Slipping Through Glass

She was glad the screen door was still shut between them. She didn't know what to say, waiting for Roy, who seemed to be waiting for her. He hadn't grown much—they were eye to eye, only he wasn't looking at her.

"I—was around, in the neighborhood," he finally said.

"How did you know I was living here?"

"Dad. I—came to say hello."

She was too stunned to ask why. She debated; she was surprised she was unlocking the screen door. "Come on in," she said, letting him slip through.

In the living room they sat facing each other. "You want something to drink?" she asked finally.

"Sure."

"Lemonade?"

"Sure."

She got two cans from the refrigerator.

"It's been ages, she said.

She saw Roy hadn't changed much at all. He still acted as if his nose were running.

"So—" she said. "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing." And then slowly, realizing he should explain things, "I was at Wazoo. I got kicked out."

"For doing what?" Cate asked.

"Nothing."

"You must have done something."

"Nothing. I got kicked out for doing nothing." He had a slight smile, bemused. Cate stared at him. She was unmerciful.

"What'd your dad say? He couldn't have been too thrilled about you getting kicked out of college."

"Not to come home."

"What are you doing here?"

Roy's eyes were suddenly vacant.

"Where are you staying?" Cate asked.

"Crashing with friends."

"What about money? You got a job?"

"Yeah. Part-time. Collecting shopping carts."

Cate nodded to herself.

"And how's your sister?" she asked. "Your mother?"

"Mom joined the Peace Corps." "Michelle joined the Peace Corps?"

"She's in Mali."

"Finally put her money where her mouth was."

Michelle's voice, edged with disdain: "Look, Cate, if you are having trouble with the kids, just deal with it. Don't come whining to me. When I have trouble with my step-kids, do I go crying to their mother? For Christ's sake, Cate." How would the people of Mali interpret eyerolling?

"You still teach?" Roy asked Cate.

"Yeah. Well—it was—sweet—sweet of you to drop by. Good luck. I'm sure you'll figure this whole mess out." Youth was certainly wasted on Roy. Maybe hed grow into life. And world peace was just around the corner.

He didn't get up. Cate opened the front door, wide. Slowly Roy began walking. He stopped, crossing the threshold. He stared out into the distance.

"Your grass is really long," he observed.

"Yeah. There's a kid who comes and mows it, but he hasn't been around in awhile. He only comes when he's desperate. For money. Who can blame him. Who wants to mow lawns? God knows I don't. Why I pay him. But can't stop grass from growing. If they can put a man in space--probably why he's up in space, so he doesn't have to mow the grass. Suppose it all looks so pretty from up there, unmown grass. I'll eventually get around to it. Good bye, Roy. Take care of yourself."

He nodded, without looking at Cate. His presence had stung the house and that night, Cate couldn't sleep.

The next day, after work, Cate found Roy mowing her lawn. He was wearing a black baseball cap, his t-shirt off. He'd always had a doughy look. Roy refused to notice her driving up.

"What are you doing?" she yelled, jumping out of the car. "Roy! Roy! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Mowing your lawn." He seemed genuinely puzzled. He'd always been so good at that.

"That's my lawn mower."

"I needed it to mow the lawn. I don't have a lawn mower."

"You broke into my garage?"

"I—opened the window."

Cate ran into the garage. No broken glass, the window closed, everything quiet, tidy. Only the lawn mower taken outside.

He'd pruned the shrubs, weeded. The garden looked nice. Several hours of work. Twenty minutes later he was mowing the back yard.

"You want something to drink?" Cate asked. "Lemonade?"

"Beer," he yelled above the mower.

"I don't have any."

"I brought some. It's in the refrigerator."

She ran to the refrigerator. There was a six-pack on the middle shelf. He'd broken into the house. He'd probably been kicked out of Wazoo for burglary. The six-pack was probably stolen. The mower was silent; Cate brought him the six-pack.

"Don't you ever go into my house again—without my explicit permission."

"Okay."

When he'd been a little boy, and he'd been angry, a blankness would glaze over his features. He'd never looked Cate in the eye; she wasn't there. Or maybe it was a ritual of a wish. He and his sister were experts in secretive reprisals. She'd never known when or where, even what the retaliation represented. They had never not been angry. It'd brought the two siblings closer. Without the conspiracy they couldn't talk. You never knew what you were being used for.

"It looks like Im done," Roy observed. He started to go.

"No—wait—" Cate debated. "You might as well stay for dinner. You look like you haven't had a decent meal since— since—well since I left. There's some frozen hamburger patties in the freezer."

She'd divorced Roy's father over ten years ago. That marriage hadn't lasted very long—three and a half years. The next day Cate had all the locks changed. Double bolt locks were installed. She knew Roy would be back, and he was, four days later. Luckily. Cate had taken her old set of keys. She couldn't get back into the house.

"You want me to get you in?" Roy asked.

She nodded, fuming. Roy went to the back of the house. Gently, he squeezed the locked glass door open. It took three seconds. He was very matter-of-fact about his ability to coax glass.

Cate made him hot dogs, macaroni and cheese. He'd brought his beer again. Everything on the table, she called Roy to dinner. He didn't answer. Cate's heart stopped. She found him in her bedroom, staring at a framed picture of Cates first marriage. Shed had a child thmeningitis at the age of five.

"Come and have dinner, Roy."

She wished he'd go away.

She got pieces of wood, jammed the glass door and all the windows. She threw away her old set of keys, wondered what else she had to do.

Some mornings Cate found Roy asleep in his car. He'd come silently in the middle of the night, the car parked out on the street. She'd give him breakfast. He'd stay for the rest of the day or he'd leave, gone for weeks. He always made an exchange, a bag of coffee, a lawn mown.

And then he was at her door with all his bags. She opened the door just wide enough for him to slip through, angry to death at herself.

They sat facing each other. Muted sunlight from the voile curtains filled the space between them with hung dust.