Fellow Travelers

by Thomas Mallon

Getting married? she’d asked, incredulously. Having children, too, no doubt, he’d answered. Why, Fuller? Why not? Because you’re— Because I am, even so, good value for her money. No, you’re not. He’d said nothing, just smiled. Why now? A hitch in time saves nine. He’d begun moving toward the door by that point. Should I say anything to him? she’d asked. I’ll be seeing him this weekend, you know, when I’m back home. I know. I keep reading the letters you deliberately leave open on your desk. What should I tell him, Fuller? That it makes no difference. He’d already taken his hat from the clothes tree. Of course it makes a difference, she’d protested. Does Mrs. Bell make a difference, Miss Johnson? You’re a son of a bitch. Yes, I am. He’d then put on the hat. No, you’re not. No, I’m not, he’d said, without any archness, before asking, quietly, for a simple favor: Make it easy on him. She now lit one of the cigarettes and returned to the library, where there seemed to be a lull in the conversation between her father and their guest. “Tim has just finished explaining to me the difference between Frontierland and Fantasyland,” Mr. Johnson told his daughter. “But we’ve concluded that Josephine’s son wants to go to another land entirely.” “Which is that?” asked Mary. “Tomorrowland,” said her father. Tim’s brown eyes were wet and huge. She could see that, in the time she’d been out of the room, he had guessed the identity of the groom.