Margaret had been kind about the situation, and considering she had never liked Helen, she was especially kind about the fact that the woman was now dying. About Jim, Margaret only had this to say: “I have never understood your relationship with him, Bob. You have allowed him to be so rude to you for your entire life.”
“He loves me,” Bob said. “And I love him.”
Margaret said, “I know. Do I ever know.”
*
With Lucy finally back in town, Bob called and asked if she could come for a walk, and she said she was at her studio, but she could head over to the river right now. And she was already there as he pulled into the parking lot, standing by the wooden fence, waving to him. As he walked over to her, he thought how small she was seen from this distance, but how when he was with her he did not think of her as small.
“Man, am I glad to see you,” he said.
“Me too! I’m so glad you called.”
“How was your trip?”
Lucy shrugged. “Fine. William likes warm places in the winter, it was fine. Also, I saw Olive Kitteridge yesterday. She had a great story to tell me. But—you—tell me everything, Bob!”
“First tell me if Little Annie has survived, then I’ll tell you what’s been going on.”
“Bob! She did! She has survived. She dropped almost every leaf, but then this happened: A tiny green sprout grew from her top leaf. Bob!” She hit his arm lightly with her mitten. “Now tell me what’s been happening with you.”
And so they walked, Bob walking more quickly than he usually did. It was still February and a very cold day, but there was no breeze, and beside them the river was frozen except for far out in the middle where the water could be seen moving; there was a gray blueness to the frozen stretches they walked by. Lucy’s nose was red from the cold.
“Start from the beginning,” she said. So Bob told her first about Pam’s visit, and then he told her—here he had to stop walking—about Jim’s wife, Helen, who was dying, and that was why Jim had told him not to come to New York in December. Bob put his arms outward. “But why—why in the world—didn’t he just tell me the truth?”
“Oh God,” Lucy said quietly.
He looked at her, aware of the bafflement in his own face, and they continued with their walk. “Bob, I’m so sorry! And you love her, right? I know you do. God, am I sorry.” And then Lucy began to ask Bob a lot of questions about Jim, starting with their childhood, many questions she asked, and he answered them all. They came to the granite bench and Bob pulled his cigarette out. “I could practically eat this,” he said, looking at it before he lit it.
There were small ice floes moving down the center of the river. A group of seagulls perched on a few of the ice floes, and then they flew back up the river and settled themselves on a different set of ice floes and floated downriver again. Bob and Lucy watched this without comment. After a moment Lucy said, “Here’s what I think: Your brother Jim is a tremendously frightened man. He’s always been frightened. He killed your father and then let you take the blame your whole life. Think of the fear that guy has lived with since he was eight years old. Think of it!”
Bob said nothing, just smoked hard on his cigarette.
“Remember I told you that Olive was a bully and that bullies are just frightened people? Well, that’s Jim right there.”
Bob looked at her then. “He sure doesn’t seem like he’s scared.”
Lucy shook her head slowly. “Bob. You’re not listening to me. Your brother is scared to death. And now that his wife is dying, he’s probably beyond scared to death. And I think—” Lucy held up her mittened hand. “I think he hasn’t told you because you make him feel very vulnerable.” Lucy looked straight ahead and nodded, as though agreeing with herself. “Susan doesn’t make him feel vulnerable because she’s Susan and it’s a whole different relationship. But you, Bob Burgess, as you would say, just about bring him to his knees. And so he’s not ready to tell you yet.” Lucy stared ahead for a while, and then she said, “I wouldn’t call him. Wait until he calls you.” Lucy reached over and tapped Bob’s knee. “When he tells you it will make it all real to him. That’s what I think.”
“Why would telling me make it real to him?” Bob asked.
“I suspect that except for Helen and his kids, you’re by far the most important person in his life.”
“You do?” Bob turned to look at her.
“Yeah, I do. Think about it. Your relationship with him all these years has sewn you together so tightly. The fact that you love him so much just kills him, and it means you have to be just unbelievably important to him.”
Bob smoked and looked out at the river. “I never thought of that,” he said.
“Well, think of it.” Lucy crossed her legs.
“I’ve been thinking about calling Susan and saying I know.”
“You could do that. She’s just going to feel bad because she told Pam. But she probably told Pam because she needed to tell somebody.”
“I hear you,” Bob said. He inhaled deeply, and slowly the smoke came from his mouth. “I’ll call her.” They sat in silence for many moments.
—
He glanced at her and felt that she was very deep in some thought. When she finally spoke, she said, more slowly than she usually spoke, “Bob, listen. Years ago, when I was small, I have a memory of reading a book, and it had those black-and-white drawings in it, so it was some kind of book of fables, I think. And all I remember is that there was a picture of a man, he was older, and every time you turned the page, he was a little more slumped. Because it was his job in the world to eat people’s sins. And I have—my whole life—remembered that. That’s what the story Olive told me yesterday was about, about a sin-eater.” Lucy looked over at Bob thoughtfully. “And that’s what you are.”
“I don’t get it,” Bob said.
“I know. But that’s what you do. Starting with Jim, you have eaten his sins—unconsciously, of course—and— It’s just what you do, Bob. Everyone’s sins you take on.”
“Other than Jim, what are you talking about?”
“Pam. You take on her sins.” Lucy nodded slowly. “Look at the people you tell me about when you work at the food pantry. They tell you things. I mean, I’m using the term kind of loosely, but you absorb things, Bob. And that old woman who depresses you so much taking her groceries to her.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, don’t think about it,” Lucy said. She gave him a quick smile to indicate their joke. And then she added, “But I see you around town and everyone who has a problem seems to come to you.”
They sat quietly while Bob finished his cigarette, and then he stuck the butt back into its pack.
Bob said, “Thank you, Lucy.”
“Of course,” she said.
