He closed his eyes for just a moment, feeling the distinctive rocking motion of the train. He could see the lights flash on and off through his closed eyelids. Then he opened his eyes again.
There were only a small handful of people on the car with them, and each kept his or her distance and paid no attention to Raymond or Mrs. G.
“This is so lovely,” she said. “This is so sweet of you to do this.”
“When’s the last time you ate food you didn’t have to cook yourself?”
“In my home, not all that long ago. Luis would bring me takeout every now and again, just for a treat. But in a restaurant . . . I swear I can’t even remember, Raymond, it was that long ago. Definitely not since my husband died. When he was alive we would go out to eat on our anniversary. Every year. And he would order a cake or some special dessert and have the waiter or the waitress bring it to our table and sing happy anniversary to us. But he’s been gone a little over seventeen years now. So this is some fairly ancient history I’m recounting to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Raymond said.
“You shouldn’t be. You weren’t even born, so it couldn’t possibly be your fault. We will speak of something else. Tell me. How was your morning?”
“Terrible.”
“Anything you care to share?”
“Not really. Just nothing went right. I was standing in front of a brick wall, and I just kept revving up and smashing into it.”
As he listened to his own metaphor, he touched the back of his head, gently feeling the spot where he had smacked it on the curb when he fell. A lump was forming there. It was tender.
“I definitely don’t recommend that,” she said.
“Sometimes it’s hard to figure out how to avoid it.”
Mrs. G had a watch with a crystal that lifted up, allowing her to touch the minute and hour hands. The hours were marked with raised blue dots. Raymond watched her check the time.
“It’s after noon,” she said. “Maybe they won’t be serving brunch. Maybe they will be serving lunch when we get there.”
“They serve brunch all day on Sunday.”
“You have eaten there before.”
“Yeah. It’s not far from where my dad lives.”
“You don’t have to pick up the check, you know,” she said. “I can help.”
“No. I told you. It’s on me. I told you I came into some money.”
“Well, I promise I won’t order the very most expensive thing.”
“It’s a flat price for brunch. But then there are all these different things you can choose from. I already know how much it will cost. I can cover it.”
“Well, it’s very sweet. I thank you for it.”
They rode in silence for a time. Mrs. G was looking up and around, as if reading the ads. But of course she could not have been. Raymond wasn’t sure what she was doing. Maybe listening. Maybe watching the changes in the light.
“What does he do, your father, to be able to afford to live in Midtown Manhattan?”
“He’s a dentist.”
“That explains it,” she said. “Yes indeed.”
Raymond helped her ease into her seat at the restaurant table, while the waiter carefully pushed the chair in behind her. Then the waiter handed them each a menu and hurried away.
Mrs. G set her menu down beside her plate and clapped her hands several times in sheer delight. Quickly. As if she simply could not contain her excited energy. She wore a beaming smile.
“Oh, this is so wonderful!” she said, loudly enough that a couple at the next table looked over and smiled. “It must seem very silly to you. Maybe even pathetic. To be so jubilant about a meal in a restaurant.”
“I figured you would enjoy it,” he said. “That’s why I brought you.”
It was half true. That was half the reason he’d brought her. That and the fact that he wanted to feel better about abandoning the Luis Project. He wanted to make it up to her, even though she had no idea he’d ever started looking. Because after his experiences earlier that day, he did not want to knock on even one more door.
He watched her smooth her hands over the starched white tablecloth as if admiring the fabric by feel. There was a tiny bud vase of fresh flowers in the middle of the table, some kind of small purple blooms, and Raymond wished she could see them. Maybe she could smell them, he thought.
“I’ll read you the brunch choices,” he said.
“I want an omelet. I already know I want an omelet. Just tell me what kinds they have.”