The Widower's Tale by Julia Glass Page A

might have been occupied fighting about whose legs were bumping whose, or singing stupid car songs, or playing hangman, Robert had often been distracted from his comic books, plastic Transformers, or the latest Harry Potter when his parents began to discuss people he knew. So he'd heard about Clover's falling in love with her yoga instructor and actually confessing this to Todd--which apparently led to Todd's even bigger bombshell, that lately he'd been wondering if he was more attracted to men. Then nothing at all happened with the yoga instructor, but the cat was out of the bag--or the closet. ("For God's sake," Robert's mother had said, "we all have urges and infatuations. If my sister had enough self-control, she'd have kept that one to herself, and maybe things would have smoothed themselves out!") Clover became incredibly depressed, Todd clammed up, and their marriage went from okay to dismal to flatlined.
    Robert was practically out of high school by then, so maybe his parents figured it was no big deal if he overheard all this sordid stuff. They'd made it clear that they knew Robert might not be a virgin and that he'd drunk beer at his friends' houses. They liked to describe themselves as "realistic" parents.
    But at a much younger age, he had heard them talking in the front seat about family matters that he found not just unpleasant but disturbing and sad. Mainly about Granddad. Robert's mother, back when he was in fifth or sixth grade, actually seemed unhappy that Granddad continued to live alone in his house. Granddad's friend Norval Sorenson had tried to fix him up with a woman Robert's mother thought was "just ideal for him," but he refused to even ask her on a date.
    Till then, it hadn't occurred to Robert that his grandfather was someone who could "go on a date." And why should Robert's mother want him to? But of course, riding in the backseat on the way home from Matlock (probably his mother thought he was asleep), he had found out why.
    "What is he going to do in twenty, thirty years with no one but us to look after him?" Robert's mother had said to his father. "And by 'us,' I mean you and me, Douglas. He's going to fall down those crooked back stairs one day, and lie there, unable to get to the phone, and--"
    "I can understand your fear of catastrophe, but I think you're a little hard on your dad," Robert's father had said.
    "Look. I love that house as much as he does. It's all that remains of my mom, in a way--not just her things but the way she arranged them. But it's not reasonable for him to stay there forever! If he's not going to find a mate and share the place, and if Clover's not going to move up from New York--and she isn't, Todd has a very sound business there--well, why doesn't he look into one of those great condos they're building near the green? He could walk everywhere, even to the train. He wouldn't have to deal with snooty Laurel Connaughton or the upkeep of the barn. The good things in his life could all remain the same."
    "He wouldn't have his swimming routine. That's important to him."
    This had silenced his mother for several seconds.
    "It's his life," Robert's father had said, very gently.
    "I know that, Douglas. But if it weren't for him, Mom might still have hers. I'm sorry."
    Dad had sighed, but he'd said nothing at all in reply. Robert lay on the backseat and wished for the conversation to continue. But it didn't. There was so much more to know, but what? It occurred to Robert that whenever he heard Mom talk about Granddad, she almost always had that same tone, one of sadness, frustration, and anger all bundled together. He understood that the visits they made to Matlock were, for her, more obligation than pleasure.
    At that age, Robert thought his mother was as close to perfect as a mother could be (mostly, he still did), but he'd felt suddenly, deeply sorry for his grandfather. Hadn't he been a good father? He must have been. After all, as Robert's mother had explained to him when