“No, I don’t date. Anyone.”
“Why not? Are you a spinster?”
I smiled. “I suppose I am. But how do you know an old-fashioned word like that?”
“I read a lot.”
As had I, raised on classic English children’s literature, full of words like hedgerow and lolly and governess and wardrobe. And spinster.
We had come within hailing distance of Patrick, close enough to hear him grunt with exertion when he threw the ball down the length of the field. He nodded hello at us. “You guys following me?”
In the manner of a spinster governess, I said, “Good afternoon, Patrick. You remember Alexandra?”
“Hey, Alexandra.”
She looked at the ground. “Hi.”
“Alexandra’s never thrown a ball to a dog before.”
Patrick tipped his baseball cap back, said to her, “You want to throw Buck’s?”
Alexandra said, “Yes, please.”
Buck dropped a ball on a rope on the ground at Patrick’s feet, along with about a cup of saliva, and Patrick said, “The trick is to hold the toy by the rope. That way you don’t get dog spit all over your hands when he brings the ball back. Look, I’ll show you”
On Alexandra’s first attempt, the ball only travelled a few feet, but on her third try, the throw went far enough to make Buck run, and she whooped with delight. At throw number five, I sat down on the grass and let Tup off his leash, wished I’d thought to bring a book. At throw number eight, I thought about asking Patrick if I could borrow the one he had jammed into a pocket of his pants, another mystery novel from the look of the font that spelled out the author’s name. At throw ten, I said to him, “What happened to the book you were reading yesterday? Did you finish it already?”
The sideways glance he gave me was wary. “Yeah.”
“Do you read a lot?”
Warier still. “Some. Why?”
“I just wondered. I don’t meet adult avid readers very often.” Alexandra said, “I read one or two books a week, depending how long they are. How many do you read, Blithe?” I could be terse, too. “It depends.”
After four more throws, I said, “Did you go to Northside High, Patrick?”
He didn’t turn around. “Yeah.”
“I thought I’d seen you somewhere before. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. That was a good throw, Alexandra. Nice arc.”
Two years younger than me. “Do you have siblings?”
“Five. Two older and three younger.”
“I beg your pardon? You come from a family of six children?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t say any more, but I could have sworn he asked if I wanted to make something out of it.
Three more throws, during which I realized where I’d seen Patrick, in an apron, more recently than in high school. “And you work at Bagel Haven now?” The incredulity in my tone made both Patrick and Alexandra turn around. Tup and Buck remained intent on ball-chasing and ground-sniffing.
Patrick looked back at the field. “Yeah. I do the weekday bake there. How’d you know?”
“I saw you there, last week.”
He didn’t reply, though I thought politeness would have dictated a reciprocal comment of some kind.
Alexandra said to him, “How come Buck isn’t bringing the ball back this time?”
“Sometimes he gets tired and needs a rest, so he lies down. He’ll get up when he’s ready to play some more.”
I unfolded my legs and stood up. “Come, Alexandra. We should go. We don’t want to take up all of Patrick’s afternoon.”
“Okay,” she said. “Bye, Patrick. Thanks.”
“Yes, thank you, Patrick,” I said, “and for yesterday, too.”
He said, “You’re welcome,” sat down on the grass, and opened his book.
When we were out of his earshot, Alexandra said, “Patrick’s eyes remind me of a plate we have at home that looks as if it’s cracked all over, but it’s not.”
I’d seen guardedness and suspicion, and she’d seen a cracked plate. I said, “You’ll have to show it to me later.”
We walked once around the park perimeter, stopped for a drink at the water fountain, and sat down for a few minutes next to a tennis court where an intense game was in progress between two men. “Do you play tennis?” I said.
“No. I hate sports.”
“I’ve never been too keen on them either.”
Alexandra swung her legs back and forth under the bench. “What about when you’re teaching, and kids in your class don’t want to go to gym? Do you make them go?”
“I don’t think I’ve taught a child yet who didn’t like gym. Do you dislike it?”
“It’s better since I learned to get out on purpose. Like in dodgeball. If you’re out, you can sit on the bench for the rest of the class.”
I saw Alexandra throwing her slight body in front of the ball — dreading the impact, but desiring it, too. I heard the other kids yell that she was out, saw the fierce feral expressions on their faces that elimination games so often provoke, saw her limp off to the bench, to sit and rub at the sore spot where the ball had hit her, to count the minutes until she could return to the safety of the classroom. I saw all this, and a pang of sadness for her sounded in my chest.
“Other kids love gym, though” she said. “Josh is only in kindergarten and gym is his favourite subject.”
I thought I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “What’s your favourite subject?”
No hesitation. “Silent reading.”
Jane was sitting on her front steps reading the newspaper when we came back. Joshua, in the driveway, shot a plastic puck with a hockey stick into a child-sized net. “How did the walk go?” Jane said. “Did you two have fun?”
Alexandra said, “Patrick was there with Buck and I threw a ball for Buck a bunch of times and he caught it in his mouth, and I didn’t get any dog saliva on my hands, not once.” Jane smiled. “Gee, that does sound like fun” Alexandra ran up to the door. “Can you wait a second, Blithe? I want to show you that plate I was talking about. I’ll be right back.”
Over the sound of Joshua’s hockey stick slapping the driveway, Jane said, “Thank you so much for taking Alexandra out. That’s two days in a row you’ve cheered her up.”
“It was a pleasure. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“Thank you, but I couldn’t impose.”
“It’s no imposition. I enjoyed her company. She’s interesting and funny.” And sad.
“That’s kind of you to say.”
Why should she think I was sincere, when we’d both been brought up to favour politeness over honesty, when the two were so difficult to distinguish from each other? I said, “I’m not being kind, I mean it. How about next Sunday, at the same time?”
“He shoots, he scores!” Joshua yelled.
Jane searched my face, seemed to come to a decision. “Do you think you might be interested in babysitting Alexandra the odd time? For money?” She rushed on. “I know you’re too old for babysitting