Finally she stood up and retrieved her empty carton and went home.
* * *
—
On Tuesday she brought a bath towel, a washcloth, a set of linens, and a flannel blanket. She stripped the daybed of its cover and made it up and fitted the cover on again, leaving the pillowcase on the bureau for when she had a pillow. She’d forgotten there was no pillow here—just a row of corduroy cushions propped against the wall. She would have to buy one on Saturday when she had the car.
And if Robin happened to be down in his basement workshop on Saturday, she might even load some of the heavier items—a few dishes, a saucepan or two, the clock radio from the girls’ room—and drop them off at the studio while she was out and about.
She experienced a kind of inner leap at this thought, a sense of enthusiasm she hadn’t felt in years.
Wednesday was the first day they could hope for a letter from David. That is, assuming it took only a day for mail to travel from Pennsylvania. But since it was western Pennsylvania, it might take longer. Also, there was no guarantee that he would write so soon. She had asked him to; she had begged him to. “Drop us a line the minute you’re settled,” she had told him, “just to say if you’re okay.” And Robin had added, “You know how your mother worries, son.” But you never could predict with David.
Anyhow, even so, she lingered at home that morning and waited for the mailman. All for nothing, it turned out. Robin called from the store to check, even, which proved that she was not the only one who worried. She said, “I wish we could phone him. I did make a note of the number for his dorm.”
But Robin said, “What, and listen to the money ticking away while they try to track him down?”
“No, I know. You’re right,” she said.
So instead, she phoned the girls. Alice was a stay-at-home mom now—she and Kevin had a nine-month-old baby—so she was easy enough to reach, but hard to keep on the line. “What do you expect? David’s a guy,” she told Mercy. “You’ll be lucky if you hear—no! Robby! Take that out of your mouth!” （They’d named the baby Robin, even though she was a girl.） “Give it to Mommy, sweetheart. Mom, I have to go. She’s eating kibble out of the dog’s dish.”
Lily was more difficult to reach. This was surprising, since she was between jobs at the moment. （She was between jobs an awful lot, it seemed to Mercy.） But maybe she’d landed something new. At any rate, her telephone just rang and rang, so eventually Mercy hung up and went to her studio after all.
Today she took with her a choice selection of skirts. She had never been a pants person. She wore skirts or dresses. But dresses required hangers and the studio had no closet, whereas skirts could lie flat if necessary. She had given this some thought. She had deliberately left room for them in the long bottom drawer of the bureau.
The studio had developed a different smell since yesterday. It had a slightly floral scent that she identified as her smell. Or her brand of laundry detergent, at least.
While she was there, she tried calling Lily again on the phone in the kitchen. This time, Lily answered. “Hello?” she said. There was something wary in her voice, as if she feared bad news.
“Hi, honey!” Mercy said brightly. “How you doing?”
There was a silence. Then, “I’m just going to say this straight out, Mom,” Lily said. “I’m expecting.”
“Oh!” Mercy paused. “Expecting…a baby?”
She heard a snort of something like laughter.
“Well, that’s wonderful, honey!” she said. Lily had always claimed that she and B.J. had no interest in children, but of course people could change their minds.
“I was planning to bring it up at David’s goodbye supper,” Lily said, “except then I chickened out.”
“I bet B.J. is excited,” Mercy said, testing.
“It isn’t his,” Lily said.
Mercy took this in.
Lily said, “I knew you would react this way.”
“What! I’m not reacting! I’m just adjusting, is all. What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?”
“Does he know?” Mercy asked.
“No.”
“He doesn’t know you’re expecting, or he doesn’t know it’s not his?”
“Neither one,” Lily said.
“Well,” Mercy said drily, “that would certainly explain why you didn’t want to tell us in front of him.”
“That was why I did want to tell you. So you-all could be, you know. A buffer zone.”