This Will Be Difficult to Explain and Other Stories by Johanna Skibsrud Read Free Book Online Page A

found that too was good. He found that too had been a fine decision—and he saw very clearly in that moment that he would never know what the right thing would be to do in his life.
    WHEN HE IS DRIVING AGAIN , Daniel tries to change the subject. He racks his brain for a subject that might interest Anna, but she is sullen with him now, and refuses to elaborate on any of the answers she supplies to the questions he asks. All her answers come out sounding like he is a fool to have to ask in the first place, as if of course there would be only one answer to that , and everyone would know it but him. Actually, he feels that way.
    They aren’t far now. In another mile or so, past where the Knutsen farm used to be, they will reach the junction and choose the road to the right. This will lead them to the old place, where Daniel’s mother still lives. Maybe Daniel will tell Anna about how his father used to let Sugar off right there, to run. That, at least, would be something to say.
    He wishes that Anna wasn’t in such a rotten mood, it’sputting him in one too. But it’s not her fault. He shouldn’t have made her drive.
    What he really wishes is that they—he and his daughter—could arrive at his mother’s house happy and laughing, as if they were the most natural companions in the world—which they were. Which they were supposed to have been. His mother would see, then, that although some things had come to pass that Daniel himself or anyone else could not have foreseen—everything was going on anyway. In another way. Equally good.
    Failing that, what Daniel wishes is that at least they were back at the beginning of the drive and Anna was polite to him again.
    The junction seems a long while to wait before he says anything again, so he says, “Whatcha thinking about, honey?”
    He tries to make his voice sound cheerful and light, as if the question has come out of nowhere and isn’t attached to anything else—even to any anticipation of reply.
    Anna says, “ Nothing ,” and Daniel knows that he has made another mistake. After that he doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he feels reckless. He feels that maybe he doesn’t even care anymore. He thinks, What the hell, I’m just going to say any old thing, whatever I feel like , and half turns to Anna and says, “I’ve always found that to be difficult.”
    Anna ignores him, or perhaps she hasn’t even heard. Daniel keeps going anyway. “I mean I’ve tried,” he says. “It’s not that I haven’t tried. But I just can never quite doit. So, if you can,” he tells her, and by now his words are coming out a little faster and hard. He feels like a fool, and wishes he could just quit talking. Instead he shrugs. “Well,” he says—to wrap up—“I guess that’s pretty cool for you.”
    Anna is still ignoring him, but she doesn’t look quite so angry now. Maybe it’s just Daniel’s imagination, but it occurs to him that he may have, now, the smallest of chances, so he tries again. “Are you really thinking of nothing?” he asks, and now he lets a teasing note creep into his voice. If he can get her to laugh before he gets to his mother’s place, then everything will be all right. Eight months ago he could have done it. He remembers that about Anna, certainly. She’d never been good at holding a grudge. She’d get upset, enough to frighten him sometimes, but then—in a moment—she’d be happy again, just like that, as if those small frustrations, which had somehow got so out of hand, had never existed at all.
    â€œI mean really really,” Daniel tries again. He smiles as he says it in her direction—to where she is looking out the window, at the approaching junction. In another second, without turning her head, she will be staring right down the road that they will turn down toward home.