They drove carefully through the snowy streets to Macon’s house. The living room was a disaster area – bits of ceiling had fallen down, and all over the room it was raining, water running down the walls, through the curtains, pools lying on the floor.
Charles was shocked. “What are you going to do?” he said.
“Turn off the water in the basement ,” Macon said. “Find my boots, and go.” The ruin of his living room did not upset him. It belonged to another life, a different person. It was the past.
When they were back in the car, Charles turned to Macon with a serious expression. “I think it’s time we had a talk,” he said.
“What about?”
“This Muriel person. Everybody says that.”
“Is that what you call her – “this Muriel person”?”
“No one else will tell you. They say it’s none of their business, ”
Charles said. “But I can’t just stand by and watch. Macon, she’s, Well … she’s not your type of woman.”
“You don’t even know her!”
“I know her type. You’re not yourself these days – we can all see it, Porter, Rose, me …..”
“You’re all so good at running your own lives, of course.”
“We’re just worried for you, Macon. This Muriel person is just not worth ruining your life for. Can you tell me one really special thing about her? Not something silly like “She listens to me.””
She look out of hospital windows and imagines how the Martians would see us, Macon wanted to say. But Charles wouldn’t understand that, so he said, “I’m not so special myself, in case you haven’t noticed. Damaged is the word, probably.”
“That’s not true. She’s lucky to have caught you. She’d be lucky to find anyone, in fact. She doesn’t speak proper English, she lives in the awful house, she wears cheap, nasty clothes, she has that sickly little boy who looks like – ”
“Charles, just shut the hell up,” Macon said.
When they got close to Singleton Street, Macon said goodbye to Charles, left the car and walked home. Freedom! Sunlight Shining on white snow, children throwing snowballs, boys clearing steps and paths. And then Muriel’s house, with its small rooms smelling of pancakes, its crowd of women in the kitchen. They were drinking hot chocolate now. Bernice was combing out Claire’s hair. Alexander was painting a picture. Muriel kisses Macon hello. “Ooh! Your face is so cold. Come in and get warm. Have some hot chocolate.”
“I’m sorry I’m so fat,” the man said. He was sitting next to Macon in the airplane. “Really I ought to buy tickets for two seats and not spread all over other passengers, but I’m not wealthy man.”
“It’s okay,” Macon said. “It’s not a problem.”
“And I travel for a living, too,” the man said. “Computers. I’m in an airplane seat six days out of seven sometimes.” He held out his hand to Macon. “Name’s Lucas Loomis.”
“Macon Leary,” Macon said.
“What do you do, Mr. Leary?”
“I write guidebooks for businessmen. People like you, I guess.”
Julian stopped by to discuss the U.S. guides for the West Coast. It seemed an unnecessary visit to Macon – no doubt the real purpose was to spy – and he kept Julian in the living room. The others were all in the kitchen, and Macon had no intention of letting Julian meet them.
But Julian said, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to Muriel?”
“She’s busy.”
“I’d really like to meet her.”
“Why? Hasn’t Rose given you a full report?”
“Macon,” Julian said, “when I marry Rose, I’ll be your brother in-law. It’s only natural that I want to know Muriel. Anyway, I want to invite her to the wedding. So can I talk to her?”
“Oh. Well. I guess so.”
In the kitchen Muriel, Claire, and Bernice were seated round the table, looking at a notebook.
Macon introduced everybody.
“Hello, ladies,” Julian said cheerfully. “I’ve come to invite you to my wedding, Muriel. And your little boy.”