If she thought about it too long or in too much detail, she knew that she would not be able to do it. One bright morning, when the first faint breath of autumn lifted the heat from the air, she armed herself with a half a dozen cardboard boxes and went into the room and began lifting piles of clothing out of the bureau.
She started with the top drawer first, the pajamas and socks and underwear. The second drawer contained the shirts, the third the sweaters. She lifted them by the armload and dropped them into the boxes, trying not to think too much about what she was doing.
Somebody will wear them, she thought, and be grateful for them. Somewhere there’s a family that can’t afford nice clothes with a boy who will think it’s heaven to have these shirts and sweaters. Larry wouldn’t want his things to sit here rotting in the drawers. He would want this boy to have them.
But, would he really? The question nagged irritatingly at the corner of her mind. Larry had always been so possessive about his belongings, particularly his clothing. She could remember the time she had come into his room without his permission and borrowed an old shirt of his to wear to a “shipwreck party.” She had come home that night to find him waiting up for her in a state of absolute fury.
“My clothes are mine, do you hear me?” he had told her angrily, all but wrenching the shirt off her shoulders. “If you want things, you buy them for yourself!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind.” She had been honestly bewildered. “I couldn’t find you to ask, and it was an old thing. You never wear it.”
“Whether I wear it or not has nothing to do with it,” Larry had informed her coldly. “What does matter is that it belongs to me.”
Now she hesitated, the memory of the conversation coming back to her. It was silly, she knew, to let such a thing bother her. Larry was dead. He would not have expected his things to be kept as a kind of shrine to his memory. It was not as though he would ever be back to claim them or to use them again.
Still, there were a few things that had been special favorites, several items of clothing that he had cherished and been especially proud of. These things, perhaps, she should keep, put aside in a special box, store somewhere. It was not a reasonable thing to do, but reason and emotion did not always go together. The green ski sweater, for instance, that had been imported from Switzerland—Larry had spent all his earnings from his short-lived paper route on that sweater. It was hard to imagine anyone else wearing it. It had been the exact color of Larry’s eyes.
Leaning over the box, she began to thumb through the pile of discarded clothing. There were a number of sweaters and shirts, even the old one from the “shipwreck party.” The green sweater was not among them.
That’s crazy, Joan told herself. It has to be there. Could I have missed it?
She went through the pile again.
Where could it have vanished? It was like living all over again the unsuccessful search for the money. Things did not just pick themselves up and take themselves off. Larry would not have lent the sweater, not the way he felt about his possessions. Was it possible that he could have taken it on the camping trip with him? It hardly seemed likely. The sweater was much too good and too expensive for knock-about wear. Could it be someplace other than the sweater drawer? Perhaps he had kept it on a padded hanger in the closet.
Straightening from her stance over the box, Joan went over to the closet and opened the door. A faint musty smell told her that the clothing needed airing. She reached in a hand and began to slide the hangers along the pole, surprised at the number that were empty. The green sweater was not there, but surely there had been more shirts than this, more pairs of slacks! What about the tan sports jacket? Larry had been so pleased with it. He had purchased it early in the spring. He had been waiting eagerly for the weather to become warm enough for him to wear it.
And the shoes! The shoe bag hung neatly on the back of the door. There were so very many empty compartments. Had they been empty when she was searching the room three months ago? Yes, they must have been for she could remember feeling into them. It had not occurred to her then to wonder at how few of the compartments had shoes in them.
What in the world has happened to everything!
She turned slowly from the closet to meet the eyes of the portrait on the bureau. The innocent, boy-child’s face dimpled at her from within the confines of the walnut frame. The eyes laughed into hers, guileless and gay.
“It’s impossible,” Joan said softly to her brother’s face. “What I was thinking for a minute there—it’s completely impossible. I’m ashamed of even thinking it. There has to be some other answer.”
Still, she stood for a long moment staring at the photograph. Then abruptly she turned and began pulling clothing from the closet hangers. She worked grimly and hurriedly as though afraid someone would walk in and find her there. She yanked them down recklessly, ignoring the snap of buttons, hurling shirts and slacks and suits alike into the cartons with no attempt at neatness.
“It’s impossible,” she said again, “but it’s the kind of impossible thing that can really get a hold on you. It’s the kind of impossible thing that must never—ever—be allowed to occur to Mother.”
TWELVE
THEY DROVE HOME THROUGH the sunset.
It was the time of day Joan liked best, when the desert fell away, shadowy and mysterious on either side of the car. To the west the mountains stood out like purple velvet against the brilliant flame of the sky. The heat of the summer had lifted now; the twilight was cool, and darkness came earlier.
“The coach says by November we’ll be practicing under lights,” Frank said.
There was a new deep note to his voice, which Joan could not help smiling at hearing. Trying out and making the football team was the shining glory of Frank’s life.
“I thought at first they wanted me because of Dan,” he had confided when the team was announced. “Being his brother and all, like a sort of legacy. But it’s not like that at all. I don’t even play the same position. The coach says I’m faster than Dan was. He wants me for quarterback.”
“That’s wonderful,” Joan had told him sincerely. Still, she had gone only once to see him play. The sight of the football field, the shouts of the crowd, the smell of popcorn and candied apples, and it had all come rushing back to her—the dozens of nights she had sat on these same bleachers, tense and excited, leaning forward, straining for the sight of one special figure, square and strong, a little bigger than the others, running in a special way.
She had lived it again in a flash when Frank came running onto the field. She knew him at once without even looking at his number. The way he ran, the way he carried himself exactly like his brother. The coach was right, he was fast. Even to her untrained eye he seemed to have an ease of motion, a natural, effortless sense of timing. Dan had had it too, to a degree, but not quite to this extent. With Dan, it had been his strength rather than his speed that had brought acclaim.
“Cotwell! Cotwell has the ball!”
Someone behind her yelled it. Then suddenly the whole crowd was on its feet shouting.
“Cotwell! Cotwell!”
“I know him,” the girl behind Joan said proudly. “He’s in my algebra class!”
Oh, Dan … Dan … Joan’s eyes stung with tears. She was happy for Frank. Of course, she was. Frank was as dear to her now as a younger brother, closer by far, in fact, than the brother she had lost. It was marvelous that Frank should find himself in this way, should begin receiving recognition for his skills and abilities. And yet, the running figure on the field before her—the beloved, familiar name rising all about her in hundreds of different voices—was for the moment more than she could bear.
Blinking back the tears that would not stop coming, she left her place in the bleachers and walked as quickly as she could toward the parking lot. She did not return.
Now, turning her head to watch Frank’s profile against the sunset, she said, “You were sweet to skip practice to
day. I know what it means to you to do that. Did the coach say anything?”
“Not much. It’s the first time I’ve missed. He knows I’m reliable.” Frank’s eyes were on the road ahead. “Say, Joan, how long are we going to keep on with this?”
“You mean our ‘jewelry runs’?” Joan shook her head. “I don’t know. As long as it takes to pay back Larry’s debt, I guess. Mr. Brown hasn’t said anything about how long he’s going to need us.”
“Have you thought about trying to pay it off in some other way?” Frank asked her. “Coming through customs this time, I felt like they were looking us over in kind of a funny way. I don’t mean that anything was wrong. We were well below our quota, just like we always are. But the fact that we’ve made so many trips back and forth lately—they keep records, you know. I think they’re beginning to wonder about us.”
“Let them wonder. It can’t hurt anything. As you say, we’re not doing anything wrong.” Joan hesitated. “We’re not, are we, Frank? You’re not beginning to feel funny about this, are you?”
“I’ve always felt funny about it,” Frank said bluntly. “I’ve never liked it, not from the beginning, and I feel a little more uncomfortable about it each time we go down. I can’t accept that Mr. Brown as simply a sharp businessman the way you seem to be able to do. I don’t think he’s letting you work off that missing money in this way because of kindness. I think there’s a snag somewhere in this, and one of these times we’re going to hit it. Nothing as hush-hush as this can be on the up-and-up.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Joan asked him. “I don’t really like it either, but what choice is there? I can’t go out and take a full-time job, not with Mother coming home in a couple of weeks. If I don’t repay the money this way, I won’t be able to at all.”
“What I think you should do,” Frank said, “is tell your father.”
“Frank, I can’t! You know Daddy has a heart condition! He’s had enough to upset him this summer without my adding this one more thing to it!”
“This ‘one more thing’ is going to look like absolutely nothing compared to everything else that has happened.” There was a note of firmness in Frank’s voice that made him sound more like a man than a boy. “Your dad has been through all kinds of hell this summer—agreed. But he’s held up under it! There are people who are made like that, Joan. They can take the big things and roll with the punches. It’s the grind of little everyday pressures that collapses them. I think your dad’s that kind of guy.
“Besides, why should this be such a major blow to him? Nobody’s accusing Larry of robbing a bank or anything. So he had a job—so he was trusted with some money—so, when he died, his sister couldn’t locate it. Your dad makes a good living. He’ll take out a loan or something to replace the cash.”
“It’s not just replacing the money.” Joan spoke slowly. “There’s something else.”
“You mean there’s something you haven’t told me?” He turned to her accusingly. “Is there something you’ve been keeping from me, Joan?”
“No. That is—there wasn’t in the beginning. It was just the other day that I …” She did not continue.
“Okay, shoot! What happened the other day?”
“Nothing, really. Just an odd thing that made me think of something for a minute. It couldn’t be true. I know that, I know it. But, if my parents ever thought of it—I don’t know what it might do to them. It’s so crazy.” She could see his growing impatience. “The thing is, I was going through Larry’s clothes, putting them into boxes for storage and to give away. They weren’t all there.”
Frank was silent a moment as though waiting for her to continue. Finally he said, “So?”
“That’s all. Just that they weren’t there. There were things missing—a favorite sweater, a new sports jacket. Shirts and things. Some shoes.”
“I don’t see …” He paused as the significance of the statement began to become clear to him. “No guy would take a sports jacket with him on a camping trip.”
“No,” Joan said, “he wouldn’t. Or a good ski sweater. Or suede shoes.”
“You can’t mean that you think …” Now it was he who could not complete the sentence.
“The thing that occurred to me,” Joan said with effort, “was that he might not have gone on the camping trip at all. He left the house as though he were going, and then on Sunday, while we were all at church, he came back and packed up some things. He took the money he was holding for Mr. Brown. He just picked up and—and went away.”
“And left you all thinking he was dead!”
“That’s why I said, it’s so crazy. It couldn’t be true. Larry wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t! Nobody could! Nobody could be so cruel to people who love him! It was just something that came into my mind—I was ashamed of it right away. But, still, it did come into my mind. And it might—into other people’s.”
“You mean your parents’?” Frank’s hands were clenched tightly upon the wheel; his knuckles stood out hard and white in the fading light. “I don’t think it would, Joan. No parents could believe that about a child of theirs. Besides, like you say, it couldn’t be true. I’m not saying that from what I know of Larry, because I didn’t actually know him at all. For all I know, he could have been a sort of monster. But I did know Dan! And Dan was with him!”
“Of course. That shows how silly I was being. Dan would never have gone along with such a thing!” She let her breath out in relief at the simple statement. “There has to be some other explanation for the missing clothes.”
“Perhaps he sold them or gave them away or took them to be cleaned. Maybe he packed them up for the summer and you’ll run across them in a suitcase someplace.” Frank offered his explanations with machine-gun intensity. “There are all kinds of things that could have happened to them. Trust a girl to come up with the one that’s completely impossible!”
“You’re right. That’s my excuse—my sex.” Joan laughed a trifle giddily. “Imagine, building an idea like that out of nothing! And you’re right about telling Daddy. I should have done that in the beginning. I was upset—I guess none of us were really thinking clearly right then. Mother isn’t home yet. She won’t have to know anything about it.”
“Great! No more ‘jewelry runs!’ I’ll be able to make all the practice sessions!” Frank took his foot off the accelerator. “Say, does the car feel kind of funny to you? Like it’s pulling to one side?”
“I hadn’t noticed, but now that you mention it …” Joan frowned. “What do you think is the matter?”
“Probably a flat. We ran over a board or something back there a way. It might have had a nail in it.”
He let the car slow itself down, and then, turning the wheel carefully, brought it to a full stop on the shoulder of the road.
Opening the door and throwing a quick glance up and down the highway, Frank climbed out of the car. Sitting quietly in the front seat, Joan watched him walk around to the back. The sky had faded now, and the first pale stars were beginning to show through the gathering darkness. On the road far ahead a strange golden halo announced the approaching awakening of a full moon.
“It’s a flat, all right,” Frank announced. “It’s about the shape of a pancake. No wonder the thing was lurching like that. If we hadn’t been so busy talking I would have noticed it right away.”
“What a drag!” Joan opened the passenger’s side door and got out to stand beside him. “It’s a good thing you’re here. I bet it’s twenty miles to the nearest filling station.”
“And you thought you could just as easily start making these trips yourself!” There was a note of real satisfaction in his voice. “Girls! What’s the matter with them!”
“Don’t forget that Marcie Summers is a girl,” Joan said teasingly.
“Yeah. I guess that’s what makes her so fascinating—she’s just as nuts as the rest of you!”
The cool, sweet air of evening lifted their hair and brushed their faces. Off to either
side there was the faint sound of desert things, waking and stirring and coming to life in the welcomed darkness.
Frank muttered under his breath as he opened the trunk and got out the jack and spare tire.
“I sure hope Dan got around to getting this thing patched after the last nail that went through it!”
Joan’s eyes found the line of moon gold along the horizon.
“Look,” she breathed. “Did you ever see anything so beautiful!” She paused, and when he did not answer she said, “Frank?”
There was still no response. Surprised, she walked around to stand behind him. He had the car up on the jack now and was kneeling beside it. The tire was off, but his attention was not on this, but on something he was holding in his hand.
Joan bent nearer.
“What is it?”
“It was inside a plastic box that’s attached to the frame of the car.” He turned the object in his hands. “Go look in the dashboard compartment and get the flashlight.”
She found it immediately and returned to turn the bright beam full upon him. The thing in his hands was a neatly wrapped brown paper parcel.
“It was in a box?” Joan exclaimed. “How could it have gotten there? Dan wouldn’t have had anything there? Dan wouldn’t have had a box under his car.”
“I can’t imagine it.” Frank was working with the string. He got the knot untied and gave the brown paper a hard jerk. It came loose and fell aside to disclose a second bag, this one of transparent plastic.
“Well, what do you know.” Frank’s voice was hard but unsurprised. “This explains a lot of things. In fact, I guess it explains everything.”
He got slowly to his feet, holding the bag straight out in front of him as though he were holding gun powder. Automatically, Joan took a step backward.
“What is it?” she asked nervously.
“What do you think it is? Take a good look.” He thrust it out to her. “Don’t be scared, it’s not going to explode. It’s got other uses.”