Mohawk

began to rally once her daughter canceled her contract with the movers and found another job in Mohawk, this one paying far less. Of the two, Mrs. Grouse had adjusted far better. But then, the old woman had a blueprint to follow. Milly had suffered a similar loss, and accepted it with a stoic forebearanceonly slightly diminished by the fact that in the decade before his death, she and her husband had not spoken a dozen words to each other. To hear her talk, as Dan Wood often remarked, anyone would’ve concluded that she’d lost her soul’s mate. In fact, burying her husband had given Milly something of an unfair advantage over Mrs. Grouse since both women derived great satisfaction from loading onto their slender shoulders every hardship life could impose. If anything, Mrs. Grouse now had the upper hand, having both a deceased husband and a divorced daughter to her credit. But she was too kind to press an unfair advantage, and the two agreed that each had leaden crosses to bear.
    Mrs. Grouse did not stray from the kitchen table. She would stop inching the silver once she’d resolved whatever problem absorbed her. Only then would the table be set correctly, the knives and forks resting in their proper slots. Anne came inside just as her mother reached her conclusion. “Goobies,” Mrs. Grouse said.
    “What?”
    Mrs. Grouse started, not expecting to see her daughter in the doorway. “Some goobies,” she elaborated. “You know. Chocolate-covered cherries. Peanut brittle. Will you ever forget how he loved peanut brittle?”
    “Dad refused to eat peanut brittle. You’re confusing him with yourself.”
    Mrs. Grouse, suddenly perceiving another flaw in the arrangement of the cutlery, began maneuvering a fork. “I should think I’d know whether he liked peanut brittle or not. After all, I lived with him for over forty years … I sat up with him all night long when he couldn’t catch a breath … I—”
    “You’re right, Mother. I’m sorry. I’ll pick up some peanut brittle on the way home from work if you like.”
    “Whatever for? I’m not able to walk a few short blocks?”
    “Fine, Mother. Walk, by all means.”
    Anne went upstairs to finish getting ready for work. She particularly hated Thursdays. She didn’t go in until late morning, but didn’t get home until well after the nine o’clock closing. Then she had to open the store the next morning. Sixty hours a week at roughly minimum wage. And that wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was remembering that staying in Mohawk was her choice.
    She was pulling on her coat when Mrs. Grouse’s voice floated up hallway. “There’s someone at the door, dear.”
    The bell hadn’t rung and Anne had heard no knock. “Mine?”
    “Come down,” Mrs. Grouse said. Her voice was edgy, and when Anne came in she was standing next to her place setting wringing her hands nervously. “He has long hair,” Mrs. Grouse explained. “He doesn’t look right.”
    She followed her daughter into the living room. The blinds were drawn, the room dark. When Anne opened them, the flat was flooded with light, and her mother shrunk back involuntarily, either from the light or the expression on her daughter’s face. “Who is it?” she said.

32
    Out by the highway a cold rain was falling on the Mohawk Medical Services Center. The dampness found its way into the building, and the nurses scurrying among the corridors threw sweaters over their shoulders. Diana Wood, seated bare-armed outside Room 247, shivered and wished vaguely that she hadn’t made this particular visit, especially since there was no need to. This was the way it always turned out. Her mother had brightened up as soon as they pulled into the hospital drive and told the first doctor she saw that she hadn’t any idea what all the fuss was about. She’d never heard of such a thing. All this after her frantic ringing of the hand bell on the nightstand next to her bed, and the panic-stricken eyes. “I can’t breathe!” she had breathed, a mere whisper, frightening Diana terribly. Only Dan had taken it in stride. “Neither can I,” he remarked to his mummylike mother-in-law lost in a queen-size bed.
    In a few minutes he wheeled around the corner and joined his wife in the bright corridor.
    “That didn’t take long,” Diana said, trying to sound cheerful.
    “They always have our file handy. I fill in ‘complaint’ and ‘date.’ They copy the rest.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    “You