Grace: A Novel

Chapter Seven

102 Summer 1944 Chapter Seven • 1 GraceandAmeliahavedecidedtospendthedaytogetherbecause Grace will leave for New York the following day. After lunch they go to an early movie. Grace wants to see Mr. Skeffing­ton with Bette Davis, but Amelia has seen it. They decide to see Snow White, smiling at the idea of grown women choosing a children’s movie. And then, strangely (Grace can’t imagine why), as she watches the beguiling little dwarfs and Snow White’s mothering of them, she imagines Bucy—tall, very tall, lean, handsome—wearing his periwinkle blue shirt (the one she has most recently given to her washwoman), his eyes squinched up with laughter, his Adam’s apple going up and down. She is not sure John would like the movie. But Bucy would love the funny dwarfs, the music, the color, the artistry of it. Perhaps they can see a movie in New York after she has said, “Tell me why you left.” Had he known she couldn’t love him enough and been too kind to say it? Was that why he had painted those words over their bed and left? During the early months of their marriage, their lovemaking , although sporadic, had been . . . pleasant. But afterwards, always afterwards, it seemed to her that a faint melancholy filled the house. She had longed to say to Amelia, to say to someone, Is this how it is for you? But then she had made love to John and had known such passion, had known such, yes, such abandon, that in 103 Grace the midst of it, she clearly remembers thinking: Why, this is why we are here, on this earth, on this blessed earth. She had realized then that she had never loved Bucy the way a man should be loved. And he must have known it, too. Afterthemovie,Ameliacomeshomewithhertoseetheclothes she has bought for the trip. “A trousseau!” Amelia says. “Not exactly,” Grace says wryly. “Come on up. Let me fix some iced tea, and I’ll show you what I bought. I went a little crazy, really.” A hard summer rain has begun to fall, and for a few moments they stand on Grace’s gallery and watch as torn, dark clouds move across the lighter, but still very dark, sky. Then Grace moves around, turning on all the lights, putting on the teakettle , shifting books and a shawl from the chair where Amelia usually sits. “I’ll make the tea,” Amelia says. “You get the clothes. No, go put them on. I want to see how you look in them.” Feeling excited (after all, the trip is only hours away), Grace hurries to change into the blue-and-white-checked skirt and bolero. Coming back into the gallery, she turns in a slow circle before Amelia. “This is to wear on the train,” she says. “It won’t wrinkle. Do you like it?” “I saw that dress in Klein’s window. I love it. I love checks in the summertime. And with that pink blouse. Wait until Bucy sees you!” “But, Amelia, you should know—” Grace begins, but stops. If she says she is not even sure she will see Bucy (although she has run the ad three times in the New York Times personal column), or if she says she is going to straighten out her life, Amelia will be polite but perplexed. And her unspoken questions will lie there, almost palpable, between them. “What? What should I know?” The impulse to confide vanishes. “You should know that I also bought a dress to wear out in the evening.” “Put it on. Here’s your tea. You want lemon? Go put it on right now.” 104 Jane Roberts Wood She slips it on. Oh, how she loves the feel of its silkiness on her body. The dress is for John. It is black, bare-backed. It is a dress for John’s homecoming. With the black patent leather sandals and the purse and gloves, it has all been expensive. However, she will wear it in New York if there is an occasion, but the dress is for John. When she comes back into the room, Amelia grins. “That’s a drop-dead dress,” she says. “And you have the figure for it. Oh, Grace, I wish I were going with you. I’ve never been farther east than the Mississippi River.” “I wish you were, too!” Grace says. “Grace, you don’t mean that!” Smiling, Grace plumps up the down cushion in...