Fortune's Hand (20 page)

That was probably true. But it was also probably true that Penn would never be educable.

“Perhaps later,” the woman had said, showing her sympathy with a gentle glance and tone; she had a boy of her own, Penn's age.

Perhaps later
.

Ellen was sinking into a reverie when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Hello,” Phil Lawson said.

Having left him only a short while ago, she was surprised—surprised, anyway, to see him here in the park.

“I recognized the straw hat,” he said.

“People always find me by my hat. It's to keep the sun off. I burn badly.”

“You've very fair skin, I've noticed.”

“What brings you to the park?”

“A breath of fall and fresh air. I parked my car way over on Fuller Street so I'd have to walk back through the park to get it again.”

“Hi, Philip,” Penn called. He was excited, waving both arms. “Hi, Philip!”

“Watch out, buddy, or you'll fall off that wild horse,” the attendant warned, lifting him down.

“I didn't know he calls you ‘Philip,' ” Ellen said.

“That's new. He must have heard somebody say it.”

“ ‘Philip'? It sounds formal, not like you somehow.”

“I know, but actually I like it better than ‘Phil,' probably because it has memories attached.”

“I didn't know. From now on you will be ‘Philip' in our family. I shall be sure to tell Robb.”

“It's not important. Are we walking?”

“To the pond. Penn has crackers for the ducks.”

Most often, Penn rushed ahead, and she had to pursue him. But now he walked slowly, holding Philip's hand as if, Ellen thought, he wants to prolong the contact. The unhurried pace was in keeping with the mild afternoon. A city park could be idyllic, depending upon who happened to be in it, she reflected. Today there were no walkers' crowds, only mothers with their toddlers, strolling elderly couples, a pair of lovers, baby carriages, and a student reading on a bench. An old man was feeding pigeons, while in the pond ducks cruised near the edge expectantly.

“You forgot,” Ellen said, correcting Penn. “Don't throw the whole cracker in. Show Philip how you make crumbs.”

“I know, I know,” Penn cried.

A little apart in the shade, they stood watching him. He had a smile as he crumbled and threw. The ducks were making him happy.

“Penn's making progress,” Philip observed.

“Yes, inch by inch. It's hard to believe he's eight.”

She wasn't rushing time. With her twenties already behind her, she was all too aware of time's speed. And where her boy was concerned, its passage only terrified her, bringing them all the nearer to crisis. Not much longer would he be a child. And, as so often, when she tried to imagine him at fifteen—or at twenty—tears started into her eyes, and she turned away as if to hide them under the merciful brim of her hat. She wished Philip would go, for surely he must see her struggle. But
he had only moved toward Penn and was watching the ducks.

Before the crackers were used up, her tears were beaten down. She was an expert at beating them down; she despised them for forcing themselves upon her against her will.

And they went on to the next event, the sandbox. Tiny children were already playing in it, while their mothers sat on the surrounding benches. From her tote bag Ellen took out a pail and shovel. Then she removed Penn's shoes and bade him sit down on the wooden rim of the box. Conscious that wary, watchful eyes were observing him and suspicious glances were being exchanged, she paid no attention. Accustomed to all of these, she would have liked to reply to the unspoken questions that hung in the air:
Yes, he is retarded, but he will not harm your children; you needn't be afraid
.

“Philip, don't go,” Penn cried.

“I won't. I'll stay right here on this bench.”

Now she was glad that he was staying. They would talk and she would not have to sit there in frozen silence.

“Are you sure Penn isn't keeping you from going home?” she asked, having nothing else to say.

“I've no reason to hurry home,” he replied. “There's nobody there but a pair of cats, and they have each other.”

The answer surprised her. As warm and friendly as their contact had been through these past years, it had yet remained professional. As counselor, he had needed to learn much about Ellen and Robb, while they had
not had any right, or even any particular interest, in learning about him. Failing to see in his office any photographic evidence of wife or child, Ellen had taken for granted that he must be living with someone.
He
did not look like a person who would live alone with two cats!

“Yes,” he said now as if he had read her mind, “I've been alone for a long time. It's not the way to live, but somehow I don't seem to break out of the habit. I've tried, I've had relationships, but they haven't lasted, and so I'm thrown back onto the cats.”

He looked at her. Astonishing, she thought, I don't think I've ever seen eyes that blue.

“I've made you uncomfortable,” he said.

“Oh, no,” she stammered, “I was only waiting … I thought you had more to say, and I didn't want to interrupt.”

“I suppose I did have more to say, and then decided not to say it. It would be inappropriate. A personal affair. Boring.”

“The fact that it's personal wouldn't make it inappropriate, and certainly not boring, as far as I'm concerned, Philip. You're probably thinking, oh, this woman's son is a patient of mine, the relationship is professional and why should my affairs be of any interest to he? But if that's it, you're quite wrong. Robb and I are so thankful to you, you've been the staff we lean on, you've been our friend—”

Her words had touched him. For a moment he did not speak, and then, while looking away across the grass, he began.

“Today is an anniversary for me, a day that will probably plague me forever. I come from Canada. We have winter storms there at this time of year. Fifteen years ago, against my better judgment, I let my wife take the car onto treacherous roads. She skidded into a collision on the ice. She was killed, and our child died of terrible injuries a month later. I am haunted by that long month of suffering. I should have never let her go.”

He stopped. You can't really know anything about people, Ellen thought, unless they choose to tell you. He always looks so benign, so reasonable, so adjusted to life. And she spoke very gently.

“It wasn't your fault. She was a grown woman. How could you have stopped her?”

“Of course you are right. Common sense tells me that. Yet still I think I should somehow have prevented her. As I said, it's our child who haunts me. It's as if he were accusing me.”

“So that's why you went as far away from the scene as you could and why you work with children.”

“That's why.”

“You hide your sorrow very well, Philip.”

“And so do you.”

“And so does Robb.”

“I know. He has character, Robb has.”

Quietly then, with no further speech, they sat observing the sunny scene. The old man was still feeding pigeons, a tiny woman led an enormous Saint Bernard, and a pile of thunder clouds were rising in the east, while the sun moved to the west. Children were summoned
away from the sandbox, brushed off, and started on their way home. Penn had filled and dumped his pail a hundred times or more. It seemed impossible that an hour and a half had gone by on this bench.

“Julie will be home from her lesson,” Ellen said. “It's time to go.”

“And how is Julie? I still feel as though I know her, although I probably haven't seen her more than six times through all these years.”

“Oh, do I talk about her that much?”

“Not really. It's not so much what you say that explains her to me, but the way your face is; yours and Robb's are illumined when you speak of her.”

“I suppose the—the difference—has most to do with the way we see her. And yet—well, she is such a sensitive, plucky child, such a joy. It can't be easy for her in our house, and yet she thrives. Perhaps you would like to visit us sometime? Some Sunday, to spend a family Sunday with us? This one coming, perhaps?” she asked as they separated.

“That sounds very nice. Thank you, I will.”

“I'll check with Robb and let you know first. I'm never sure what he's doing until he gets home at night and tells me.”

“Of course I've no objection,” Robb said. “He's a very decent person, Phil Lawson, and interesting company, too, I imagine.”

“Philip. He likes to be called Philip. Penn calls him that.”

“Okay. But we can't make it this Sunday. Eddy's got
somebody he wants us to meet. It's a luncheon, at a country club.”

“That doesn't sound like Eddy. Unless he's recently gotten a serious relationship and wants to introduce her.”

Robb laughed. “No, not Eddy. Nothing like that. It's his boss, Devlin. Dick Devlin, the powerhouse. He wants me to meet him.”

“Can't you get out of it? From Eddy's description of the man, he doesn't sound all that interesting. I'd much rather have Philip here.”

“No, really, it's for my benefit. A good connection. By the way, Eddy says it's fancy. You should dress accordingly.”

Ellen was amused. “Meaning what? Any suggestions?”

“Good Lord, how do I know? Whatever women wear at fancy luncheons.”

“I haven't been at a luncheon, fancy or unfancy, for the last umpteen years.”

“Well, wear anything. You'll be the most beautiful woman there no matter what you wear.”

She wore, on Sunday, brown linen, very plain, pinning to it her grandmother's gold-and-emerald brooch, which was definitely not plain. Not willing to depend upon Eddy's judgment, she was having it both ways.

“Your grandmother must have known there'd be a green-eyed girl in the family someday,” Robb said. “Come look at yourself.”

Together, they stood in front of the pier glass. She studied the picture they made. She was still young, and
had scarcely changed. Her ebony hair, which curved into large, plump waves, was longer now than it had been years before when Robb had likened her curly head to the picture of a Greek athlete in one of his textbooks. It had never been frizzy; her mother had been so worried that it would be! Her face was too long, and her chin, she believed, was too sharp seen in profile, but the total effect was rather nice nevertheless. Anyway, Robb thought so.

As for him, she was seeing now in the clear moonlight a man whose “country boy” quality had vanished without a trace. This new man was a concentration of energy, a runner on the starting line. She saw it in his eyes and his stance; she could almost hear it in his voice.

“Maybe I'm looking too far ahead, but I'll tell you what I'm after. I want to get a part of Devlin's business thrown our way. Only a part would be a bonanza for the firm, and for me. I'd be a rainmaker.”

“ ‘Rainmaker'! ‘Bonanza'!” she mocked affectionately.

“Don't laugh. I'm laying a foundation for us.”

“Darling, I never laugh at you. I'm just remembering the boy I married, and I'm feeling tender.”

“Let's go. It's not far. We'll be home early and have a long night to make the most of. I've been so darn busy that—”

Their nights had been short all week, and as a matter of fact, for several weeks before that. They had been too short for what Robb meant: leisurely, loving hours together in their big, old bed.

“Tonight,” she said. “I want to.”

The road was a winding tunnel between dark walls of expensive shrubbery. Then suddenly it veered upon a broad spread of lawn with old specimen trees, and in mid-distance, an imposing brick house with two lower wings on either side of a fine entrance and a porte cochere.

“Here we are. Glen Eyre Club. It used to be the Armstrong mansion. He was the governor forty-five years ago before he went to the Senate. Half the politicians in the state belong to the club now.”

These were not the people the Grants knew. Grants would never belong here any more than they would have voted for Armstrong or would vote for his current equivalent. These were a pushy, ostentatious lot. Then she corrected herself:
Reverse snobbishness, the patched elbow stuff, the ten-year-old suit, are as bad as ostentation, Ellen
. So she put on a cordial smile and walked inside.

The rooms, as expected, were spacious, with portraits, mirrors, a good deal of comfortable leather furniture and autumn flowers, chrysanthemums and dahlias everywhere. Eddy, the accomplished pilot, steered them onto the terrace where buffet tables had been set up beneath awnings, and stewards in white moved about with trays of drinks. On his search for Dick Devlin, Eddy, with Ellen and Robb behind him, was stopped after every few steps for greetings. The sun flashed over pastel silks and pearls; Eddy had rightly used the word “fancy.” With longing, Ellen looked toward the trees, where it would be comfortable to sit down in the shade.

They came upon Devlin surrounded by eager faces at the bar, where Eddy, making his way past them all, made the introductions.

“Well, I finally got him here. My best friend, Robb MacDaniel. We went to law school together, remember? He's with Fowler, Harte and Fowler.”

“I don't forget,” Devlin said.

“And Mrs. MacDaniel. Ellen.”

She was measured. Devlin's shriveled eyes were as hard as black olives, or as the stones within them. They moved down her length and returned to her face. She gave him back in full measure, missing nothing: the cheeks flat and white as a slab of uncooked pork, the big red ham hands, the whole beefy body. Meat.

“My missus,” he said. “Olivia.”

She looked down at a very small woman in violent red-and-black checks. Her shoulder-length hair was colored a yellow never seen on any living creature except a canary. Her cheeks were a vivid pink, as in peony, Ellen thought with some amazement.