“I don’t know. He might have read it differently if he knew it was me. In fact, he would have. Look at me, getting sentimental now. Just when I’ve pulled myself together. Anyway, if you see any books you want, or desk stuff, let me know. I’m clearing the room and making it mine.”
“Okay! I’ll help,” Agnes said.
“Now?”
“No time like.”
“Thanks!”
Polly hopped back up and went to the shelves. Open boxes sat on the desk waiting to be filled. She pulled two books off the shelves, lay them both down, picked up one at a time and wiped it, then placed it spine-up in a box. Then the other. Then back to the shelf. It was soothing to observe. “You start over there,” Polly directed. “Please. Take anything you like.”
Agnes picked up volumes, paged through, and replaced them. She already had enough books and had no reason to take Dick’s. It would be absurd. Yet she set aside a copy of Moby Dick illustrated with woodcuts, and a volume of Robinson Crusoe, and a few books about the Nazis. It was important to let no year go by without thinking more deeply about the Nazis. The dark mind of the species.
“Are these all right?”
Polly glanced over. “Of course. Are you still reading as much? I can’t concentrate for it.”
“Not as much. I dabble.”
“Are you on a book?”
This startled Agnes. How could Polly know—had Maud…？ But of course she was referring to a When Nan book.
“I’m horsing around with some ideas. I want to have Nan become aware of the passage of time. When Nan Visited the Royal Conservatory at Greenwich. But that’s a mouthful. Maybe a seed bank. Time is stored in seeds. Anyway, I’m thinking about time, so Nan might as well, too.”
“Do you remember that woman Helen I used to know? I saw her last winter. She told me she realized she should get a divorce when it occurred to her that time spent with her husband felt longer than time without her husband. She often watched the clock tick. She tried to tell herself that her life would seem longer because of this, but she thought at the same time that her husband’s gift for boring her would cause her to wither up.”
“Yes. I’d like Nan to perceive something like that.” Good old Polly, much quicker than she was given credit for. Worthy of lecturing the philosophy department at Penn.
“School. Or sitting in Meeting. Or caring for young children.”
“Yes. All those things. Time fast and slow.” Agnes set aside a copy of Margaret Mead’s Coming of Age in Samoa.
“I’m going to volunteer at the animal shelter this fall. I think it will have that quality to it,” Polly said. “Animals expand time.”
“You know you’ll be bringing everyone home with you.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad. I love Hope. I’d ask how Maisie is, but she wanders over.”
“And you feed her.”
“Maybe a little tuna here and there.” Polly grinned.
“Whatever happened with Dick’s book?”
“There is no book, Nessie.” She tucked two more neatly into the cardboard. “I have found nothing but scribbles and scraps. He hadn’t written anything substantive in a long time.”
“That’s too bad.”
“After he died I wrote to Adam, the head of his department, and asked him if anything had happened with Dick. It puzzled me that he wasn’t granted emeritus, and that Adam refused to write a foreword to a book that didn’t even exist. They could have jollied him along. Adam wrote back and said that there’d been complaints, and they didn’t want him on campus anymore.” Polly shrugged. “I suppose they can’t help themselves, these old men. Too much self-control for too long. It doesn’t matter now. None of it does, I’m well past worrying about his reputation with anyone but me.”
“It’s about time!” Agnes clapped.
“I was so eager to be in love. Why? What made that seem so important to me, when there was so much else I could have been thinking about? I wonder now if I ruined the boys by defending Dick so much.”
“Your boys are all fine people,” Agnes said.
“I know. You know what I mean.”
“Yes. They hurt your feelings, and believe me, I’ll wring their necks for it.”
“Thanks, Nessie. I’ll let you.”
Polly mopped along an empty shelf and started on the row just behind Dick’s desk. Together they watched as wadded pieces of material sprang from behind the books and tumbled over the lip of the shelf.
“What—”
Polly bent down and picked them up. “Oh my God.”
Agnes was perplexed. She bent down to help and felt a sting in her wrist. Polly had slapped her hand.
“No!” Polly shouted. “Stay away!”
But Agnes had picked up a wad. It unfurled and revealed itself to be a pair of men’s underwear. She looked at it briefly before realizing it was soiled. “Polly, let’s get some rubber gloves and clean this up.”
“How could he do this?”
“He was tired.”
“I’m so sorry, Agnes.”
“It’s nothing. It’s human.”
“I feel ill.”
“Stop it. We have a job to do.”
“You’re right. You’re right. Let me just splash my face.”
They headed for the kitchen to get supplies. Polly opened the broom closet, releasing a scent of sunbaked wood. She pulled out a bucket and pointed Agnes’s attention to the cupboard under the sink.
“Comet?” she asked.
“No. The vinegar.”
Agnes pulled out the jug. Polly poured some into the bucket and mixed it with water. “Grab a new sponge, too.” Agnes bent down again and studied the open packet of sponges with three left. She chose the purple. They processed back to the study, Polly leading. The evening wind cut ripples through the meadow grass. They went back into the study and tacitly divided up the tasks, Polly dealing with the bundles and Agnes wiping down the shelves with the vinegar solution.
“Poor Dick,” Polly said.
“He was an old man who didn’t want to be.”
“You’re right.”
“I am. That’s all this is. Nothing more or less.”
They carried the bucket and trash bag back to the kitchen. Polly straightened up and bent backward and stretched side to side. She heaved a big sigh and dropped her arms.
“I loved him, though,” Polly said. “What can you do?”
Agnes could almost see shimmering energy in the space between them. There was a bridge to cross.
“I do know my epitaph, Pol. I want my gravestone to have my name and dates and then three words—I loved someone.”
“Who?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know! I have to maintain some mystery, don’t you think?”
Polly didn’t smile. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think so, Nessie. I think it’s time we be honest. Completely honest.”
“We had some honest words last fall and look what happened.”
Polly shook her head. “Those weren’t honest words. Those were terrified words. I’m saying—from now on, the truth. What’s the point of it all if you don’t tell someone who you are?” Polly asked. “I want to, Nessie. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”