
anybody in this town. All that’s made up. Did you know any old brothers like that? Did that happen here?

Not that I know of. Or ever heard of.

It’s all imagined, he said.

He could write a book about us. How would you like that?

I don’t want to be in any book, Louis said.

But we’re no more improbable than the story of the two old cattle ranchers.

But this is different.

How different? Addie said.

Well, it’s us. We don’t seem improbable to me.

You thought so at first.

I didn’t know what to think. You surprised me.

Don’t you feel okay now?

It was a good surprise. I’m not saying it wasn’t. But I still don’t understand how you got the idea of asking me.

I told you. Loneliness. Wanting to talk in the night.

It seems brave. You were taking a risk.

Yes. But if it didn’t work I’d be no worse off. Except for the humiliation of being turned down. But I didn’t think you would tell anyone about it so it would be just you and me who would know if you did turn me down. But everyone knows now. They have for months. We’re old news.

We’re not even old news. We’re not even news of any kind at all, old or new, Louis said.

Do you want to be news?

No. Hell. I just want to live simply and pay attention to what’s happening each day. And come sleep with you at night.

Well, that’s what we’re doing. Who would have thought at this time in our lives that we’d still have something like this. That it turns out we’re not finished with changes and excitements. And not all dried up in body and spirit.

And we’re not even doing what people think we’re doing.

Do you want to? Addie said.

That’s entirely up to you.

Toward the end of August Gene drove over the mountains and out to Holt on a Saturday to take his son home. He arrived at his mother’s house late in the afternoon and came up and hugged them both and then walked down the street with Jamie and the dog.

Don’t you like her?

Of course I do.

You don’t ever touch her. You haven’t petted her once.

He leaned down over the dog and patted her head and talked kindly to her and they went on around the block then back up to Addie’s house through the alley. They ate supper and at night Gene slept with Jamie and the dog together in the same double bed in the back bedroom. Louis stayed away.

In the morning they packed up Jamie’s clothes, toys and baseball stuff and the dog dish and food. Then the boy said, I have to say good-bye to Louis.

We need to go.

Just for a minute, Dad. I have to.

Don’t take too long then.

He ran over to Louis’s house but he wasn’t home. He opened the door and called inside and ran through the rooms. He came back crying.

You can call him later, his father said.

It’s not the same.

We can’t wait. It’s going to be late already by the time we get home.

Addie hugged him hard and said, Now you call me, you hear? I want to know how you’re doing and how school is. Jamie was clinging to her. She gradually loosened his hands. Just be sure you call me.

I’ll call, Grandma.

She kissed Gene. And you be patient.

I know, Mom.

I hope so. You call me too.

They started up, the boy and the dog together at the window in the back seat looking at her standing on the curb. The boy was still crying. Addie watched the car until it turned out of sight. By the time it was dark Louis had not come over to her house yet so she called him. Where are you? Aren’t you coming over?

I didn’t know if I should.

You don’t understand yet, do you. I don’t want to
be alone and brood like you do working things out by myself. I want you to come over so I can talk to you.

Let me clean up first.

You don’t need to clean up.

Yes, I want to. I’ll be there in an hour.

Well, I’ll still be here, she said. I’ll be waiting.

He shaved and showered as he always did and in the darkness of evening walked over past the neighbors’ houses and she was sitting on the porch waiting for him and she got up and stood on the steps and kissed him for the first time where people could see them. You’re so wrongheaded sometimes, she said. I don’t know if you’ll ever learn.

I never thought of myself as a slow learner. But I must be.

You are when it comes to me.

I know what I think of you and how much you mean to me. But I can’t get it in my head that I mean anything like the same to you.

I’m not going into that again. That’s your problem, not mine. Now let’s go upstairs.

In bed they held each other in the dark and she said, I don’t know how it’s going to work out.

Are you still talking about us?

I’m talking about my son and grandson and the
boy’s mother. He was crying when he left. Do you know why?

Because he’s going to miss you.

Yes, she said. But he was crying because he didn’t get to say good-bye to you. Where were you?

I went out to drive around in the country and then I decided to drive over to Phillips to eat lunch and didn’t get back till late afternoon.

He went to your house to see you before he left. That’s how much he cares for you.

I care about him too.

I just hope Gene and his wife can do better. Maybe they’ve learned something over the summer. I’m already worried about them.

What did you tell me? Something about not being able to fix people’s lives.

That was for you, she said. Not for me.

I see, Louis said.

Oh I feel better already talking with you here next to me.

We haven’t even said much of anything yet.

But I do feel better already. I thank you for that. I’m grateful for all of this. I feel very fortunate again now.

After Jamie had left they tried to do what the town thought all along they’d been doing but hadn’t. By now Louis had long begun undressing in the bedroom, he got into his pajamas and was faced away from the bed where Addie was lying under a cotton sheet, and then he turned toward her and without his knowing she had drawn the sheet back and was lying naked on the bed in the low light of the bedside lamp. He stood looking at her.

Don’t stand there, she said. You make me nervous.

Don’t be, he said. You look lovely.

I’m too heavy around the hips and stomach. This old body. I’m an old woman now.

Well, old woman Moore. You’ve won me completely. You’re just right. You’re how you’re supposed to look. You’re not supposed to be some thirteen-year-old girl without any breasts and hips.

Well, I’m not that now if I ever was.

Look how I’ve turned out, he said. I’ve got this gut on me. My arms and legs are thin old man’s arms and legs.

You look good to me, she said. But you keep standing there. Aren’t you going to lie down? Are you just going to stand there all night?

Louis got out of his pajamas and slid into bed and she moved over closer to him and took his hand and kissed him and he turned on his side and kissed her and touched her shoulder and touched her breasts.

It’s been a long time since anyone did that, she said.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this.

He kissed her again and touched her and then she pulled him closer and he lifted in the bed and lay kissing her face and neck and shoulders and moved over and started to move and then stopped after a short while.

What’s wrong?

I can’t stay hard. I’ve got the old man’s complaint.

Have you had this trouble before?

No. But I haven’t tried this for years either. The limp time has come, as the poet says. I’m just an old son of a bitch now.

He lay back and settled beside her in the dark.

Do you feel bad? she said.

Yeah, a little. But more than anything I feel I’ve disappointed you.

You haven’t. It’s just the first time. We have all the time ahead of us.

Maybe I ought to try some of those pills they advertise on TV.

Oh, I think it’ll be all right. Let’s try again another night.

After dark one night they walked over to the grade school playground and Louis pushed Addie on the big chain swing and she rode up and back in the cool fresh night air of late summer with the hem of her skirt fluttering over her knees. Afterward they went back to bed in her upstairs front room and lay beside each other naked in the summer air coming in from the open windows.

And once they stayed overnight in Denver as she had before at the great old beautiful Brown Palace Hotel with its open court and lobby and the piano player who played all afternoon and evening. Their room was on the third floor and they could look over the railing down to the open courtyard below and see the piano player and people sitting at tables taking tea and drinking cocktails and the waiters moving back and forth from the bar and as night approached the guests going
into the bar or into the restaurant with its white tablecloths and gleaming glasses and silverware. They went down and ate in the restaurant and then came back upstairs and Addie put on one of the expensive dresses she’d bought years ago just to wear in Denver. Then they went out onto the sidewalk to the 16th Street Mall and rode the shuttle bus to Curtis Street and walked over to the Denver Center and through the lobby and off to the left to the theater. A woman showed them to their seats, the theater a great large auditorium, and they looked all about at the other people coming in and talking and then the play began, the men on stage singing on their mission in their black pants and ties and white shirts, the audience amused by some of it. They held hands and at intermission went out to the restrooms. The women queued up in a long line. Louis went back to their seats and Addie returned just in time for the second half of the play.

Don’t say anything, she said.

I’m not.

Why can’t they figure it out that women take more time and need more stalls?

You know why, he said.

Because men are the ones who design these things, that’s why.

They watched the second half and then went out
onto the street in the bright lights in front of the theater and caught a cab and rode back to the hotel.

Do you want a drink? he said.

Just one.

They walked into the bar and were shown to a table and each had a glass of wine, then they took the elevator to their room and undressed and got into the big king-sized bed. They shut the lights off and had just the light coming in from the street through the lacey curtain.

Isn’t this fun, she said.

Sure seems so to me.

She scooted over close to him.

I’m about as happy as I can be, she said. This is just what I want and tomorrow I want our own bed again.

Everything in its time and place, he said.

Now are you going to kiss me in this big hotel bed or not?

I was hoping to.

In the morning they ate a late breakfast in the restaurant and then packed up and the valet brought Louis’s car around to the front of the hotel and helped them with their bags. Louis gave him a generous tip out of his good feeling. They drove home leisurely on U.S. 34 out onto the high plains through Fort Morgan and Brush and finally into Holt County, all flat and
treeless except in the windbreaks and along the streets in the little towns and around the farmhouses. There was a cloudless sky and nothing along the horizon but more blue sky.

They got to Addie’s in the afternoon and Louis carried her bags up to her room and then took his car home and unpacked his bags. At dark he walked over to her house for the night.

Labor Day they decided to drive out east on the highway to Chief Creek. The creek was shallow and sandy-bottomed with grass and willows grown up on both sides and milkweed, the grass had been cropped off close to the ground by cattle. There were great old cottonwood trees in a grove back a little from the creek. Addie brought out the basket with their picnic and Louis got the rake and shovel from the car trunk and scraped the old dry flaky manure from the shade under the trees where the cattle had stood out of the wind.

You’ve been here before, Addie said. You came prepared.

We used to come out here when Holly was a little girl. It’s about the only place to find running water and shade.

Well, it’s nice. It’s not the mountains but it’s nice for Holt County.

Yes.

But won’t somebody come to chase us off this place?

I doubt it. It belongs to Bill Martin. He never minded before.

You know him.

You do too, I think.

Just by name.

I had his kids in school. They were all bright kids. Hell-raisers, but bright. They’ve all left home now. I imagine he’s sorry about that. Kids don’t want to stay here.

Addie spread out a blanket on the cleared ground and they sat down and ate the fried chicken and coleslaw and carrot sticks and chips and olives and she cut them each a piece of chocolate cake. They drank iced tea with it all. Then they lay down on the blanket and looked up into the green moving branches of the tree overhead, the leaves twisting and fluttering in the low wind.

After a while Louis sat up and took his shoes and socks off and rolled up his pants cuffs, then walked over to the creek across the hot ground and stepped down into the cool water onto the sandy bottom and dipped and cupped water onto his face and arms. Addie
joined him, barefooted in her summer dress. She held her dress up above her knees and stepped in.

Oh isn’t this just perfect for a hot day. I’ve never been here before. I didn’t know there was anyplace like this in Holt County.

Stick with me, he said. You’ll learn a lot, lady.

Louis took off his shirt and pants and underwear and laid them out on the grass and stepped back into the water, splashed himself and sat down.

Well then, Addie said. If that’s the way you’re going to be. She pulled her dress off over her head, took off her underwear and lowered herself into the cool water beside him. And I don’t even care if someone sees us, she said.

They sat facing each other and lay back in the water, both of them very pale except for their faces and hands and arms. They were a little heavy, contented. They could feel the current pushing fingers of sand underneath them.

Later they got out and went back to the blanket and toweled off and got dressed, they took a nap in the warm afternoon in the shade of the trees and got up again and waded in the creek once more to cool off before they packed up the food and drove back to Holt. He dropped her off at her house and she carried the picnic basket inside while he drove down the block and
parked his car and put the shovel and rake back in the shed. When he stepped into the house, the phone rang almost immediately.

You’d better come over here, Addie said.

What’s going on?

Gene is here. He wants to talk to both of us.

I’ll be there in a minute.

In the living room Gene was sitting on the couch across from Addie.

He said, Sit down, Louis.

Louis looked at him and walked across the room and kissed Addie on the mouth. He made a point of it. Then he sat down.

What’s this about?

I’ll get to that, Gene said. I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon.

I told him where we’ve been, Addie said.

It’s not much of a place.

It’s what you make of it. It’s who you’re with, Louis said.

That’s why I’m here. I want this to stop.

You’re talking about us being together, Louis said.

I’m talking about you sneaking over here at night to my mother’s house.

No one’s sneaking around, Addie said.

That’s right. You’re not even ashamed of yourselves.

There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

People your age meeting in the dark like you do.

It’s been lovely. I wish you and Beverly had as good a time together as Louis and I do.

What would Dad say if he was in my position?

He wouldn’t want to talk about it. But I doubt he would have approved. It would not be something he would have done himself, even if he’d have thought of it.

No. He wouldn’t have approved. He had more sense, a clearer idea of his standing.

Oh Jesus. I’m seventy years old. I don’t care about what the town thinks. And you might care to know that at least some of the town does approve of us.

I don’t believe that.

Well you can or not, it doesn’t matter.

It matters to me. Taking my mother to Denver. Taking my son up in the mountains. And my God, the two of you sleeping in the same bed with him.

How do you know that? Addie said.

Nevermind. I know. What in the hell were you thinking of?

We were thinking about him, Louis said. He was scared. We brought him in to comfort him.

Yes, and every night now he cries. That started here.

That started, Addie said, when you left him here.

Mom, you know why I did that. You know I love my son.

But can’t you just do that? Can’t you just love him? He’s a good little boy. That’s all he wants.

Like Dad did with me, you mean.

I know your father wasn’t always kind.

Kind. My God, he had nothing to do with me after Connie died.

Gene wiped at his eyes. He looked at Louis. I want you to stay away from my mother. To leave my son alone. And forget about my mother’s money.

Gene, just be quiet, Addie said. Don’t say any more. What’s wrong with you?

Louis stood up from the couch. Listen to me, he said. It’s too bad you feel like this. I would never hurt your son. Or your mother. But I won’t stay away from her until she tells me to. And I sure as hell don’t have any interest in her money. If you want to talk anymore about this to me, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Louis bent over and kissed Addie again and went out.

I’m ashamed of you, Addie said. I don’t know what to say to you. This whole thing makes me so sick. So sad.

Just stop seeing him.

In the night Addie pulled the covers up to her face and turned away from the window and wept.