His eyes were a
slatey blue--the color of the sea on a cloudy day. Hers were almond
with flecks of green. He was fair skinned. Lorna was tanned. His hair
was sand colored, prematurely grizzled. Hers was light brown, sun
streaked, thick, and cut short--perfect for small gold earrings. She
brought with her the smell of spring. He smelled like upstate New
York--dirt, dairy farms, and industrial towns. She was kind. They both
were, although he had a bitter streak that dragged at him.
The pigeons took off in a sudden rush, flapping and swerving around the
trees. Don stood and walked slowly across the square. "So long, Ruby."
"Be good, now," she said.
You can survive unloved, but you can't make it without loving
somebody--or something. Ruby loved her birds. And who knows who else?
He loved Lorna. Lorna loved Pike, or used to, and Molly, their
daughter. Molly herself would be falling in love any time now, if she
weren't already. Round and round we go, getting the job done. Except he
hadn't gotten the job done, not unless you counted the paintings as
kids. Not a happy train of thought. Piss on it, he'd have a waffle at
Cleary's. Tide him over until the big feed.
On Thursdays they had the big feed, he and Riles and Kai. Thursdays,
because weekends were unpredictable. He walked the six blocks to
Cleary's, just around the corner from the house--Riles's house, Kai's
house--he couldn't call it home exactly, although he'd spent more
winters than he cared to remember in the basement studio reserved for
caretakers or indigent relatives.
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