Here on Earth
Page 88
When the Judge is done with the turkey, he goes to wash his hands. From the window above the sink, he can look into the yard. “Well, well,” he says when he spies Gwen and Hank out there. “The reluctant guests?”
“They don’t consider adults to be human,” March jokes.
“I’ll lasso them,” the Judge says. “I’ll offer food, that should do the trick.”
As he goes out, a cold blast of air rips through the kitchen. The Judge is so tall he has to crouch to maneuver past the branches of a peach tree Louise planted in the first year of their marriage. This was the Judge’s parents’ house until the older Justices retired to Florida; Bill grew up here and Louise often thought of that when she was tempted to throw him out. She simply couldn’t imagine him living anywhere else. And anyway, it’s too late to think about such matters. What’s done is done.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Susie now asks her.
Louise moves her hand to her face, as if smoothing something out. Susie and March both look concerned. Louise must have slipped and shown them a bit of her pain. She must have let something through.
“A touch of the virus,” Louise says. “Absolutely nothing.”
The three women stand by the back door and look out. The terrier is in a pile of leaves, chewing on a stick, while Hank and Gwen whisper to each other.
“Everybody inside,” they hear the Judge’s voice call.
The dog starts running toward the Judge as soon as it hears his voice, and has leapt into his arms before the Judge knows what hits him.
“Wow, is that dog crazy about you,” Hank says. “Look at her.”
The terrier is making yipping noises as it licks the Judge’s face.
“Stop that, Sister,” the Judge says, but he seems extremely pleased to be holding this creature to his chest, in spite of the burrs in its fur and the mud on its feet.
At the door, Louise Justice turns pale. Clearly, this was their dog—his and Judith’s—and now, in spite of the chilled wine, Louise has a mouthful of grief. Susie had begged for a dog when she was young, but the Judge had always said no. Too much hair and dirt and fuss.
“Mom,” Susie says softly. She doesn’t understand this—could it be that her mother knows about Judith Dale and the Judge? “Maybe you’d better get the dog out of here,” Susie suggests to March.
“I’m sorry,” March apologizes. She and Susie exchange a worried look. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ll put the dog in the car.”
“No,” Louise says. “Don’t.”
Outside, they can see that the Judge is crouched down; he’s scratching the terrier’s head. These girls in the kitchen, March and Susie, feel sorry for her, Louise is well aware of that. But what do they know about love? You make bargains you’d never imagine you’d agreed to, and you do it over and over again.
“I’m fine,” Louise says. “We’ll start with the chowder, before it turns to ice.”
These girls think in black and white, love or rejection, yes or no. Louise watches the Judge as he makes his way to her back door and she feels the intensity of being together for nearly fifty years. She knows him completely, and not at all. She made her choices, just as March and Susie are doing. Young people believe that regret is something you will never feel if you simply do as you please, but sometimes it’s a matter of degree. Would Louise have preferred not to have the Judge at her table? Would she have preferred to have raised Susie alone, or have some other man watching TV with her in the evenings, someone easygoing, someone whose affections she could be sure of?
“We’re sitting down to chowder,” Louise tells the Judge when he comes inside.
The Judge has muddy paw prints on his pant legs; the suit will have to be sent to the dry cleaner.
“Look at this mess,” he says. When he brushes the leaves off his jacket, there’s the tremor, in his hands.
“It’s not so bad,” Louise says, cleaning off the lapels. “It’s a miracle fabric.”
The Judge laughs. “I can always trust you to perform miracles.”
“Hardly.” Louise snorts. He was charming as a young man, so tall, so much fun in spite of his serious nature. She loved him then and she loves him still. Someone else might have left, but she stayed, and here she is, beside him.
“What’s wrong with that daughter of Ed Milton’s?” the Judge asks. “I’ve never seen a more sullen child.”
He wasn’t really there when Susie went through her worst times, at exactly the same age. Susie hated herself and everyone else, but the Judge was too busy to know. He was working, or over at Fox Hill, and maybe Louise was too quick to settle all of the daily details and problems before his car pulled into the driveway.
“They don’t consider adults to be human,” March jokes.
“I’ll lasso them,” the Judge says. “I’ll offer food, that should do the trick.”
As he goes out, a cold blast of air rips through the kitchen. The Judge is so tall he has to crouch to maneuver past the branches of a peach tree Louise planted in the first year of their marriage. This was the Judge’s parents’ house until the older Justices retired to Florida; Bill grew up here and Louise often thought of that when she was tempted to throw him out. She simply couldn’t imagine him living anywhere else. And anyway, it’s too late to think about such matters. What’s done is done.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Susie now asks her.
Louise moves her hand to her face, as if smoothing something out. Susie and March both look concerned. Louise must have slipped and shown them a bit of her pain. She must have let something through.
“A touch of the virus,” Louise says. “Absolutely nothing.”
The three women stand by the back door and look out. The terrier is in a pile of leaves, chewing on a stick, while Hank and Gwen whisper to each other.
“Everybody inside,” they hear the Judge’s voice call.
The dog starts running toward the Judge as soon as it hears his voice, and has leapt into his arms before the Judge knows what hits him.
“Wow, is that dog crazy about you,” Hank says. “Look at her.”
The terrier is making yipping noises as it licks the Judge’s face.
“Stop that, Sister,” the Judge says, but he seems extremely pleased to be holding this creature to his chest, in spite of the burrs in its fur and the mud on its feet.
At the door, Louise Justice turns pale. Clearly, this was their dog—his and Judith’s—and now, in spite of the chilled wine, Louise has a mouthful of grief. Susie had begged for a dog when she was young, but the Judge had always said no. Too much hair and dirt and fuss.
“Mom,” Susie says softly. She doesn’t understand this—could it be that her mother knows about Judith Dale and the Judge? “Maybe you’d better get the dog out of here,” Susie suggests to March.
“I’m sorry,” March apologizes. She and Susie exchange a worried look. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ll put the dog in the car.”
“No,” Louise says. “Don’t.”
Outside, they can see that the Judge is crouched down; he’s scratching the terrier’s head. These girls in the kitchen, March and Susie, feel sorry for her, Louise is well aware of that. But what do they know about love? You make bargains you’d never imagine you’d agreed to, and you do it over and over again.
“I’m fine,” Louise says. “We’ll start with the chowder, before it turns to ice.”
These girls think in black and white, love or rejection, yes or no. Louise watches the Judge as he makes his way to her back door and she feels the intensity of being together for nearly fifty years. She knows him completely, and not at all. She made her choices, just as March and Susie are doing. Young people believe that regret is something you will never feel if you simply do as you please, but sometimes it’s a matter of degree. Would Louise have preferred not to have the Judge at her table? Would she have preferred to have raised Susie alone, or have some other man watching TV with her in the evenings, someone easygoing, someone whose affections she could be sure of?
“We’re sitting down to chowder,” Louise tells the Judge when he comes inside.
The Judge has muddy paw prints on his pant legs; the suit will have to be sent to the dry cleaner.
“Look at this mess,” he says. When he brushes the leaves off his jacket, there’s the tremor, in his hands.
“It’s not so bad,” Louise says, cleaning off the lapels. “It’s a miracle fabric.”
The Judge laughs. “I can always trust you to perform miracles.”
“Hardly.” Louise snorts. He was charming as a young man, so tall, so much fun in spite of his serious nature. She loved him then and she loves him still. Someone else might have left, but she stayed, and here she is, beside him.
“What’s wrong with that daughter of Ed Milton’s?” the Judge asks. “I’ve never seen a more sullen child.”
He wasn’t really there when Susie went through her worst times, at exactly the same age. Susie hated herself and everyone else, but the Judge was too busy to know. He was working, or over at Fox Hill, and maybe Louise was too quick to settle all of the daily details and problems before his car pulled into the driveway.
