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Show 231 them?" She was being kind, his wife. "I will." "No," he said, "I just got distracted, that's all. Couldn't find the goddamn grenadine." "Above the refrigerator." "Thanks." "Tequila's under the sink." "Right. Look, Julia, I'm sorry. I was thinking about this lousy weather, that's all. This drought. I'm sorry. Go back out, tell them I'll be right there, okay?" "Of course, but . . . " she paused to show him an uncertain smile, " . . . please try to join the living. These are our friends, remember?" He remembered. Tia, Molly, Paul: he wasn't so sure about Jonathan. Julia disappeared. Philip directed himself to the cupboard, found five glasses and filled them with ice; poured tequila, then the orange juice Julia had squeezed fresh that morning, into the glasses; had the five drinks on a tray and was at the front door before he realized he had forgotten to add the grenadine. Through the screen he could see the others, sitting around the smoking grill, laughing, talking with their hands, making faces. Being at a party. They didn't see him. Philip watched secretly as Molly and Tia, with jeweled hands, adjusted their white veils; watched as the men shifted in their heavy woolen djelebas. Words and laughter, like the dark folds of smoke, rose straight up in the late-afternoon sky. What to do about the drinks? Set them down here, on the piano, |
