“Those rooms are nice,” Persis says finally. Her voice is quiet and even.
Leo smiles down at her.
“We’ll have to go again soon,” Persis says.
“Yeah, sure, Sweetheart,” says Leo. His gaze moves from Persis to Heather and back, faltering. Persis continues to watch him, and Heather watches Persis. The corners of Leo’s smile drop a bit, and a tiny crease appears between his eyebrows.
“Leo,” Persis says, and although her expression does not change, Cara can see a tremor passing through her upper body like an electric wave. Persis’s hair is shimmering, still catching the light of the fire, but now it’s crackling with its own heat.
“Leo,” Persis says again. “You and I have never been to the Home Hotel.”
“Leo,” Persis says again. “You and I have never been to the Home Hotel.”
“Sure we--” Leo begins, but his involuntary flick of a glance at Heather gives lie to his assertion. “Sweetheart,” he says, and it’s not clear which woman he is addressing.
“You son of a bitch,” says Persis. “You’ve been fucking her. In the fucking Home Hotel.” Her words crack over the heads of the group. Edward and the guitar player turn, startled, from their contemplation of the fire. Lily is frozen in place with her arms against her chest, hands folded protectively over her bracelets. The chess player’s eyes snap open, but he keeps his head down on the pillow next to the baby.
Heather lifts her head, but she doesn’t withdraw her arm from the back of the sofa. Her fingernails brush the upholstery lightly just inches from Persis’s shoulder.
Heather lifts her head, but she doesn’t withdraw her arm from the back of the sofa. Her fingernails brush the upholstery lightly just inches from Persis’s shoulder.
Persis’s grey eyes are nailheads now, her skin tight across her cheekbones. Lines at the corners of her mouth point down like angry arrows. She jumps to her feet, standing chest-to-chest with Leo. The tallest of us, Cara thinks and is surprised at how removed she feels from the scene being played out before her.
“In the fucking Home Hotel,” Persis repeats, but her voice breaks, and there’s not enough breath left to finish the last word before her throat closes around a sob.
Leo says nothing. He stands still in front of the hearth, the firelight lashing patterns of stripes on the backs of his legs.
Persis stares at him--everyone stares at him--for one two three four heartbeats. Then Persis turns and scoops up a netsuke figure from a collection of such pieces on a narrow table beside the sofa. Her fingers curl around the ivory carving of an old man playing a flute. She runs her thumb over the smooth roundness of the old man’s head and hunched back. She hefts the small figure like a skipping stone in her palm, then turns, and with elaborate casualness, she flings it at the stained glass pane of lilies nearest the fireplace.
The netsuke figure hits the pane with a blunt smack! that makes everyone jump. It falls to the floor and rolls under a chair. Persis watches it out of sight, then leans down to pick up the toddler from her pillow near the hearth. As she reaches for the little girl, the chess player flinches his head away from her hands. Ignoring him, Persis shoulders her child and walks quickly across the living room. She mounts the stairs, and when she gets to the top, those below can hear her calling “Bedtime!” to the older children.
The netsuke figure hits the pane with a blunt smack! that makes everyone jump. It falls to the floor and rolls under a chair. Persis watches it out of sight, then leans down to pick up the toddler from her pillow near the hearth. As she reaches for the little girl, the chess player flinches his head away from her hands. Ignoring him, Persis shoulders her child and walks quickly across the living room. She mounts the stairs, and when she gets to the top, those below can hear her calling “Bedtime!” to the older children.
The group by the fire breaks up somberly, bidding each other goodnight in muted voices. No one looks directly at Leo. Lily and Edward each give Cara a hug and file slowly upstairs to their rooms. Heather replaces her book on the shelf, picks up her flute, and carries it down the hall to her room at the back of the house. The chess player sets the game pieces back in their starting positions, then unfolds a quilt onto the sofa, patting and smoothing it into place. Taking a toothbrush from his hip pocket, he heads for the small bathroom on the far side of the entryway. The guitar player carries the last of the dessert plates into the kitchen. Then he unrolls his futon in a closet-like room built in the space under the stairs.
Leo banks the fire, nudging the charred and glowing logs together with an iron poker. Cara watches him draw the steel mesh curtain across the fireplace opening. She pushes herself up from the hearth. “Well, I’m tired. Where did you say I should put my things?”
Leo collects Cara’s knapsacks from the entryway and leads her to a room at the end of the hall, next to Heather’s. He brings fresh bedding from a linen closet in the hallway and helps her make up the daybed next to the ponderous oak rolltop desk which dominates the room.
“I’ll get that moved out tomorrow,” he says, nodding at the desk. He puts a thick hand on Cara’s shoulder. “If there’s anything you need, you let me know.”
“Thanks, Leo. I’m okay.” Cara stops. A hard knot rises in the back of her throat. “I hope this isn’t going to be a problem. The doctor said only about six months.”
“You could never be a problem, Darling. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
“Persis--”
Leo pulls her against his chest. “Don’t worry,” he says again. His breath is warm against her head. “It’ll all work out okay. We’re all together now.”
[To order a copy of the book, Walking Pocatello, call the Idaho State University Bookstore, (208) 282-3237, or send me an email.]
[To order a copy of the book, Walking Pocatello, call the Idaho State University Bookstore, (208) 282-3237, or send me an email.]
