Noah's Compass

The den door shut behind her. Liam looked at Eunice.

“Seems all at once I have a long-term visitor,” he said.

“She’s going to live here?”

“For the summer.”

“Well, isn’t it nice that she wants to!” Eunice said.

“It’s more a case of her not wanting to live with her mother, I believe.”

“Is her mother a difficult person?” Eunice asked.

“No, not particularly.”

“Then why did you two divorce?”

This was begi

He said, “The divorce was Barbara’s idea, not mine. I don’t even believe in divorce; I’ve always felt marriages are meant to be permanent. If it were up to me, we’d still be together.”

“What was she unhappy about?” Eunice asked.

“Oh,” he said, “I guess she felt I wasn’t, um, forthcoming.”

Eunice went on looking at him expectantly.

He turned his palms up. What more could he say?

“But you’re forthcoming with me,” she said.

“I am?”

“And you listen so well! You asked all about my job; you want to know every detail of how I spend my days… Men don’t usually do that.”

“I didn’t do it with Barbara, though,” Liam said. “She was right. I told her that. I said, ‘It’s true, I’m not forthcoming at all.’”

This made Eunice blush again, for some reason. She said, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He was still trying to figure out why it should be a compliment when she said, “Maybe your marriage was troubled because of your loss.”

“What did I lose?”

“Didn’t you say your first wife had died?”

“Oh, yes. But that was a long time before.” He slapped his thighs and stood up. “Let me top off your coffee!” he said.

“No, thanks, I’m okay.”

He sat down again. He said, “Should we be getting on with my résumé?”

“All right,” she said. “Fine.” She clicked her pen point. “First, your places of employment.”

“Employment. Well. From nineteen seventy-five to nineteen eighty-two, I taught ancient history at the Fremont School.”

“The Fremont School? Gosh,” Eunice said.

“That was my first job.”

“Well, but you’re supposed to start with your last job,” she told him, “and work your way back.”

“You’re right. Okay: eighty-two till this past spring, I taught at St. Dyfrig.”

She wrote it down without comment.

“I taught fifth grade from ninety… four? No, three. From ninety-three on, and before that, American history.”

He liked this business of proceeding in reverse order. It meant he was listing progressively higher positions instead of lower. (In his opinion, history was definitely higher than fifth grade, and ancient history higher than American.) Eunice took notes in silence. When he stopped speaking, she looked up and said, “Any honors or awards?”

“Miles Elliott Prize in Philosophy, nineteen sixty-nine.”

“You were employed in sixty-nine?”

“I was in college.”

“Oh. College.”

“Philosophy was my major,” he said. “Pretty silly, right? Who do you know who’s majored in philosophy and actually works as a philosopher?”

“How about your professional life? Any awards there?”

“No.”

“Let’s pass on to your education.” She flipped a page of the steno pad. “I have this software program that produces résumés,” she told him. “All I have to do is plug in the facts and the program does the rest. My parents gave it to me for Christmas one year. Is your computer Windows or Macintosh?”

“I don’t have a computer,” he said.

“You don’t have a computer. Okay. I’d better write your letter of inquiry, too,” she said, and she made another note.

Liam said, “Eunice. Do you really think we should go on with this?”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t have any business experience. I’m a teacher! I don’t even know what they’re looking for.”

Eunice seemed about to offer an argument, but just then Kitty came out of the den. She was wearing shorts now and a T-shirt that advertised Absolut vodka. “Poppy,” she said, “can I borrow your car?”

“My car! What for?”

“I need to get some more of my clothes.”

Liam wasn’t used to lending out his car. He knew it wasn’t much of a car, but it was sort of attuned to his ways, he felt. Also, he had a suspicion that there was some kind of insurance complication with teenage drivers.

“Why don’t I take you over myself later this afternoon,” he said.

“I won’t keep it long! I’ll have it back before you even miss it.”

“Just wait till we’re finished here and I’ll drive you.”

“Geez,” Kitty said, and she threw herself into the other armchair. She sat practically on the back of her neck, with her long bare legs stretched out in front of her, and sent him a fierce glare.

“Eunice and I were just discussing my employment,” Liam told her.

Kitty went on glaring.

“Eunice thinks I ought to apply at Cope Development, but I was telling her I don’t know what I could do there.”

“What’s Cope Development,” Kitty said without a question mark.

“It’s a place that develops new properties.”

“He would be terrible at that,” Kitty told Eunice.

Eunice made a sound between a gasp and a giggle.

“I’m serious,” Kitty said. “He’s not a good businessman.”

“How would you know what kind of businessman I am?” Liam asked her. Then he realized that he was undermining his own argument, so he turned back to Eunice and said, “But just in terms of where I’d be comfortable, I don’t believe Cope’s the right fit. I’m sorry, Eunice.”

Eunice said, “Oh.”

She looked down at what she’d written. Then she clicked her pen shut. Finally, it seemed, she had heard what he was saying. “I understand,” she said gently.

“I’m sorry I put you to so much trouble.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You’ve been telling me this all along, haven’t you? I guess I’ve been kind of pushy.”

“No, no. Certainly not! You’ve been wonderful,” he said. “I really appreciate your help.” He told Kitty, “She’s been helping with my résumé. She’s got this computer program that…”

Kitty was watching him with mild, detached curiosity. Eunice was still gazing down at her steno pad. Her lowered lids gave her a meek and chastened look; all her enthusiasm had left her.

All his had left, too-all his sense of something new in the air, something about to happen.

He said, “But couldn’t we go on keeping the notebook anyhow?”

She raised her eyes and said, “Pardon?”

“I mean…” he said, and he cleared his throat. “Couldn’t we go on keeping in touch?”

“Oh! Of course we could!” she said. “Certainly we could! No matter where you apply you’ll need a résumé, right?”

This wasn’t what he had meant, but he said, “Right.”

He pretended not to hear Kitty’s snort of amusement.