door. We were silent as we stepped into a world that seemed to have been set on broil during our hours inside. It was only as we approached the car that Alison spoke.
“I can’t imagine how difficult that is for you,” she said. “If it were me … Honestly, it must just be impossible to manage … Though …” We had reached the car. “Though he seems to be a nice enough man.”
A nice enough man. Yes. That was what he had become—when he wasn’t throttling nurses or drowning in his own tears. “Well, he was pretty damn stern when I was a kid,” I said. “It’s hard to see now. He seems so mild, I know. But he was … he was very tough with us. We weren’t … we weren’t an affectionate kind of family. We were never … never soft, I suppose. Never tender.” I groaned as we slid into the stifling air. “Jesus Christ. And people leave their dogs in cars.”
“Only people who want to kill their dogs.” Alison pressed both buttons so our windows opened at once. “This sort of heat absolutely never happens in England. Not like this. Once in a century.” She began backing out of the space.
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk about the war,” I said. “By a long shot. It was strange to think of him having this whole … this whole era of his life that he just erased. Or buried. And then it comes rolling back. When you’re old. And mad as a hatter.” I looked out the window. A long stretch of office buildingspassed, low-lying, sand-colored. A regular rhythm of For Rent signs. “It’s a very funny business,” I said. “This whole life thing.”
“Well, that’s certainly true. There’s little doubt about that. When you were out of the room? He was talking. I don’t know if you know this, maybe you do. About some woman? When he was in England?” She stopped at a light; and I realized that her driving style had changed, had become almost stately by comparison.
“Betty?”
“No. Not her. I gather there was another girl? You probably know this.” But I could tell from her tone that she didn’t really think I did.
“A girl in England? No. I never heard about that. I barely even heard he’d been there.”
“Millicent,” she said. “Millie to her chums.”
“Oh.” I laughed. “Of course. An English girl named Millicent. What else would she be named?”
“Well, Fiona. Dorothea. Dotty. Gladys.”
“So, what about this girl named Millicent? Millie.”
“Oh, it just seemed … at one point he seemed to think I was her. I gather they were quite an item.”
“Is this where you reveal to me that I have an older brother living in England with Millie, his mum?”
Alison laughed. “No. I think at most it’s …”
“Did he say he was in love?”
She took a curve with the same notable care. “Not in so many words. He told me, well, he didn’t exactly tell me anything, since he thought I already knew. He was just talking over old times. Something about the pub and the walk home. And what a shrew Millie’s mother was. My mother, I suppose. I wouldn’t even have mentioned it …”
“No, I’m glad you did. That explains why he was so distraught when you left.”
“It just felt peculiar to me. Him telling me. And me not telling you.”
“Peculiar,” I said. “Yes. That would have been peculiar. For my father who thinks you are his girlfriend from 1945 to tell you a story and you not to tell me.” I looked at her. “What part of life isn’t peculiar, Alison? Seriously? At what point, really, do you stop and say, well,
this
is really strange?
This
part. Not
that
part. But
this
part.”
She didn’t say anything in response, and for a time we just drove on. Past first one strip mall to the left, then its twin to the right. And I thought about Millicent. A girl in England. Just an hour before, less than that, I had been theorizing that the war must have been blown from my father’s memory by my mother’s death, and thinking myself so
“I can’t imagine how difficult that is for you,” she said. “If it were me … Honestly, it must just be impossible to manage … Though …” We had reached the car. “Though he seems to be a nice enough man.”
A nice enough man. Yes. That was what he had become—when he wasn’t throttling nurses or drowning in his own tears. “Well, he was pretty damn stern when I was a kid,” I said. “It’s hard to see now. He seems so mild, I know. But he was … he was very tough with us. We weren’t … we weren’t an affectionate kind of family. We were never … never soft, I suppose. Never tender.” I groaned as we slid into the stifling air. “Jesus Christ. And people leave their dogs in cars.”
“Only people who want to kill their dogs.” Alison pressed both buttons so our windows opened at once. “This sort of heat absolutely never happens in England. Not like this. Once in a century.” She began backing out of the space.
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk about the war,” I said. “By a long shot. It was strange to think of him having this whole … this whole era of his life that he just erased. Or buried. And then it comes rolling back. When you’re old. And mad as a hatter.” I looked out the window. A long stretch of office buildingspassed, low-lying, sand-colored. A regular rhythm of For Rent signs. “It’s a very funny business,” I said. “This whole life thing.”
“Well, that’s certainly true. There’s little doubt about that. When you were out of the room? He was talking. I don’t know if you know this, maybe you do. About some woman? When he was in England?” She stopped at a light; and I realized that her driving style had changed, had become almost stately by comparison.
“Betty?”
“No. Not her. I gather there was another girl? You probably know this.” But I could tell from her tone that she didn’t really think I did.
“A girl in England? No. I never heard about that. I barely even heard he’d been there.”
“Millicent,” she said. “Millie to her chums.”
“Oh.” I laughed. “Of course. An English girl named Millicent. What else would she be named?”
“Well, Fiona. Dorothea. Dotty. Gladys.”
“So, what about this girl named Millicent? Millie.”
“Oh, it just seemed … at one point he seemed to think I was her. I gather they were quite an item.”
“Is this where you reveal to me that I have an older brother living in England with Millie, his mum?”
Alison laughed. “No. I think at most it’s …”
“Did he say he was in love?”
She took a curve with the same notable care. “Not in so many words. He told me, well, he didn’t exactly tell me anything, since he thought I already knew. He was just talking over old times. Something about the pub and the walk home. And what a shrew Millie’s mother was. My mother, I suppose. I wouldn’t even have mentioned it …”
“No, I’m glad you did. That explains why he was so distraught when you left.”
“It just felt peculiar to me. Him telling me. And me not telling you.”
“Peculiar,” I said. “Yes. That would have been peculiar. For my father who thinks you are his girlfriend from 1945 to tell you a story and you not to tell me.” I looked at her. “What part of life isn’t peculiar, Alison? Seriously? At what point, really, do you stop and say, well,
this
is really strange?
This
part. Not
that
part. But
this
part.”
She didn’t say anything in response, and for a time we just drove on. Past first one strip mall to the left, then its twin to the right. And I thought about Millicent. A girl in England. Just an hour before, less than that, I had been theorizing that the war must have been blown from my father’s memory by my mother’s death, and thinking myself so
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