Read Olive, Again: A Novel for Free Online Page A

Babcock answered the phone, Olive would just hang up. Or if any woman did.
    Jack answered on the second ring. “Hello?” he said, sounding bored. “Is this Olive Kitteridge calling?”
    “How did you know that?” she asked; a wave of terror went through her as though he could see her sitting in her house.
    “Oh, I have a thing called caller ID, so I always know who’s calling. And this says—hold on, let me take another look—yes, this says ‘Henry Kitteridge.’ And we know it can’t be Henry. So I thought perhaps it was you. Hello, Olive. How are you tonight? I’m very glad you called. I was wondering if we’d ever speak again. I’ve missed you, Olive.”
    “I delivered a baby two days ago.” Olive said this sitting on the edge of her chair, looking through the window at the darkened bay.
    There was a moment before Jack said, “You did ? You delivered a baby?”
    She told him the story, leaning back a bit, holding the phone with one hand, then switching it to the other. Jack roared with laughter. “I love that, Olive. My God, you delivered a baby. That’s wonderful!”
    “Well, when I called my son and told him, he didn’t think it was so wonderful. He sounded— I don’t know how he sounded. Just wanted to talk about himself.”
    She felt she heard Jack considering this. Then he said, “Oh, Olive, that boy of yours is a great disappointment.”
    “Yes, he is,” she said.
    “Come over,” Jack told her. “Get in your car and come on over to see me.”
    “Now? It’s dark out.”
    “If you don’t drive in the dark, I’ll come pick you up,” he said.
    “I still drive in the dark. I’ll see you soon. Goodbye,” she said, and hung up. She went and got her new jacket that was hanging in the bathroom, the spot was dry.
----

    Jack was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and his arms looked flabby. His stomach seemed huge beneath his shirt, but Olive’s stomach was big too; she knew this. At least her hind end was covered up. Jack’s blue eyes twinkled slightly as he bowed and ushered her inside. “Hello, Olive.”
    Olive wished she had not come.
    “May I take your jacket?” he asked, and she said, “Nope.” She added, “It’s part of my outfit.”
    She saw him look at her jacket, and he said, “Very nice.”
    “I made it yesterday,” she said, and Jack said, “You made that?”
    “I did.”
    “Well, I’m impressed. Have a seat.” And Jack brought her into the living room, where the windows were dark from the outside. He nodded to an armchair and sat down in the one opposite it. “You’re nervous,” he said. And just as she was about to answer him what in hell did she have to be nervous about, he said, “I am too.” Then he added, “But we’re grown-ups, and we’ll manage.”
    “I suppose we will,” she said. She thought he could have been nicer about her new jacket. Looking around, she was disappointed at what she saw: a wooden carved duck, a lampshade with a ruffle—had this stuff been there all along? It must have been and she had not noticed it; how could she not have noticed such foolishness?
    “My daughter’s upset with me,” Jack said. “I told you that she’s a lesbian.”
    “Yes, you did. And I told you—”
    “I know, Olive. You told me I was a beast to care. And I thought about it, and I decided you were right. So I called her a few days ago and I tried, I tried— in a goofy way—to tell her that I knew I was a shit. She’d have none of it. I suppose she thinks I’m just so lonely with her mother gone that now I’ve decided to accept her.” Jack sighed; he looked tired, and he put a hand over his thinning hair.
    “Is that true?” Olive asked.
    “Well, I wondered. I gave it some thought. And I don’t know. It could be true. But it’s also true that your response got me thinking.” Jack shook his head slowly, looking down at his socks, which made Olive look down at them as well, and she was surprised to see his toe sticking out of a hole in one.