By Sheldon Kranz
He drove around for a while trying to enjoy the night air, and then he came home. He felt awful for the rest of the evening. And May didn’t seem to want to understand.
“How long is this going to go on?” she asked. “Something’s got to change.”
“It’s easy for you to talk,” he said irritably. “She’s not your mother.”
That night in bed, he told himself that she had always been this way. She had done the same thing with his father. Nag, complain, feel sorry for herself. How did you change a woman who saw all the world’s meanness and inconsiderateness aimed at her. If she were anybody else, he wouldn’t visit her in a hundred years. But she wasn’t just anybody. When he wasn’t angry, he felt quite another way about her, alone in the apartment with no family to take care of. That had been her one pleasure, taking care of a family. And now she was alone with only herself. Why did he have to lose his temper with her? Why couldn’t he please her more? He straightened the blanket again, and turned his pillow, but it didn’t help. He slept restlessly all night.
His luncheon appointment the next day with a prospective customer helped him forget about his mother. He and May had talked it over and agreed that Robert should ask Mr. Howitt out to lunch. He was a wealthy manufacturer of men’s shoes, and besides, he had a lot of important friends who might also buy new cars. Mr. Howitt was definitely worth taking out to lunch.
At one o’clock, Robert drove up to the expensive businessmen’s restaurant in the Fifties he had carefully chosen. He was wearing his good gray suit, and his inside jacket pocket bulged slightly with papers and figures which he hoped he might be able to present before lunch was over. He wished he had slept better. He needed to be at his best today. If Mr. Howitt got to like him, there was no telling what this could lead to.
Walter Howitt arrived just as Robert got a table far back in the busy, dark-paneled room. All the tables were filled with well-dressed men eating and talking leisurely while the waiters in white mess jackets moved about quickly and efficiently. The room made Robert feel important and less nervous.
While they ordered lunch, Robert tried to judge what Mr. Howitt’s mood was today. He was a short, stocky man with a bald head and tired eyes, and he always wore dark suits to look thinner. He liked to talk, Robert knew, and so he had to say things quickly so as not to interrupt Mr. Howitt and his stories about his family and his numerous business trips. There seemed to be an infinite number of stories about unscrupulous business practices in other American cities.
All through the soup, Mr. Howitt talked enthusiastically about his youngest daughter’s engagement party last week at their home on Long Island. Robert decided he was in an expansive mood. But the coming wedding might make him cautious about spending money for other things. He hadn’t known about this daughter, and he felt annoyed. Mr. Howitt’s bald head nodded cheerfully as he talked about now much the flowers had cost and about the bubbling fountain of champagne they had.
During the scallops, Robert heard about a trip Mr. Howitt had taken recently to Cleveland. He had a large shoe factory in Cleveland, and Robert made obliging remarks that would not impede Mr. Howitt’s flow of narrative. He kept wondering how he was going to get to the subject of automobiles.
“Cleveland’s a great city,” Mr. Howitt said, spearing one of his scallops, “I was born there, you know. Thirty-five years I lived in Cleveland. It was where I got my start. You ever been there?”
It was the first question he had asked, and Robert felt encouraged.
“No,” he said. “I’ve never been in Cleveland. But my mother came from there.” How long ago was it? He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t thought about it in a very long time.
Mr. Howitt looked interested. “You don’t say. Your mother came from Cleveland. What was her name? I knew everybody in Cleveland in those days. Made a point of it.” His tired eyes waited for the information.
For a moment, Robert couldn’t remember his mother’s maiden name. She had always been Josephine Shaw. That was how she signed his report cards. Mrs. Shaw was what everybody called her. He searched his mind frantically while he grinned at Mr. Howitt foolishly, his fork motionless on his plate. What was his grandfather’s name?
“Josephine Davenport,” he said with relief. “That was her name.” He took a drink of water.
Davenport,” Mr. Howitt said.
“Her father was in the coal business,” Robert said helpfully. It occurred to him that his mother coming from Cleveland might help him. It might make the difference.
“Coal,” Mr. Howitt said, and rubbed his broad forehead.
“She had a brother Burgess Davenport.”
“Jess Davenport,” Mr. Howitt cried. “I knew it. We went to school together. Graduated high school at the same time.” He looked pleased. “By God. Jess Davenport. Of course I knew him. And his sister, Josie. Sure, that would be Josephine for short. But no one called her anything but Josie.”
Robert had an uncomfortable feeling that Mr. Howitt was making it all up. Somehow he couldn’t believe that Mr. Howitt really knew his mother and his uncle. He kept his eyes respectfully on Mr. Howitt’s bald head.
“Isn’t that something,” Mr. Howitt grinned. “Haven’t heard about Jess and his sister in thirty-five years. Why, we all went out together that night after graduation. Josie was with a fellow called Ralph Woods. Mr. Howitt had a secret, far away smile on his face. “Josie Davenport. What a swell girl she was. Always had a funny answer for everything. If we wanted things lively, we always said to Jess, ‘Ask Josie along.’ And that night after graduation, I kept dancing with her, and she had me laughing the whole time. And she was pretty, too. I think I kissed her while we were dancing. Lord,” Mr. Howitt sighed. “Josie Davenport.” He stared at his plate of ice cream.
What nonsense, Robert thought. Pretty and always laughing, and being kissed at a graduation party. Where was his mother in all that? Where was the woman he had seen last night?
“Josie had a tough time afterwards, too,” Mr. Howitt said, eating his ice cream thoughtfully. “I remember Jess telling me how she wanted to go to business school to study something or other. But her father said she had to go to work. Jess said she had an awful fight with her family, and she was going to leave home. But he convinced her to stay. Jess said he had an awful time convincing her. But she stayed. Guess she settled down.” Mr. Howitt looked at Robert. “But imagine, you’re her son. You’re Josie Davenport’s son.”
Robert managed to smile.
“Who did she marry?” Mr. Howitt asked. “Does she live in New York?”
Robert nodded. “She met my father after she came here with her family to live. He was a druggist. He died three years ago.” The words sounded stilted in his ears. Who was this person Mr. Howitt was talking about? And why should it upset him? So his mother had been young once and unmarried like everybody else. Was that so strange? It was just that he had never thought of her being young like that, or fighting with her family. He played nervously with his water glass.
“I’d sure like to see Josie again,” Mr. Howitt said. “God, she’d be surprised to see me. Give me her number. I’ll call her up tomorrow. And you tell her that Wally Howitt is in New York. Think of it. We’ve been living in the same city for years and never known it. What’s Jess doing?”
“He lives in Philadelphia. He’s in the insurance business. He’s got three married children.”
“My God,” Mr. Howitt said. “Jess with three married children.” He stared at Robert without seeing him.
Automatically, Robert wrote his mother’s telephone number on the back of one of his business cards. This is luck, he told himself. This will lead to things. But his mind was jumping around so, he hardly saw what he wrote. He handed the card casually to Mr. Howitt. He paid the check without noticing what change he got.
As they left the restaurant, Mr. Howitt said, “We’ll talk about cars another day. Now don’t forget to tell Josie Davenport I’ll call her tomorrow.” He smiled, and for a moment lie let his hand rest on Robert’s arm. Then he turned and went briskly down the street.
Robert watched him walk away. Then he slowly crossed the street to where his car was parked. Mr. Howitt liked him. Things were working out well. May would be pleased. “Josie had a tough time. Tell Josie Davenport I’ll call her tomorrow.” The girl who was such fun and who wanted to leave home.
Robert drove automatically through the busy streets thinking about his mother. He should stop and call May to tell her about the lunch and the coincidence of Mr. Howitt coming from Cleveland. But instead he turned the car west, and drove towards his mother’s house. He wanted to see Josephine Davenport Shaw.
His mother looked surprised when she opened the door. Then frightened.
“Is something wrong?” she asked quickly. “Is someone sick?” She was wearing a brown knitted suit Robert had never noticed before that accentuated the slope of her narrow shoulders. Otherwise she looked the same.
“Everything’s all right,” he said, “I was in the neighborhood, so I dropped in.”
He saw her face grow suspicious, but he ignored it and walked into the apartment. The radio was on, and there was a skirt she had been sewing on the table near the window.
“You’re all dressed up,” she said, following him into the living room. The edge in her voice told him she remembered last night.
“I had lunch with an important customer.” He thought of Josie Davenport, and he stared at his mother.
She had seated herself in the gray overstuffed chair, with her hands folded formally in her lap, waiting. It was the same thin, determined face with the deep, sad lines, and the neat gray hair.
“Well, are you over your temper?” she asked. “Such a performance. I’m glad no one was around to see it. Really–.”
He kept staring at her, hardly hearing what she said.
“Do you ever think about Cleveland?” He hadn’t planned to ask it so abruptly.
She looked at him, startled.
“I mean, do you ever think about your family and before you were married?”
“What a question,” she said, and smiled uncertainly. “I guess so. Sometimes.” She looked at him. “Why do you ask?”
“I met someone you and Uncle Jess used to know.” His voice made it sound almost like an accusation.
“Used to know? Who?”
“Walter Howitt. He says he and Jess graduated high school together. And he knew you both in Cleveland.” He watched his mother’s face.
“Walter Howitt?” she said slowly. Then her voice rose to a thin scream. “Wally Howitt! You met Wally Howitt? Where?” Her eyes were wide open.
It was true then. She was Josie Davenport. Somewhere Josie Davenport still existed.
“He’s the man I had lunch with,” Robert said slowly. “He’s going to call you tomorrow. He wants to see you again.” Then he said irritably, “Why didn’t you ever talk about Cleveland? I didn’t know any of the things he told me.”
“Wally Howitt,” his mother said. “I haven’t seen him in years. Oh, I wish Jess could be here. What does he look like? I remember he always was too short. But he was a very nice boy with brown wavy hair. And he was smart. I’ll bet he’s successful today.”
“Very,” Robert said. “But he’s lost all his hair. He said you were very lively. Lots of fun.” He laughed awkwardly.
“I was,” his mother said quickly. “I was! Her voice rang through the room, and for a moment Robert caught a glimpse of Josie Davenport. He looked away bewildered.
“Mr. Howitt said you had a big fight with your family. You’ve never talked about any of that.”
His mother was silent for a minute. ” I haven’t thought about it in years,” she said slowly. “I don’t suppose anyone else has either. It was a very long time ago.” Neither of them looked at each other.
Robert thought of all the time going back to Cleveland. He had an overwhelming sense of all those years filled with so many feelings, and he had never even thought about them before. What had happened to that girl and all those feelings?
“Are you hungry?” his mother asked, and Josie Davenport disappeared abruptly. “I’ve got coffee on the stove. Have some coffee and cake.”
“No, thanks,” he said. “I just had a big lunch. Why did you want to leave your family?”
“You’ve never asked so many questions before,” his mother said briskly. “Ask Jess, he remembers those things better than I do. Are you sure you don’t want coffee?” But her voice didn’t insist as it usually did.
He shook his head. Neither of them spoke for a minute.
“Mr. Howitt said he’ll call tomorrow, ” Robert said. “I guess it will be exciting seeing him again.”
“Yes,” she said. “But I’m afraid I’ll look very different to him.”
“I’d like to hear about the visit after you see him,” Robert said gently.
She looked at him. “Would you? Well, there may not be so much to tell. We all knew each other so long ago.”
“And I’d like to hear more about Cleveland.”
“Would you?”
Robert looked nervously at his watch and stood up to go. “I’ve got to go. It’s getting late.”
His mother got up, and they stood there looking at each other.
“Give my love to May.”
“Yes, sure,” Robert said.
“And watch how you drive in traffic. I’m always worried about you driving in traffic.”
“Sure,” Robert said. He didn’t quite know how to leave. “And remember to call me after you see Mr. Howitt. He was in Cleveland recently, you know.”
“Cleveland,” his mother said. “I dream sometimes about the house we used to live in there. I wonder if Wally Howitt remembers it.” She looked at Robert as if he might know.
“I’m sure he does,” he said. “Well, so long.”
His mother didn’t answer. He waited a moment.
“Well, so long,” he said again. And when he left, he closed the front door quietly behind him.