There was a moment before Jack said, “You did? You delivered a baby?”
She told him the story, leaning back a bit, holding the phone with one hand, then switching it to the other. Jack roared with laughter. “I love that, Olive. My God, you delivered a baby. That’s wonderful!”
“Well, when I called my son and told him, he didn’t think it was so wonderful. He sounded— I don’t know how he sounded. Just wanted to talk about himself.”
She felt she heard Jack considering this. Then he said, “Oh, Olive, that boy of yours is a great disappointment.”
“Yes, he is,” she said.
“Come over,” Jack told her. “Get in your car and come on over to see me.”
“Now? It’s dark out.”
“If you don’t drive in the dark, I’ll come pick you up,” he said.
“I still drive in the dark. I’ll see you soon. Goodbye,” she said, and hung up. She went and got her new jacket that was hanging in the bathroom, the spot was dry.
* * *
Jack was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and his arms looked flabby. His stomach seemed huge beneath his shirt, but Olive’s stomach was big too; she knew this. At least her hind end was covered up. Jack’s blue eyes twinkled slightly as he bowed and ushered her inside. “Hello, Olive.”
Olive wished she had not come.
“May I take your jacket?” he asked, and she said, “Nope.” She added, “It’s part of my outfit.”
She saw him look at her jacket, and he said, “Very nice.”
“I made it yesterday,” she said, and Jack said, “You made that?”
“I did.”
“Well, I’m impressed. Have a seat.” And Jack brought her into the living room, where the windows were dark from the outside. He nodded to an armchair and sat down in the one opposite it. “You’re nervous,” he said. And just as she was about to answer him what in hell did she have to be nervous about, he said, “I am too.” Then he added, “But we’re grown-ups, and we’ll manage.”
“I suppose we will,” she said. She thought he could have been nicer about her new jacket. Looking around, she was disappointed at what she saw: a wooden carved duck, a lampshade with a ruffle—had this stuff been there all along? It must have been and she had not noticed it; how could she not have noticed such foolishness?
“My daughter’s upset with me,” Jack said. “I told you that she’s a lesbian.”
“Yes, you did. And I told you—”
“I know, Olive. You told me I was a beast to care. And I thought about it, and I decided you were right. So I called her a few days ago and I tried, I tried—in a goofy way—to tell her that I knew I was a shit. She’d have none of it. I suppose she thinks I’m just so lonely with her mother gone that now I’ve decided to accept her.” Jack sighed; he looked tired, and he put a hand over his thinning hair.
“Is that true?” Olive asked.
“Well, I wondered. I gave it some thought. And I don’t know. It could be true. But it’s also true that your response got me thinking.” Jack shook his head slowly, looking down at his socks, which made Olive look down at them as well, and she was surprised to see his toe sticking out of a hole in one. His toenail needed to be cut. “God, that’s unattractive,” he said. He covered his toe with his other foot briefly, then let it loose. “My point here is— Children. Your son. My daughter. They don’t like us, Olive.”
Olive considered this. “No,” she finally agreed. “I don’t think Christopher does like me. Why is that?”
Jack said, looking up at her, his head on one hand, “You were a crummy mother? Who knows, Olive? He could have just been born that way too.”
Olive sat and looked at her hands, which she held together on her lap.
Jack said, “Wait a minute. Didn’t he just have a new baby?”
“It died. She had to wait and push the baby out dead.”
“Oh, Olive, that’s awful. God, that’s an awful thing.” Now Jack sat up straight.
“Yup. It is.” Olive whisked some lint off the knee of her black pants.
“Well, maybe that’s why he didn’t want to hear you talking about how you delivered one.” Jack gave a shrug. “I’m just saying—”
“No. You’re right. Of course.” The thought had not occurred to her, and she felt her face grow warm. “Anyway, she’s trying to get pregnant again and this one will be born in a pool. A little kiddie swimming pool. That’s what he told me.”
Jack leaned his head back and laughed. Olive was surprised at the sound of his laughter—it was so genuine.
“Jack.” She spoke sharply.
“Yes, Olive?” He said this with dry humor.
“I have to tell you how stupid that baby shower was. Marlene’s daughter—well, the poor girl sat in a chair and put all her ribbons on a paper plate and then every single damned gift had to be passed around from one woman to the next. Every single gift! And everyone said, Oh, how lovely, and isn’t that nice, and honest to good God, Jack, I thought I would die.”
He watched her for a moment, then his eyes crinkled with mirth.
“Olive,” he finally said, “I don’t know where you’ve been. I tried calling you a few times, and I thought perhaps you’d gone to New York to see your grandson. You don’t have an answering machine? I could have sworn you did, I’ve left you messages on it before.”
“I’ve never seen my grandson,” Olive said. “And of course I have an answering machine.” Then Olive said, “Oh. I turned it off one day, someone kept calling me about a vacation I’d won. Maybe I never turned it back on.” She understood now that this was true; she had never turned the damned machine back on.
Jack was quiet; he studied his toenail. Then he looked up and said, “Well. Let’s get you a cellphone. I will buy it for you, and I will show you how to use it. Now, why haven’t you seen your grandson?”
A ripple of something went through Olive, almost a fleeting sense of unreality. This man, Jack Kennison, was going to buy her a cellphone! She said, “Because I haven’t been invited. I told you how badly things went when I went to New York before.”
“Yes, you did. Have you invited them to come see you?”
“No.” Olive looked at the lampshade with its ruffle around the bottom.