Free The Cadence of Grass by Thomas Mcguane Page A

luggage,” said Evelyn, somewhat shortly.
    “Paul says it’s inadequate.”
    “He does, does he? Well, Paul loves his luggage in an immoderate way. It’s some kind of English aluminum stuff, like aircraft material. He had a briefcase made out of the same thing, looked like robot luggage or something.”
    “It’s very rugged. And, Evelyn, I
am
going to Alaska.”
    “Mother, I don’t think it’s necessary to pack as if this were an expedition. I read the brochure, and it’s all a safe and pleasant illusion. If you don’t want to meet the natives—”
    “On
National Geographic
they tossed people up in the air with a blanket!”
    “—you can tough it out with a manicure and a facial.”
    “Speaking of which, you look a fright.”
    “We’ve been worming cattle.”
    “You and Bill?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is he well?”
    “You can’t hurt him with a crowbar.”
    “A beautiful man on a horse.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Bill Champion,” said her mother, “rides well.” Then she moved quickly downstairs to the kitchen.
    “Yes, but so did you,” Evelyn called, following behind.
    “Long ago, angel, long ago.”
    “I bet it’s still there.” She swept toast crumbs from the counter into her palm and slapped her hands together over the sink. “Bill said you were right there, right in the middle of it.”
    “That’s very kind, but I don’t quite know how he thinks he knows.”
    “Bill knows everything. Said, ‘Alice was a queen.’”
    “Oh, my!”
    “Mother, your face is red! That’s just the cutest thing!” Evelyn was elated that her mother was sufficiently undefeated by her father’s death to venture a blush. She picked up the swatter and nailed a fly against the window, fearful that as various intrusions began, this house would become like one of the hulks one saw along old roads. “I can’t believe all the health claims on these tea bags.”
    Once in the living room, and while the tea steeped, Alice Whitelaw said, “You realize I had nothing to do with your father’s estate planning.”
    “Of course I do, Mother. I don’t argue with it anyway. If you aren’t free to plan your own estate, I guess you’re never free.” She recognized her own perverse chipperness. Her hands were in her lap.
    “Your father felt very strongly about the sanctity of marriage. He desperately wanted to see yours restored. And he was very fond of Paul.”
    “Sanctity?”
    “That will do, Evelyn.”
    “Reconciling with Paul for the purpose of liberating assets? I don’t know.”
    “Only I suppose if the rest of us should fall on hard times. Natalie nearly reduced to groveling as it is.”
    Evelyn felt sick. “Mother, aren’t you worried about being with that many strangers? It’s not such an easy time for you, you know. But
Alaska
—”
    “Right now, Evie, it is so very hard to be among familiar things. Of course I dread being with all those unknown faces, but if I can get over
that
, maybe I can begin to handle the rest of my life. Sometimes people get on these cruises and it’s all widows. And they have a refrigerated compartment for people who die en route.”
    “Ugh!”
    “Under normal circumstances, Alaska would seem just awful, but I need a change.”
    Evelyn had come to the house hoping to talk her mother out of plans that, with Paul’s deluxe luggage, promised to be unstoppable. She found her courage touching, even though she knew the risk was real: a boatload of party animals hoping to meet the Eskimos; whale watchers with expectations aroused by Disney Studios; drifting, affluent boozers with alluring staterooms. She also felt a childish fear that her mother might return indifferent to her previous life and, especially, her own daughters. In fact, should her mother find real consolation, Evelyn would be, for all practical purposes, an orphan. She was ashamed of this thought that wouldn’t go away. Detachment. That’s what her mother wanted; and if her reaction to widowhood was a solitary