Shallow Graves

Keith.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You’re in love with that man, Pellam. Right?”
    The hesitation must have seemed huge to him, though for Meg it lasted only a second. “No, I’m not.”
    Ambler stepped away from her. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
    “No.”
    “I knew it,” he said bitterly. “I knew from the minute you heard there was going to be a movie in town, you were going after him. What did you want? For him to sweep you away to be a star?”
    “Wex, come on. . . .”
    “Don’t you remember? We were lying in bed—”
    “Shhh!” She raised her palm to silence him.
    “—and it was the first day they came into town, in that damn camper of theirs, and all you talked about was making a movie. How much you wanted to act.”
    “Maybe I did. I want to be successful at something. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
    “Meg, you can’t just go start a Hollywood career. You—”
    “I don’t want to talk about this.”
    “Did he fuck you?” His voice was loud.
    “Be quiet!” She whirled to face him. “You can’t come to my house and talk to me that way!”
    He grabbed her arm. She winced. Then he calmed, reached forward and touched her face. Her eyes focused behind him, where a fast burst of light from the opening door would warn that Sam was on his way outside. “I love you, Meg. You don’t know how much. I want to be with you. I’m going to be with you.”
    “Wex, it’s never been right. Not here. Cleary isn’t the kind of place for this sort of thing. I see how wrong it was.”
    “You make it sound cheap. It wasn’t that.” His whisper was harsh.
    “I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t regret anything. I just . . .”
    He stared down at her for a moment then released her suddenly. Ambler turned and walked down the steps.
    Meg felt the vacuum of his leaving. There was too much unresolved. Wex Ambler had been her only lover. Was this how affairs always ended? Punctuated more with question marks and ellipses than exclamation points? She leaned against the banister and watched him—without a glance toward her—get into his Cadillac.
    He drove slowly away. She saw the flash of his brake lights as he paused at the road—paused just long enough to let the Winnebago turn up her driveway. Then Ambler hit the accelerator hard and vanished into the night.
    THEY’RE WAITING FOR me to say grace, he decided.
    Meg and Sam were looking at him, expectation in their faces. Pellam cleared his throat. In front of him, on the Sunday-set table, was a veal roast that would have fed enough men to rake up all six acres of leaves on the Torrens estate in half an hour. A huge bowl of beans and one of salad. Another plate was loaded with potato pancakes. He and Meg were drinking the white wine; Sam had a glass of milk.
    That’s what they’re waiting for. Grace. What do I do now?
    They’d settled in their chairs, candles were lit, and their eyes turned toward him. Then, as the seconds rolled past slowly, they looked at each other.
    Pellam unrolled his sleeves and buttoned his cuffs to buy time. Meg said, “Well?”
    “Last time I did this must be twenty years ago. I don’t remember it too well.”
    She was frowning. “Twenty years?”
    “Well, I don’t say grace in the camper.”
    And Meg was laughing, her wineglass in her hand rocking, spilling the blond liquid over her fingers.
    “Pellam . . . No. We’re just waiting for you to carve the roast.”
    “Oh.” He covered his face with his hands and laughed. Sam said, “I can say grace, Mr. Pellam. Here goes: Over the lips and past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes! Amen.”
    Pellam picked up the knife and serving fork and went to work. The first couple pieces crumbled. “Can I at least pray for help in carving?”
    It was an hour into the meal when the eeriness settled on him. A feeling he couldn’t pin down. It happened when he was laughing at one of Sam’s jokes, one that Pellam himself had told to death thirty years before, and he glanced up at Meg. Their eyes met, and for one moment, a pivotal moment, there was no movie, no studio, no camper, no Keith, just a universe centered around the three of them.
    And the instant he thought how comfortable and natural it seemed, the moment ended and he became anxious.
    Pellam surveyed his massive wedge of blueberry pie. Meg said to his protesting palm, “Pellam, you’re too skinny.”
    He ate two pieces.
    When they’d finished dessert Pellam helped Meg clear the