Melancholy Baby

“Was a good deal. Money was good. Until you started nosing around.”

“She resented it,” I said to Sarah, “and she took it out on you.”

“Well, how was I supposed to feel, stuck with some whore’s daughter? How was I supposed to feel?”

“And you never knew the woman?” I said.

“No. It was part of the deal.”

“Is this deal in writing?”

“No.”

“It was self-enforcing,” I said. “If she didn’t pay, you’d tell, and if you told, she wouldn’t pay.”

“Except the bastard never even told me.”

“Secrets are safest when no one knows them,” I said.

“Now what am I going to do?” Mrs. Markham said. “They won’t send any more money. What am I going to do?”

Sarah looked at her. There were tears on Sarah’s face.

Finally, she said, “You know, Mrs. Markham, I don’t really care.”

She stood up and walked out. I followed her.

57

Rosie had had her walk and her breakfast. I was drinking coffee and painting when Sarah woke up on the couch.

“You still painting that building?” she said.

“South Station,” I said.

“Why do you want to paint buildings and stuff?”

“I like how they look,” I said.

“If I was a painter, I’d want to paint flowers and lakes and stuff. Stuff that looked nice.”

I said, “Um-hmm.”

Sarah sat up. Rosie came over and sniffed her ankle. Sarah patted her.

“I’m on my own,” Sarah said.

I stopped painting. “You are?” I said.

“I don’t have any parents. I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m on my own.”

“You have me,” I said.

“I know. But it’s not the same.”

“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”

“My tuition and room and board are paid for the rest of this semester,” Sarah said.

I nodded.

“I’m going back there.”

“To Taft?”

“Yes. I might as well get used to being on my own. I can’t live on your couch forever. Pretty soon I’ll have to get a job.”

“You could probably work for Spike,” I said.

“As what?”

“That would be up to him. Can you tend bar?”

“Not really.”

“You might learn,” I said. “Do you have any money?”

“I have two quarters,” she said. “But I can sleep and eat at the college.”

“I’ve got a hundred dollars you can have,” I said. “When it’s gone, maybe we can find some more. Just until you get on your feet.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should. We’re friends. Friends help each other out.”

Sarah laughed sadly. “I hired you,” she said. “And I can’t even pay you anymore. And now you’re paying me.”

“We’re too far into this,” I said. “I can’t put it down. My accountant will find a way to deduct it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “When you’re ready to go, I’ll drive you.”

“You’ll be glad to get rid of me.”

“I’ll be glad to live just Rosie and me again,” I said. “That’s not the same thing as being glad to get rid of you.”

“Close enough,” Sarah said.

“No. Of course, I like to live my life as I am used to it. No one really loves a permanent houseguest on the couch. But I’m glad you had a place to come when you needed to, and if you need to again, the couch is still here.”

“Thank you. Do you like to live alone?”

“Yes and no,” I said.

“What’s that mean?” Sarah said.

I smiled at her.

“Yes and no,” I said.

58

When Richie came to pick up Rosie, we were perfectly pleasant with each other. He sat on the couch and drank a cup of coffee. Rosie was beside him with her head on his lap.

“She’s such a silent dog,” Richie said.

“She is often lost in thought,” I said.

“That would be my guess,” Richie said. “She been okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “How is your life going?”

“Fine,” he said. “You?”

“Fine.”

“Does your wife mind Rosie?”

“No, not at all. She’s not used to dogs, but she thinks Rosie is great.”

“And she’s nice to her?”

“Sure,” Richie said. “Love me, love my dog.”

“I hear a small reservation,” I said.

Richie smiled. “She’s not crazy about Rosie on the furniture in the living room,” he said. “Or sleeping with us.”

“So what happens?”

“I prevail,” Richie said. “Just like you would.”

“But what about when you’re not there?”

“Rosie is always with me,” he said. “I take her to work, everywhere. She’s never alone with Kathryn.”

“But Kathryn’s not mean to her?”

“Of course not. You saw Rosie with her. Rosie likes her. Kathryn’s just not the same kind of dog person you and I are.”

The momentary sense of us-ness made me feel shaky. I didn’t want to say it, I wished I hadn’t said it. I hated it when I heard myself say it, but I opened my mouth and out it came: “Do you love her like you loved me?”

Rosie was leaning on his thigh. He was resting one hand on her back. He sat silently for what seemed like a long time without moving, looking at me. Finally, he took in a lot of air, softly, through his nose.

“No,” he said.

“Do you still love me?”

Again, the long, motionless time. This time, he moved his hand enough to pat Rosie softly. She resettled herself slightly to take full advantage of the patting.

“Yes.”

I felt as if I could hear my own pulse. I listened to my own breathing. My computer was on at the other end of the room. I could hear it hum.

“I’m seeing a shrink,” I said.

“Good idea,” Richie said.

“She’s very good,” I said.

“The best kind to see,” Richie said.

We looked at each other silently. Rosie wiggled over onto her back so that Richie could rub her stomach.