She knew the Russian for several kinds of snow. The Russian for the amorphous mass outside was...she couldn’t remember. Snow grains, snow pellets, snowmelt. Rose had made snow angels. Maybe Dorrie would throw a snowball.
Wrapped in one of Rose’s sweaters, her own hooded sweatshirt, and Ben’s old down vest (a vest she had given him during their marriage), she stood in front of the mirror and pulled up her hood and made faces. She looked for her shoes.
Then, falling-apart shoes in hand, damaged, blemished loafers, she told Rose she had to be going.
Oh, why? said Rose.
My winter clothes are at home.
Absorbed in her book, Rose lounged in a chair, a blanket wrapped around her. Only her head and the hand holding the memoir showed. Ostrich-style. It was still cold in the house. She had turned the heat on. Not very high.
Oh, she said vaguely. Well then. Let me find you some waterproof shoes, too. You can’t wear those.
Things fall apart, Dorrie said.
The center does not hold, Rose agreed. She found some old duck boots.
Dorrie asked, Can I keep these? They look better than mine.
Startled, Rose said, Sure. But aren’t you coming back here?
No.
Why not?
Ben... walked out on you.
Oh, Ben, said Rose. He’ll be back.
She honestly didn’t know if he would or wouldn’t come back. She thought he would. He always came back. They fought against despair together. Despair was around. The political scene. They tilted at windmills. They engaged in battle over various problems, where to live, what they were doing in the city, should they move away from the center, should they build a house on the north side, should Ben return to being a doctor, should she find a new job, should they give more money to Dorrie, how much should they give to Doctors without Borders. But she was worried. He should have come back this morning. She had called his office repeatedly, knowing he had taken his sleeping bag with him. Didn’t that mean he planned to sleep on a floor? There were floors besides his office, but she’d found him there once before. She knew he would be at rehearsal tonight. She wanted to talk to him at home. At the bookstore she had asked Wolf jokingly if he could find Ben for her. Wolf had said, If I wanted to play cop, yeah. But he’s an adult. What do you need with that doofus? Why don’t you move in here?
Very funny. He’s my husband, she had said mildly.
Then she got sick. God knows how long she was in the restroom.
Wolf made a pass at her when she finally rejoined him.
Wolf had driven her home. The thirteen blocks. He parked the car and walked her to the door.
Snow melted, running down the gutter.
No sign of Ben?
His car’s not here.
Wolf came in for a minute. He nodded at Dorrie. She was not his favorite person. She came into the bookstore every few months and bought poetry books with money she should have spent on food and clothes. Once she bought a first edition of Theodore Roethke. He could tell she was poor. She was wearing baggy used clothes and looked ill. This was a person who wore no gloves in winter.
Sorry, he said. If you can’t afford gloves, you can’t afford this book.
Dorrie had burst into tears. I’ve saved my money for months.
Okay. You can have the book. Go and buy gloves first.
She came back in an hour wearing thick gloves, her garden gloves. He gave in. Look, I’ll let you have the book. But come in tomorrow and I’ll have a pair of gloves for you.
After that she came in and talked to him about Roethke, madly, but quoting whole stanzas. For him, “In a Dark Time” was Dorrie:
“In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood--
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks--is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have....
Rose was a good friend. He didn’t think it was a good idea for her to take care of Dorrie, Ben’s ex. But it turned out that Dorrie was much nicer than he’d thought she was. And she apparently was a writer. Who had a first edition of Roethke in a slum.
Nice house. Would you like me to stick around? Wolf asked Rose.
No, no. I’ll be all right, she said. Thanks for the ride. She hugged him casually.
Dorrie left right after Wolf did. She said, Thanks. I slept very well.
I’ll try to buy a house divided into apartments, Rose said firmly. It would be a good investment.
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