They Never Came Home

“It looks sort of like a lump of coal,” Joan said. “But it’s got fray particles in it so I guess it’s something else. Why was it under Dan’s car?”

  “Jose put it there,” Frank said. “It couldn’t have been easier. He had plenty of time while we were inside the shop. That plastic box is big enough to hold a lot of these. They’re the real reason we’ve been going back and forth to Mexico.”

  “The real reason?” Joan repeated in bewilderment. “But what about the designs and the jewelry? What about Mr. Brown’s business?”

  “We’ve been helping Mr. Brown’s business, all right,” Frank said quietly. “It’s just a different business that we thought it was. We haven’t been making ‘jewelry runs’ when we brought that junky silver back from Juarez, Joan. What we’ve been doing is smuggling black tar heroin.”

  THIRTEEN

  IT WAS A QUARTER to ten when Dave Carter arrived at the Green Cove and took a seat at his usual small table by the door.

  A pug-nosed waitress who was clearing a nearby table threw him a quick smile of recognition and said, “I’ll tell Peggy you’re here. She’s back in the kitchen. We’re running late tonight. A whole batch of people came in just under the wire.”

  “That’s okay,” Dave told her. “I don’t mind waiting. Just bring me a cup of coffee when you get a chance, and how about a piece of lemon pie?”

  “We aren’t supposed to take any more orders, but considering you’re such a steady customer.” The girl gathered up her tray and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

  A moment later Peggy stuck her head around the edge of the kitchen door and gave him a smile and a wave. Dave raised his own hand in a gesture of greeting, and the head disappeared again.

  It was a funny way of dating, to start an evening at ten o’clock, but they had a funny setup anyway, with their hours running the way they did. Now that classes had started at the college, Peggy worked only on weekends, but her weekday nights were reserved for studying. Fridays and Saturdays, Dave would drop by the Green Cove just before closing time, and they would take in a late movie or walk back to the Richards’ house and watch television. On Sundays they went to the beach, often with the mob of younger children in tow, and as often as not Mrs. Richards invited him to stay for midday dinner.

  “This isn’t very fair to you,” he had told Peggy more than once. “You’ve got so little free time, with both school and working, that I shouldn’t be taking up so much of it. It doesn’t leave you any chance to do anything else.”

  “Like what?” She had regarded him with surprise. “What else do you think I ought to be doing?”

  “Well, there are bound to be things at the college, parties and dances and ball games. There must be plenty of nice guys there who would give their eyeteeth to take you to them.”

  “Are you telling me you’d like me to date other people?” Peggy had asked him.

  “Well, sure, if you want to. I’m not God’s gift to young women, Peg, and I know it. I don’t have clothes or cash to spend on mad evenings or even a car to get you places. Everything I earn at the store goes to pay for our crummy room and feed Lance and me. I’d be a dope to expect a girl to be happy with that.”

  “Well, be a dope then,” Peggy had said. “Because I am.” She said it flatly, without coyness, giving him that wide, honest look of hers that made him feel that he had known her forever.

  “If I wanted to date other people, I would. But I don’t.”

  It was she who had wanted it that way, but still he could not help but feel guilty about it. He was fond of Peggy; in fact, she was the only real friend he had other than a few associates at work. Her big, comfortable house, filled with noise and laughter, was more home to him than the room he and Lance shared at the Royal Palm. Her family—her easygoing, energetic mother—the happy, squabbling brood of brothers and sisters—fed a hunger within him which he could not begin to explain.

  Still, he was bothered by the feeling that he was taking more than he was giving in their relationship. As much as he liked Peggy and enjoyed her company, there was something missing in the way he felt about her. He wondered if she was aware of it. Sometimes he hoped she was; it would make it so much easier not to hurt her.

  The pug-nosed waitress set his pie and coffee before him.

  “Always lemon,” she said. “My goodness, you’d think there weren’t any other kinds.”

  “Why settle for second best? When I find a good thing, I stick with it.” Belatedly he realized that she would be rushing back to repeat his remark to Peggy. “I like lemon,” he said more stiffly.

  “I like apple, myself,” the waitress said conversationally.

  I’m getting too sensitive, Dave thought with disgust as the back of the white uniform crossed the room to a far table. Here I am, thinking my every comment is going to get blown up and made into something it isn’t. What makes me think Peggy gives a damn about whether I care about her romantically? She probably likes me just the way I do her, as a good friend. Who knows, she may be worrying about being unfair to me!

  The thought made him feel better. He took a bite of the pie, leaned back in his chair, and let his eyes roam idly about the room. He had been here so often now that he was beginning to feel the affection of familiarity. It was a nice little restaurant, not lavish, but clean and charming. The walls were hung with fishnets and seascapes, and the soft green lights that hung from the ceiling were shaped like blow fish.

  Because of the lateness of the hour, there were very few customers left in the dining room. One of the few remaining couples was getting up to leave. At the far table, a group of four who appeared to be college students were dawdling over their coffee. Glancing idly in their direction, Dave was surprised to find one of their number, a pretty dark-haired girl, staring at him intently.

  There was a familiar look about her, and yet, it was easy to think that all pretty girls looked familiar. Lately he had begun to find himself responding to all sorts of strange things. He would hear a strain of music—someone would pass him on the street, walking with a certain stride—the scent of carnations would reach out to him from the open door of a flower shop, and something in his mind would flicker, a spark, flaring bright for only an instant and dying just as quickly before it could catch and flame.

  Only a few days ago he had seen three boys coming along the street. They were dressed in jeans and T-shirts, their faces and arms sunburned, and they had evidently just come up from the pier, for they were laughing and kidding each other about “all those fish that got away.” The two older boys were talking to each other across the third one’s bristly head, and he kept bobbing between them, trying to get into the conversation.

  Just as they drew opposite Dave, the oldest boy reached down and rumpled the hair of the small one and said, “Okay, peanut, tomorrow we’ll use you for bait and we’ll really come home with a catch!”

  There was such teasing affection in the voice that Dave, turning to watch them, had found himself smiling in sympathy. Little brothers were a bother, but there was something about them that got to you. Lance could never have been that much smaller than he. How then did he know the feeling, the warm surge of almost paternal affection, that a freckled-nosed little brother could call forth? There were only a couple of years between Lance and himself, not the seven or eight that must exist between these boys.

  That night, when Lance got home, late as usual, Dave turned over in his bed and asked, “Say, did we ever have a brother?”

  The other boy was silent a moment, standing frozen in the moonlight that flowed through the French doors. When he spoke there was an odd note in his voice.

  “A brother? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, a kid brother. Was it always just the two of us? There wasn’t a third one?”

  “Nope. Just us.” Lance did not move. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know, really. I saw some kids today, and I seemed to feel—oh, something. Like remembering. But not really. It was just a feeling
, like I’d been around a kid brother sometime and I knew how it felt. And then, the way I feel with Peggy’s brothers, the twins—I’m used to them. I was used to them the first time I met them. It’s crazy, I guess. Like I say, I don’t actually remember anything. It’s just a feeling.”

  “There used to be a family next door,” Lance said slowly, “with a batch of kids. They were always tagging around after us. Maybe that’s what you remember.”

  “Maybe so.” He leaned back against the pillows, exhausted at the effort it had taken to drag upon his memory, yet exhilarated as well. “Perhaps this was a first step,” he said hopefully. “Maybe it’s starting to come back.”

  “Maybe,” Lance said. He did not turn away. “Look, Dave, you keep telling me these things. I mean, if you think you’re starting to remember something, you come out with it. Don’t just keep it to yourself.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “There isn’t anything else, is there? No more ‘feelings’?”

  “Nope. Just that.”

  It was so little, but it had been something. And every flicker, every faint crack of light that flashed, even momentarily, through the dark curtain that hung over his mind, was hopeful and exciting.

  Now he glanced up and saw Peggy crossing the room toward him. She had changed from her uniform into jeans and a t-shirt. With her hair fixed that new way, curling forward over her forehead, she might have been a high school girl rather than a working waitress and a college student.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry to have been so long. Mary’s offered to take over for me now, so I’m free!”

  “That’s okay. I’ve been stuffing myself on pie. What do you want to do tonight?” He got to his feet and picked up the bill for the pie and coffee. “We might be able to catch the last feature at the Palm. I think they’ve got that new comedy playing.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” Peggy said agreeably.

  At the cashier’s desk Dave counted out his change. Before them, the college boys from the far table were paying their own bill. Their dates stood apart, over by the door, chatting together. Suddenly the small, pretty one said, “Dan?”

  Automatically, Dave raised his head and swung it in her direction. She was staring at him, as she had been earlier from the other table, but now her face was dead white. She looked as though she had just seen a ghost.

  “You are Dan! You’re Dan Cotwell!”

  “I’m sorry,” Dave said, “you must have me mixed up with somebody else.”

  “I don’t! I couldn’t!” The dark eyes were huge in the small face. “You are Dan, you must be! Nobody could look so much like Dan! Even your voice—the way you walk!”

  “I’m sorry,” Dave said again. “You’re mistaken.” He laid the money for the bill on the counter and took Peggy’s arm. “Come on,” he said hoarsely, “let’s get out of here.”

  They stepped through the door out onto the sidewalk, and the fresh salt breeze swept into their faces. Behind them, the girl and her escort were also emerging from the restaurant, but he did not turn to look back at them. He could feel the girl’s eyes on his back; he knew she was still staring. He could see in his mind’s eye the shock on her face, could hear again the sound of her voice: “Dan!”

  She had called him “Dan.” He had turned, hearing the name! He had reacted to the name, almost as though it were his own!

  What’s wrong with me, he asked himself wildly. Am I nuts or something? My name is David, David Carter!

  He thought, I need a doctor! I’ve got to see a doctor! No matter what Lance says, something is wrong with me, something more than just a jolt to my mind! I can’t go on like this any longer! What if I’m actually crazy! What if all these dark churning things within me should come surging out one day, all these things I don’t even know are there, and I turn into a raving maniac or something! What if I hurt somebody!

  “Dave!” Peggy’s voice was thin and frantic. “Dave, wait, please! I can’t keep up with you!”

  “I’m sorry.” He had forgotten for the moment that she was beside him. He slowed his pace, and realized that his hand was clamped upon her arm. Abruptly he released it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “We’re going to the movies, aren’t we? Let’s see—which direction—”

  “I don’t want to see a movie,” Peggy said shakily. “I want to talk, Dave! I want to know what’s wrong! There’s something terribly wrong or you wouldn’t be acting like this!”

  “No. That is, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “That girl back there, she spoke to you! I didn’t hear what she said, but you knew her!”

  “No. No, I didn’t know her,” Dave said violently. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

  “Then why did you grab my arm and start to run like that? Why are you shaking? People don’t act like that if there’s nothing the matter!”

  “I don’t know. I swear it—I don’t know!”

  He was shaking, and his heart was pounding against his chest. Before him, the girl’s face was a dark blur, raised to his own. Impulsively, he bent his head and brought his mouth down hard upon hers. It was not a gentle kiss; it was desperate and frightened, a crying out through the darkness for something, someone.

  When he raised his head, there was a sob in his throat.

  “Joan,” he said chokingly, “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know who to turn to! Joan, I’m scared! I’m starting to remember things, but they’re the wrong things! They don’t fit! Nothing fits!”

  The girl in his arms was silent a moment.

  Then she said, “There’s one thing you’re certainly not remembering. I’m Peggy. Peggy Richards. Not Joan.”

  FOURTEEN

  THE APARTMENT WAS DARK when Dave entered.

  He stood for a moment in the doorway, listening to the steady breathing of the other occupant. He had known Lance was home, for he had seen the Volkswagen parked by the curb outside the building, but he had not been prepared to find him sleeping.

  Now, suddenly, he was aware of how very late it was, of the miles he had walked along the waterfront after seeing Peggy home. She had been so hurt. That had been the terrible part, seeing the pain in her face, hearing the flat note in her voice when she said, “Well, if you won’t tell me, Dave, you won’t. I certainly can’t make you. Certainly, you don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, Peg,” he had answered miserably. “It’s that I can’t. I don’t understand myself. I have to be alone—to think.”

  “All right, be alone if that’s what you want. I don’t have to sit around waiting for you. Like you’ve told me yourself, there are plenty of fun things happening at the university—dances, parties, all sorts of things.”

  She had thrown the words out at him in an angry rush, and then seemed more upset when he nodded in agreement.

  “Sure there are, Peg. That’s what I’ve been telling you. You ought to be going to those things.”

  She had stood glaring at him for a long moment out of tear-filled eyes. Then she had whirled and walked into the house and shut the door in his face.

  Now, standing in the doorway of his own apartment, Dave felt tired with a heavy weariness that was more than physical. His head ached with the strain of the effort he had been making to think, to remember. But he knew now what it was he had to do.

  Determinedly he closed the door behind him and switched on the overhead light.

  “Lance,” he said. “Wake up.”

  The boy in the far bed twisted, mumbled, turned to bury his face in his pillow to escape the flood of brightness.

  Dave crossed to him and put a hand on the shoulder beneath the sheet.

  “Lance, wake up. I want to talk to you.”

  “Oh, come on, are you nuts or something? It’s the middle of the night!” The boy rolled over, squinting up against the light, his face smooth and brown against the white of the pillow. “What’s the matter?”

  “That
’s what I want to ask you. What is the matter?” Dave seated himself on the foot of the bed. “Lance, who is Joan?”

  “Joan? How should I know who Joan is. Joan who?”

  “There was a girl named Joan, back before we came out here. What I want to know is, who was she?”

  Lance lay very quiet, gazing up at him. His green eyes were impenetrable.

  “What makes you ask something like that? You can’t remember anything. At least, you said you couldn’t.”

  “Tonight I did. For an instant. There was this girl Peggy, the one I’ve been dating. I kissed her. Then, suddenly, it was like I wasn’t kissing Peggy at all. She was somebody else. She was Joan! I called her Joan, and I felt—all of a sudden—a lot of things! Things I’d never felt with Peggy!”

  Lance seemed to be thinking hard.

  Finally he said, “You did date a girl in New York. Her name might have been Joan for all I know. I didn’t keep track of who you went out with. You dated a lot of different people. You had your friends and I had mine, just like we do here.”

  “This wasn’t just a casual girl. This was somebody special. This girl meant something.” Dave’s voice was tight and controlled. “What’s my name, Lance?”

  “David. David Carter.” The younger boy pulled himself to a sitting position. “I’ve told you that.”

  “Tonight, when I stopped to pick Peggy up at the place where she works, there was a girl there. A pretty girl, kind of small. She called me Dan. She couldn’t have known me, of course. My back was to her. She had me mixed up with somebody. But, she called me Dan, and I turned around! I knew the name!” He leaned forward, his hands gripping into fists. “My name isn’t David. You lied to me about that. My name is Daniel, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

  Lance was watching him carefully.

  “Your name’s David Carter,” he said evenly. “Why should I lie about it? Dan’s a nickname. Our mother used to call you that when you were real little. It was from a song, ‘Danny Boy.’ She used to sing it all the time. It was a favorite of hers.”