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Authors: Bobby Hutchinson
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this moment than he did.
Jerome and Clover came into the room just then, and Isabelle repeated her offer of a beer. Jerome accepted and she went off to the kitchen. She returned with two cans and a small box of juice, which she handed to Clover.
“So I understand you’re gonna tidy up the yard for me, young fellow.”
“If that’s okay with you, ma’am. I sure will do my best.” Jerome hesitated and then added, “Would you mind if I brought Clover with me? I don’t have anyone to leave her with. She won’t be any trouble, will you, honey?”
Clover shook her head and sucked loudly on her drink. Michael stiffened and held his breath; Jerome’s request could ruin the entire plan. Polly insisted that Isabelle didn’t like kids, that she was never a satisfactory grandmother to Susannah.
But once again, Isabelle was agreeable. “Fine by me. Bring her along, just so she isn’t running in and out the house every minute.”
Michael could hardly believe it had been so easy.
When he told Polly the good news twenty minutes later, she was pleased but skeptical.
“I can’t believe she gave in just like that. What does this Jerome guy look like?”
“Big, healthy, about thirty-five. Strong muscles, good physique. Thick blond hair, tanned skin. Handsome.”
"That’s what did it,” Polly declared. "Mom has a weakness for good-looking men. When’s he starting?”
"Probably day after tomorrow. Clover should be better by then.”
“Clover? Who’d name a poor unsuspecting child ‘Clover’?”
“Her mother, probably. She walked out on them a couple weeks ago, Jerome told me.” Polly shook her head but didn’t comment.
Michael was pouring them each a glass of wine. The table looked lovely. Polly had set it with her usual eye for color, selecting a plain buttery-yellow cloth with huge patterned blue-and-yellow napkins that she’d sewn. The centerpiece was a low pottery bowl planted with blooming hyacinths in plum and purple and a rich, deep violet that matched the starkly simple dinnerware.
“Have I seen these plates before?” Michael picked one up to admire it, surprised at its weight.
"I just got them yesterday. I had them special ordered from Italy. Each is slightly different because the set is handmade. See the gradations in the color?”
Michael stared at the plate and knew this was the precise moment to tell Polly such extravagances had to end. At least three other full sets of china sat in the tall cupboards lining one entire dining-room wall, china that was seldom used. They rarely entertained, and this was the first dinner the two of than had shared in more than a week.
“They’re exquisite, don’t you think?” Polly caressed the smooth surface of a plate. “Beautiful things like these give me such pleasure.”
Michael looked at her, taking in the delicate lines of her lovely face, which her new haircut emphasized; her smile, so poignant a contrast to the sad vulnerability in her eyes, and he just couldn’t say what needed to be said—that they were on the verge of bankruptcy, that she really should pack these blue dishes up and return them to the store because there was a real possibility that he couldn’t pay the bill when it came in.
Instead, he sipped his wine, took a seat and, without tasting anything, ate the rich vegetable stew, the fresh crusty bread, the delicate endive salad his wife had prepared.
They sat across from each other at the heavy oak dining table, an Italian tenor’s rich, evocative voice flowing from the sound system. The tastefully decorated room filled with shadows as darkness fell outside the wide windows.
Polly had grouped candles around the bowl holding the hyacinths and she lit them now. She was wearing a long blue lacy sweater over dark tights, and with the new short hairstyle, she looked like a young girl in the candlelight, a desirable girl he should scoop up in his arms and passionately love. But the weight of the house settled around him like a
Jerome and Clover came into the room just then, and Isabelle repeated her offer of a beer. Jerome accepted and she went off to the kitchen. She returned with two cans and a small box of juice, which she handed to Clover.
“So I understand you’re gonna tidy up the yard for me, young fellow.”
“If that’s okay with you, ma’am. I sure will do my best.” Jerome hesitated and then added, “Would you mind if I brought Clover with me? I don’t have anyone to leave her with. She won’t be any trouble, will you, honey?”
Clover shook her head and sucked loudly on her drink. Michael stiffened and held his breath; Jerome’s request could ruin the entire plan. Polly insisted that Isabelle didn’t like kids, that she was never a satisfactory grandmother to Susannah.
But once again, Isabelle was agreeable. “Fine by me. Bring her along, just so she isn’t running in and out the house every minute.”
Michael could hardly believe it had been so easy.
When he told Polly the good news twenty minutes later, she was pleased but skeptical.
“I can’t believe she gave in just like that. What does this Jerome guy look like?”
“Big, healthy, about thirty-five. Strong muscles, good physique. Thick blond hair, tanned skin. Handsome.”
"That’s what did it,” Polly declared. "Mom has a weakness for good-looking men. When’s he starting?”
"Probably day after tomorrow. Clover should be better by then.”
“Clover? Who’d name a poor unsuspecting child ‘Clover’?”
“Her mother, probably. She walked out on them a couple weeks ago, Jerome told me.” Polly shook her head but didn’t comment.
Michael was pouring them each a glass of wine. The table looked lovely. Polly had set it with her usual eye for color, selecting a plain buttery-yellow cloth with huge patterned blue-and-yellow napkins that she’d sewn. The centerpiece was a low pottery bowl planted with blooming hyacinths in plum and purple and a rich, deep violet that matched the starkly simple dinnerware.
“Have I seen these plates before?” Michael picked one up to admire it, surprised at its weight.
"I just got them yesterday. I had them special ordered from Italy. Each is slightly different because the set is handmade. See the gradations in the color?”
Michael stared at the plate and knew this was the precise moment to tell Polly such extravagances had to end. At least three other full sets of china sat in the tall cupboards lining one entire dining-room wall, china that was seldom used. They rarely entertained, and this was the first dinner the two of than had shared in more than a week.
“They’re exquisite, don’t you think?” Polly caressed the smooth surface of a plate. “Beautiful things like these give me such pleasure.”
Michael looked at her, taking in the delicate lines of her lovely face, which her new haircut emphasized; her smile, so poignant a contrast to the sad vulnerability in her eyes, and he just couldn’t say what needed to be said—that they were on the verge of bankruptcy, that she really should pack these blue dishes up and return them to the store because there was a real possibility that he couldn’t pay the bill when it came in.
Instead, he sipped his wine, took a seat and, without tasting anything, ate the rich vegetable stew, the fresh crusty bread, the delicate endive salad his wife had prepared.
They sat across from each other at the heavy oak dining table, an Italian tenor’s rich, evocative voice flowing from the sound system. The tastefully decorated room filled with shadows as darkness fell outside the wide windows.
Polly had grouped candles around the bowl holding the hyacinths and she lit them now. She was wearing a long blue lacy sweater over dark tights, and with the new short hairstyle, she looked like a young girl in the candlelight, a desirable girl he should scoop up in his arms and passionately love. But the weight of the house settled around him like a
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