Say When by Elizabeth Berg
She pointed to the plug at one end of the strand, the outlet at the other. “Maybe you plug it into itself.”
He was astonished. He’d looked at her to see if she was making some kind of joke, but she wasn’t. She was staring at the lights, ready to test her theory. He knew if he said, “Okay, let’s try it,” she would, and then she would wait to see if the lights came on. “Ellen,” he’d said, “that is there in case you want to plug another set of lights into it. To make it longer.”
She’d looked up at him, embarrassed; she’d laughed. “Oh, God. That’s right. You need a source of power, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he’d said, and he remembered saying it with a great deal of contempt. There hadn’t been any need for that.
Though it was true that her ignorance about things like electricity was astounding. She had taken a required chemistry class in college, and Griffin had helped her every night in order for her to earn the D– she received. It was exhausting. “Now, here,” he would say, pointing to a diagram, “is a neutron.” And Ellen, her forehead wrinkled, really trying, would say, “…Why?”
And yet she had a deep, intuitive wisdom. She couldn’t follow maps, but when they were lost, she’d say, “Well, I just feel like it’s that way,” and she would be right. Griffin would ask how she knew and she would shrug, say she had no idea. She knew what to do when Zoe was angry, or sad, or frightened, or ill. Though she was shy with people in general, she could get recalcitrant people to open up. She was good with weirdos, Griffin always said, though now, of course, he regretted saying it exactly that way.
Once, when they’d gone to the zoo, she’d gone over to the peacock’s cage, where people were calling out for the lone resident, who faced away from them, to show his feathers. The bird picked at his food, occasionally looked over with his beady eyes, but remained impervious to the people’s desire for him to spread his tail.
“Watch,” Ellen told Zoe and Griffin, and she crouched down to stare hard at the bird. He turned immediately to look at her. “That’s right,” she said, and he lurched slowly toward her. Then, standing directly before her, he fanned out brilliantly. The crowd murmured quiet appreciation, pressed in closer. The bird turned himself slightly this way and that, and when Ellen stood and walked away, he folded himself back up again and returned to his food dish. “How’d she do that?” a little boy asked, and his father said, “Beats me.” “Mommy!” Zoe had said, and when Ellen had answered, “Yes?” Zoe had said, “Nothing! Just Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” and he and Ellen had smiled, linked hands.
Griffin walked more quickly toward the entrance. It was getting colder, snowing a little harder. He remembered a time he and Ellen had taken a trip in the winter, long before Zoe was born. Their car was old, the heater ineffective. Griffin was driving and Ellen was sitting close beside him; they’d had a blanket thrown over their legs to keep warm, sleigh-ride style. It was late at night and very dark, a thick cloud cover obscuring the stars. From the car ahead of them, a cigarette was thrown out the window. It bounced on the road, sparks flying. Ellen had turned her head to watch, then said, quietly, “I never want to be like that.”
“Like what?” he’d asked.
“Every time I see that, you know, a cigarette being flung from a car window, I think about it lying there, the car going on. How if it had eyes, it would see the taillights getting smaller and smaller and then just disappearing. I never want to be left behind. I want to be the one going on.”
“You’re talking about death,” he’d said.
She’d said no, she wasn’t. He hadn’t understood her then; he’d changed the subject. But he thought perhaps he understood now.
In the crowded toy store, Griffin found a teenage girl standing on a high ladder, stocking board games. “Where are the dolls?” he asked.
“Two aisles over.” She was overweight but very attractive, and friendly. “Want me to show you?” She began climbing down.
“Sure,” he said. “Maybe you could help me. I’m looking for a certain kind. A ballerina doll.”
“Oh yeah, we’ve got those.” She pulled her sweatshirt down lower over her hips, a heartbreaking gesture, serving more to accentuate than to hide her large size.
“Do you have any with blue hair?”
She smiled, as though he were joking. Then, realizing he was serious, she said, “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen that. But we have some with blond hair. You could dye it. Is this for your daughter?”
“No. For my wife.”
The girl stopped walking, clasped a hand to her chest. “Oh, that’s so romantic!”
“I hope so,” Griffin said. The girl pointed him to the ballerina dolls and he picked out a pink-cheeked, delicate-lipped one, eternally en point in her box behind her cellophane window. Her dress was white, covered with silver sequins in the shape of stars. She wore a tiny silver tiara, plastic, of course, but convincing, in its way. Her ballet slippers were tied with silver ribbons. This was the one. He’d use food coloring to dye the doll’s hair. He’d wrap the gift carefully and buy a present for Zoe, too, tell them they each got to have a present early. He’d get a good softball glove for Zoe. On the way out, Griffin passed a Hallmark store, and went in for gift wrap. Black for Zoe; that was her latest. And for Ellen? He looked for twenty minutes and found nothing he thought was right. Finally, he bought a box of mixed wrappings. The right choice would come to him. And to Ellen.
Chapter 22
Griffin was awakened by the phone ringing. He checked the clock: 6:09. He answered quickly, the anxiety in his voice overriding the fatigue.
“Dad?” It was Zoe. Was Ellen all right?
“What happened?” he asked.
“What?”
“What happened?”
“…When?”
“Zoe.”
“Yeah?
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah!”
He looked at the clock again. “Are you up already?”
“Yeah, Dad! I’m getting ready to go outside and build a snowman. But there’s probably only enough for a baby snowman.”
He yawned. “Well, that’s a good kind to make. You get done fast.” He sat up, rubbed his head. He wanted coffee. “Zoe, can I call you back? I’m still kind of half asleep, here. I’m surprised you’re up so early.”
“Mommy got up to make the turkey and the noise woke me up. At first I didn’t know where I was!”
“Uh huh.” Ah yes. It was Thanksgiving. “So Mommy’s making a turkey, huh?”
“Yeah. Her oven is tiny. The turkey scraped when we put it in.”
“Well, listen. You have fun in the snow, and I’ll call you back, okay?”
“Okay. Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I really want a brother. I decided.”
Griffin half laughed. Now what? He rubbed the stubble on his chin, on his cheeks. “Is Mommy there?”
“She’s in the bathroom.”
“I see. Well, we’ll talk later, all right, Zoe?”
“Okay. But why don’t we get a brother?”
“I think maybe we should talk about that another time. All of us together. Some time.”
He heard Ellen’s voice in the background, then Zoe’s telling her it was Griffin she was talking to. Then Ellen’s voice came into the phone. “I’m sorry, Griffin. I didn’t know she was going to call you. She’s been up for a while. I don’t think she realized how early it is.”
“It’s all right. So you’re making a turkey, huh?”
“…Yes.”
“Peter coming over?”
She sighed.
He stood, tucked the phone under his chin, reached for his robe. “Guess so.”
“Did you want to talk to Zoe again?”
“No. Not now.”
“Okay.” A pause, and then she asked, “What are you doing for dinner?”
“Got a date.”
Silence.
“Hello?” he said.
“Yes,” she
“You started it,” he said, and then instantly regretted himself. He was going to say something to mitigate his offhand remark, but she hung up before he could think of anything.
After his shower, Griffin mixed blue food coloring in water, titrating as carefully as if he were searching for a cure for some dreaded disease. Then he undressed the doll and lay her down on the counter with her head over the sink. Hands shaking slightly, he poured the dye carefully over the doll’s hair, then stood back to observe the results. The blue was holding, but the effect was streaked. He poured more dye on, but too quickly, so that it ran into the doll’s face. He stood her on her head in the sink, and went to get a towel. When he returned, the doll had fallen onto her side. Blue dye ran down the side of her face, into her apricot-colored ear, behind her neck. He wiped at it quickly, removing most of it. Then he massaged more of the mixture directly into the doll’s hair. It was blue now, but too light. He took the bottle of dye and squeezed drops directly onto the doll’s head. All for you, Ellen, he thought, and the phone rang. Was it her? He had a strong feeling it was. Without knowing how, he knew it was. He put the towel over the doll’s face and picked up the phone.
“I was just thinking of you.”
“Were you!” Donna said.
“…Oh.”
“It’s…me, Donna.”
“Yes, I…Sorry, I thought you were Zoe. I was just walking out the door and I…Well, I thought you were Zoe.” He looked over at the doll. Was the dye spreading onto her face?
“I won’t keep you, I just wanted to know what time you wanted to go to dinner tonight. I hadn’t heard from you, so…”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Well!…You know, anytime.” It was spreading. Quickly, he said, “Just tell me, and I’ll be there.”
“Six-thirty?”
“Fine, see you then.”
“Griffin, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’ll see you tonight. Looking forward to it!”
He raced back to the doll, lifted the towel and saw that the stain had spread down onto her forehead. She looked like a freak. If he gave it to Ellen, she’d say, “Why are you always making fun of me?” She’d say, “What is this supposed to be?” She’d tell Peter about yet another screwup by her husband, and Peter would console her. In his way. In their way.
He tried scrubbing again, and succeeded only in making the doll’s eyelids blue as well. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at the doll. “Is this how you’re going to stay?” Of course she did not answer. Of course her expression stayed fixed, her eyes closed. And though they were not closed against him, they might as well have been.
At six-fifteen, Griffin pulled up in front of Donna’s house. He hadn’t remembered whether she’d said six or six-thirty. When she came to the door, he said, “Sorry I’m not on time.”
“It’s okay. I’m ready.” She looked beautiful, was wearing a simple black skirt and sweater, and pearls. Black boots with a high heel. Her hair was loose, curled about her face. But when he looked at her now, he felt no attraction. He enjoyed her beauty as he might a painting’s. She had nothing to do with him, really.
He was solidly back in his marriage, even if Ellen wasn’t. He was who he was: A boy who sat at the kitchen table and finished his glass of milk each and every night, though he did not like milk. A boy who neatened his laces, zipped his jacket up high, did his homework, endured without complaint the rigors of a paper route in winter. A boy who grew into a man who meant what he said when he took his marriage vows, who wanted to preserve that marriage despite the odds, despite the problems. He never had equivocated when it came to Ellen. Do you love her? Yes. How about now? Yes. Well, how about now? Yes, yes, and yes.
“Come in for a drink?” Donna asked, and he smiled, shook his head no. “Better get going.” His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and she looked at him for a long moment, then went for her coat. In the line of her back, he could see that she had seen.
Estelle’s was crowded, but a booth had been reserved for them. It was decorated with an orange plastic tablecloth and scallop-edged paper placemats featuring dour-looking turkeys staring out at their perpetrators of doom.
When Estelle came out to greet them, Donna admired her low-cut velvet dress. “Yeah, this is my party dress,” Estelle said. “Turns me into a sex machine, don’t it?”
She lifted her chin at Griffin. “Move over. Let me take a load off.”
Griffin slid to the far side of his booth. Even then, Estelle was obliged to squeeze in a bit. Her size was truly awesome. He smiled at her and she stared back at him, then told Donna, “Sorry. He ain’t it.”
“Estelle,” Donna said.
“Nope. I can tell.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s for dinner?” Griffin asked, and she turned slowly to answer him.
“Well now. It’s Thanksgiving. What might you think?”
“Bar-b-cued ribs?” Griffin asked, and was gratified to see that she smiled, however begrudgingly.
“You want some of the best corn bread stuffing you’ll ever taste?” she asked fiercely.
Griffin nodded, and she pushed herself out from behind the booth and lumbered back into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Donna said. “She’s a little rude, sometimes.”
He looked over at Donna, lovely in this low light. She was looking down, tracing the outline of the scallops with her finger. Her earrings glinted prettily; the part in her hair was perfectly straight; he could smell her perfume from here. He wanted, suddenly, to do everything for her that he knew she wanted: grab her by the hand, take her back to her house, and lie with her on her bed. But he couldn’t. Could not. “Estelle is right, you know,” he said softly. “I’m not the one.”
Donna looked up quickly. “I know! I never…Well, that’s not true. I did think maybe…Well, you’re the first man I’ve been interested in since Michael.” She laughed. “Maybe it’s because I knew you weren’t really available. Or maybe I just…” She shrugged. “It’s just hard, you know, to…” She sighed, looked over at him. “These are tough things to say, Griffin. Help me out, here.”
But before he could say anything, Estelle emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with two platters heaped with food. It smelled wonderful. “Eat hearty and get the hell out of here,” Estelle said. “I’m going to need the table again soon. Happy Thanksgiving!”
She went back to the kitchen and Griffin reached over to touch Donna’s hand. She raised a finger quickly to wipe away a tear. “Oh, God,” she said. “So embarrassing.”
“Donna,” he said, and she interrupted him, saying, “I know. I’m a wonderful woman, but…If there were any way you could, you would…. You’re really sorry that…You hope we can be friends.” She looked at him, smiled. “Actually, I would like that. Truly.”
“Me, too.”
“Well, then…Fine. Done. Starting here, starting now, as the song says.”
Griffin picked up his fork, and Donna said, “So tell me, friend. Why are your fingers blue?”
When he got home, Griffin went into the kitchen to check on the doll. Her face was only mildly stained, he was pretty sure he could fix it. But he would wait until morning. He was tired, now, his spirits sagging and confused.
He went into the living room and stared out the window. He and Donna had gone downtown to the Drake Hotel bar for drinks afterward, and the evening had remained awkward, full of long silences and then abrupt rushes of conversation.
He went upstairs, lay on his bed, and called Donna. When she answered, he said, “I really am sorry.”
“I know, Griffin; you told me so about thirty times.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
“I just…do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
&n
“Oh, of course,” she said. “At first, I was desperate to get back with him.”
“I feel like if Ellen would just come back home, we could work it out. It’s just not that hard.”
“Oh, Griffin,” Donna said. “Yes, it is.”
Chapter 23
Again, he was awakened by the phone. This time, it was Ellen, saying, “Oh. Sorry. Are you not up yet?”He looked at the clock. Ten! “No, I’m…Yeah, I’m up. Well, not up. But awake. How are you?”
“I tried to call you last night, Zoe was really missing you. But it just rang.”
He said nothing, at first, and then, “Yeah. I was talking to someone. Didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Who?”
“Well, Donna, actually.”
“Oh. I thought you had a date with her. I thought it was probably her you had a dinner date with. For Thanksgiving.” Nervous. Was that a good sign?
“I did.”
“So…you had a date and then when you got home you called her?”
“Well, yes, but—”
All business now. “Let me get Zoe. She wants to talk to you.”
“Ellen, wait a minute.”
“Yes?”
“It’s not…. Well, it’s not what you think, okay?”
She laughed, dismissing him, put down the phone and called Zoe.
“Dad?” She was out of breath.
“Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing?”
“I was outside playing. With guess what?”
“What?”
“My puppy!”
“Mommy got you a puppy?”
“No, her friend did. Peter is his name, his neighbor’s dog had puppies and I got one! A boy. His name is Nipper, because he bites all the time. But just play bite. He’ll stop, Peter said it’s real easy to train them not to do that. Wait till you see him, Dad! He’s got one white spot on his nose and otherwise he’s all black. And he already knows not to do it inside!”