Free The Senator's Wife by Sue Miller Page B

Maybe that's why she asked me—because she knows I'm interested in her, her, and only her.”
    He came up onto the stoop and sat next to her. Their four bare feet were in a row, and she bent down quickly and touched his.
    After a minute, he said, “You know, this is something I just don't get about you.”
    “What?”
    “About you and women. Older women.”
    “That's because you have a warm, accommodating
enthusiast
of a mother. She's in your corner, always.”
    They were quiet a long moment. The charcoal smelled wonderful. It was dusky and cool. This would be one of the last times for grilling outside.
    Meri said, “The real reason, of course, is that we're the
gals.
She doesn't think you'd be interested in the farmstand. It's not manly enough.”
    He grunted. “Mmm.”
    “And you couldn't go anyway, so there's no need for petulance.” She had a sip of wine, and set her glass back down next to her on the wooden step. “You'll be working, as usual.”
    Nathan had gone to his office both days of the last two weekends to work on his book—his second book. The first, which had gotten some attention in his field, had been an expansion of his doctoral thesis on family structure and poverty. This one was more ambitious, more consuming. It was about the Great Society programs. It interspersed an account of the politics that had dictated the shape of those programs with the life stories of five people who were supposed to have benefited from them, bringing their histories up to the present. The research had taken him two years, and he'd been writing it since before Meri met him. He wanted to finish it by the end of the following summer because it would be important in his getting tenure. He'd been working on it every minute he could spare from keeping up with his courses.
    “Yeah, you're right,” he said. And after a long moment, “I wonder where old Tom
is,
anyway.”

    · · ·

    T HE WEATHER was beautiful on Saturday—one of the six fall days Delia had spoken of, cool and dry, with a bright sun.
    Meri rang Delia's bell, as arranged, and after a moment, she saw the older woman coming down the hallway toward her.
    “Come in! Come in!” she said as she opened the door. “Come in
this
door and then let's go out the back one—the car is in the driveway off the kitchen.” She turned back into the house. Meri followed. She was wearing those canvas shoes again, the ones Meri liked. As Meri walked quickly through Delia's rooms, she was startled by how different they were from the ones on their side. She said this to Delia after they were strapped into their seats.
    “We owe that to the Carters, who preceded you in your house,” she said. She had started toward Main Street.
    “Oh, yes,” Meri said. “I remember. He was an architect, right? The real estate person said something about that.”
    “Precisely,” Delia said. “Taking out the walls was his notion of the way things ought to be. Open. Airy. And she let him. I don't think she cared a whit about anything to do with the house or any of that kind of thing.”
    After a moment, Delia said, “Ilona was a musician. Or had been. The violin. It was all she really cared about, music. Besides people, of course.”
    “Of course,” Meri said, though to her mind this did not go without saying.
    They were passing through the center of town. The sidewalks were already busy with Saturday-morning shoppers. As she drove, Delia's foot moved on and off the gas pedal whimsically, almost rhythmically. The car speeded up and slowed down, speeded up and slowed down. It was a little like being in a rocking chair, Meri thought.
    “In the years right after we moved in, they used to have huge parties quite regularly.” She looked over at Meri. “It's a good space for parties, if you're so inclined. That big open area, and then the kitchen. The kitchen that seats
thousands.
We went a few times. They were great fun. All architects and musicians.” After a moment she said, “I