Nobody's Fool

not clearly defined. Dark had overtaken dark, it occurred to her. As she watched, the street lamp kicked on, to little effect. She became aware of Peter then, and when she turned he was studying her from the doorway. He was carrying the cutting board that contained the turkey carcass. She’d bought a larger bird than necessary, and Peter had carved only half of it. Now, the way he held the cutting board, the uncarved portion facing her, the golden brown bird appeared intact, as if no one had eaten, as if her offering were being returned to her untouched, spurned. Peter, seeing there was no room on the counter around the sink, set the board and carcass down on the dinette table. “I told the boys to get started on their baths, if that’s okay,” he told her.
    â€œWhy wouldn’t it be okay?” Vera said, though she knew why. The single bathroom in Ralph and Vera’s house was always a bone of contention when they visited. Always occupied, never adequate to the traffic, impossible to keep stocked with clean towels, impossible to keep fresh with so much use. Foul humans walking in on each other in their foulest moments.
    â€œWould you like me to dry?” Peter said, joining her tentatively at the sink. “I’m not doing anything.”
    â€œI do better alone,” she said. Peter was rarely kind, it seemed to her, and he seemed to offer kindness only at times she was unable to accept it, when she was beyond kindness. “It’s an
awfully
small kitchen.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with the kitchen, Mom,” Peter said, his voice laden with significance, an attitude of her son’s that she found almost impossible to bear. If anything was wrong, it was with her; that’s what he was saying.
    â€œWhy don’t you keep your grandfather company?” she suggested. “I’m fine. Really.”
    Peter had taken a dish towel from the drawer. “He’s dozing,” he said. “He ate pretty well.”
    After hooking him back up to his tank, Vera had brought her father a plate of food and set it up for him on a TV tray while he sucked hard at his oxygen.
    â€œYou’ve tried to do too much,” Peter said, adding, just as she knew he would, “as usual.”
    â€œYes, no doubt,” she agreed. “I should have let him spend Thanksgiving in the VA home.”
    â€œI didn’t mean that,” Peter sighed. “We’re the ones you shouldn’t have invited.” When she said nothing to this, he added, “Charlotte wants to leave in the morning.”
    Vera looked at him now, stunned.
    â€œIt’s just—” Peter began.
    â€œWhat a hateful woman she is,” Vera interrupted. When dinner was barely over, Charlotte had left, claiming there were some things she had to get at the store, but Vera had overheard part of yet another angry conversation that had taken place behind the closed door of the spare bedroom. “That old man isn’t the only one strangling in this house,” she’d heard Charlotte say. “It’s like living inside a can of deodorant here. She’s got two air fresheners in every room. She runs in and sprays every time somebody uses the bathroom. No wonder you hate women.” Apparently Peter had found this amusing, because Charlotte had added, after a pause, “Don’t laugh. Fucking them isn’t the same as liking them.”
    Peter looked down at the dish towel now. “We’re not doing all that well, Charlotte and I,” he conceded. “Being here just makes everything worse.”
    â€œI make everything worse, you mean,” she said, scraping food from the side of the sink into the garbage disposal.
    Peter said nothing.
    â€œGo then,” she said. “By all means.”
    â€œI had a feeling you wouldn’t take this well,” Peter told her. “You always make it seem like people do things just to disappoint you. You should have seen yourself in the other room. As if Grandpa’s not being able to eat with us was just him being mean to you, messing up your plans.”
    â€œI’d be grateful if you didn’t analyze me,” she said, scraping the last of the plates into the sink. That done, she grabbed the bowl that contained the turkey stuffing and scraped it into the sink, then the remaining squash. “Especially about your grandfather. I know you’re educated and I’m not, but there are some