“Let me try for a pulse,” Walt Hannen said.
Julian threw back his head and howled, and his cry cut right through Walt Hannen, it cut through the night and brought tears to Walt’s eyes before he had time to blink. Walt knew the sound of a soul torn in two, just as he knew there was no pulse before he grasped the dead boy’s wrist. He sat there on the damp ground, helpless, beneath the tree that was as red as a man’s blood, listening to Julian weep. Seeing a man like that makes you owe him something; you know him the way no one else does, whether you want to or not.
So they shake on their agreement, in the last booth at Chuck and Karl’s. They don’t discuss it any further now, nor will they ever. They don’t mention what the board of selectmen might say if they knew about the bargain that had just been made between two public officials. They argue over the check, just enough to be polite, and nod their good-byes easily, as if they hadn’t both done something that could get them fired.
Julian immediately goes to the pay phone in the parking lot to call Lucy. So he wants her, that’s not a crime. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s crazy. What’s crazy is the way he feels when she doesn’t answer her phone. It’s a churned-up feeling and it won’t go away; it just gets worse each time he calls her and finds no one at home. All that afternoon he searches out telephone booths, and by evening he has her phone number memorized. If she were anyone else, he’d go knock on her front door, but he can’t quite face her. He tries not to think about her when he gets home, although it’s because of her that he can’t sleep in his own bed and instead spends the night in an easy chair. In the morning he tries to call before he’s had his coffee; he can’t eat and he can’t keep his mind on anything, and if that’s not crazy he doesn’t know what is.
He wastes the whole day, driving through town, stopping at phone booths, cursing himself for being a fool. He parks at Drowned Man Beach for over an hour, trying to make sense out of the things he’s done in the past few days. But the fact is, he can’t; there’s no sense to it. Finally, at around suppertime, he drives over to Long Boat Street. He’s relieved when he sees her parked car, but when he goes up to the seventh floor, no one answers the door. He stands there, considering, then takes his MasterCard from his wallet and jimmies open the door. She needs a better lock, that much is certain.
He moves quickly through the apartment. Nothing seems out of place, but in her bedroom a dresser drawer is open, and it’s only half full. Julian reaches into the drawer and takes out a white silk slip, and that’s when he knows she’s already gone. When the telephone rings he goes to the night table, picks up the receiver, and holds it to his ear.
“Lucy, honey?” a woman’s voice says.
It’s Kitty Bass, so Julian has no choice but to hang up on her. She’d recognize his voice instantly; she disliked him enough to still remember. Julian takes the phone off the hook and rests it on the night table, and that’s when he sees the white envelope. He studies it, then pulls out the invitation to Lucy’s high school reunion. He searches the night-table drawer until he finds Lucy’s most recent child-support check, not yet cashed, then jots down her ex-husband’s address on a piece of notepaper. On the way out, he notices Lucy’s car keys on the coffee table, and he slips them into his pocket. He’s never been on a plane, and he doesn’t intend to start flying now; he certainly can’t be inconspicuous if he’s driving a Florida police cruiser up north. When he goes down to the parking lot, Diane Frankel spots him just as he’s unlocking Lucy’s Mustang. She watches him, suspicious, one arm thrown protectively around her sulky teenage daughter.
“Radiator,” Julian tells her. “Mrs. Rosen’s having us check out the cooling system.”
He can see this neighbor of Lucy’s loosen her grip on her daughter, but she keeps an eye on him as he starts the car and pulls out onto Long Boat Street. There have been so many police cars here recently, no one will make much of his cruiser parked at the far end of the lot. All the way out to the marshes, he’s thinking shoulder bone, collar-bone, all those pieces that can be so easily broken if you’re not careful. Driving down a road he has taken a thousand times before, he is convinced that Lucy is headed for nothing but trouble. He plans to give the boy one more chance to talk.
It’s almost seven when he gets out to Miss Giles’s. He honks the horn twice and reaches for a cigarette. When Keith comes out and sees his mother’s car, he stops right outside the back door.
“Your mom’s got a nice car,” Julian calls through his open window. “If only the air conditioner worked.”
Julian remembers how he was tormented by his dreams during the summer when he was twelve. He’d wake suddenly, frightened, uncertain as to what was real and what wasn’t. On some nights, a stone would be thrown at his window, and he’d scramble from his bed and peer outside, in a fog of sleep and terror, to see Bobby Cash, there behind the willows, grinning, motioning for him to sneak outside. That was the summer when Julian stuck his head into Miss Giles’s old cookstove. It was the same oven in which she had warmed him when he was just a few hours old in order to bring him back to life. The old stove burned wood, which meant they ate mostly salads and boiled frankfurters, but Julian must have believed that all ovens used gas. After twenty minutes with his head inside the oven, his cheeks were sooty and his hair smelled like toast, but he had accomplished nothing. He pulled his head out, then had a piece of peach pie and went off to collect toads.
The boy is looking at the Mustang expectantly, and it takes Julian a second before he realizes that he isn’t looking for his mother; he’s checking out the backseat for Arrow.
Julian gets out and walks to the porch. “I don’t have the big guy with me, if that’s who you’re looking for.”
The boy has hooded eyes; quickly he looks away, as if he didn’t give a damn. He’s wearing clean blue jeans and a black T-shirt washed so many times it appears gray. If Julian Cash isn’t mistaken, he wore these clothes when he lived here.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about the dog,” Julian says. He studies the boy’s face, looking for any resemblance to Lucy and finding none. “He’s not a pet. He’ll bite you as soon as look at you.”
The boy shakes his head. How much more of this does he have to listen to?
Julian takes out a cigarette and points right at the boy. “I’ve got your number,” he says.
The boy blows air through his lips. Yeah. Right.
Julian holds the cigarette out, and when the boy doesn’t take it, he places it on the porch steps, along with a pack of matches.
“I used to spend hours out here.” Julian sits down on the last step. He can see that one of those goddamned May turtles is crawling under his left rear tire. “I used to think about maiming people and spitting right in their faces and whatever the hell else it is you think about when you’re twelve.”
The boy’s muscles tense, all at once. If he wanted to, if he didn’t have to worry about the baby, he could take off right now. He’s younger, he’s faster, he might just pull it off.
“Take the goddamned cigarette, will you?” Julian says.
The boy looks him over, then reaches for the cigarette. He’s so high-strung he’s like a piece of wire.
“Your mother and I made a deal last night,” Julian says. The boy has lit his cigarette and inhaled, but as soon as Julian mentions his mother, he coughs. “I’m giving her a couple of days before I turn you over. Mostly because I’m an idiot.”
Julian moves sideways on the step so he can get a good look, but there’s still no reaction. The boy’s eyes are all cloudy; you’d barely guess he was alive. “Just jump in here anytime,” Julian says. “Feel free to put your two cents in.” He smokes his own cigarette and grins. “Oh, right,” he says. “I forgot. Cat’s got your tongue. So I’ll ask you some questions. You don’t have to use actual words or anything. You can just nod.”
The boy stares at him through a curtain of smoke.
“Did you find the baby in the apartment?”
&
nbsp; Nothing.
“In the laundry room?”
The boy’s eyelids flicker, so Julian knows he’s scored.
“You found her in the laundry room after you’d stolen the rings, and then you took off like a guilty bastard. You should have just left her there. You know that, don’t you?”
The boy’s breathing shifts slightly; he knows that was his biggest mistake.
“Burying those rings in the shoe box was pretty stupid, too.” Julian shakes his head. “You should have just thrown them in the bushes. They never would have turned up.”
The boy’s growing more and more fidgety. He reminds Julian of the ferret he and Bobby once found in a hunter’s trap. The damn thing wouldn’t let Bobby get near enough to save him. He bit Bobby on the forearm and he would have fought to the death if Julian hadn’t hit him with his boot to stun him. Even then, he bit Bobby one more time, on the thumb, deep enough to draw blood, before they could get him out of the trap.
Inside the kitchen, Miss Giles taps on the window and motions to Julian.
“You stay right here,” Julian says to the boy. “Don’t fucking move.”
As Julian walks inside he passes the pantry, where Miss Giles keeps a shotgun, behind the Hoover and the mops. Her father used to shoot at raccoons that came to steal pickles and butter from their larder. He taught Miss Giles how to shoot. She’s always kept the bullets hidden, but for years Julian has known they’re inside a tin on top of the flour canister.
Julian goes to the refrigerator and gets himself some lemonade. He used to do this every day; back then it was the only thing that could quench his thirst.
“The baby’s asleep,” Lillian Giles says. “You know, that boy is the first one I’ve ever had who won’t say a word. Not even ‘Pass the ketchup.’ ”
“I don’t want anyone to find these kids for the next couple of days,” Julian says. “Just in case somebody comes looking for them.”
“I can take care of these children,” Miss Giles says. “Don’t worry about that.”
Julian puts his empty glass in the sink, as he’s been taught. “I’m not worried,” he insists, although he’s never really thought about how far she is from her nearest neighbor or a hospital.
Julian can see the porch from the window above the sink; the boy hasn’t moved, not an inch. He still doesn’t move when Julian comes outside, not even when the screen door slams shut. His shoulders are so rigid it’s painful to see; the sneakers Miss Giles has given him to replace his own are a full size too big. Somehow, Julian has become more of a sucker than he ever would have thought possible.
“Come on,” he tells the boy.
The boy looks at him, but doesn’t budge.
“I know I told you not to move, but I changed my mind. Move.”
The boy rises and grudgingly follows Julian to the car. “I don’t want to hear that you’re giving Miss Giles any trouble,” Julian tells him as they get inside. “Put your seat belt on.”
The boy curls his lip, but he buckles up.
“You know, I’ve never been out of Florida,” Julian says as he heads down the driveway. “You watch what I’m doing now,” he adds as he turns onto the road. “Make a right out of the driveway and go half a mile.”
The boy is ignoring him, so Julian elbows him, and he sits up in his seat with a little growl.
“I’ve never seen snow,” Julian says. They pass Chuck and Karl’s and the Mobil station. “Here at this telephone pole? Take a left.”
As if the meanest boy in Verity could give a shit about directions. He puts his head back and closes his eyes, but Julian steps on the brakes, hard, so that the boy shoots forward in his seat, then is snapped back by the harness of the seat belt.
“Now do I have your attention?” Julian asks. “You make a sharp right into the driveway.”
The boy slowly nods, and Julian continues toward the house, past the merlins in the cypress trees. Both dogs are barking; Loretta from inside the house, Arrow from his kennel. When they get out of the car, Arrow charges the kennel fence, but when he recognizes Julian and the boy, he stops. Julian walks on ahead, then signals for the boy to follow him. Outside the fence there’s a silver trashcan filled with kibble; the cover is weighed down with a brick to discourage raccoons. Julian opens a small gate, about the size of a cat door, and lifts out a metal bowl.
“Fill this with eight cups,” he tells the boy.
As Julian roots around for the plastic measuring cup, the boy places his hand against the wire meshing of the fence. Arrow comes to put his nose against the palm of his hand.
“Are you listening?” Julian says.
The boy obediently begins to fill the bowl, so Julian goes inside. He takes his suitcase from the closet, and throws in some socks and underwear along with a clean pair of jeans and some .38 rounds. He stops in the kitchen for a bag of Doritos and a six-pack of Coke. Most people, when they take off, wind up heading for home. Julian turns off his kitchen light, then calls to Loretta and snaps on her lead. Out on the front porch, he puts down his suitcase and has Loretta sit. The whole time he’s driving he’ll be thinking of Lucy; he’ll be covering up her fingerprints on the steering wheel with his own.
It’s already dark, and Julian should get on the road, but he’s held by the sight of the boy stroking Arrow’s neck while the dog gobbles his dinner. Julian knows if he stuck his hand in the feed door and tried to touch the dog while he ate, he’d be bitten. What makes Arrow so quiet tonight, almost docile? When he’s finished his food, the dog lies with his head on his paws while the boy pets him.
Julian leads Loretta down to the car, opens the back door for her, and tosses his suitcase inside.
“You’d better keep your hands out of there,” he calls.
The meanest boy in Verity is embarrassed; quickly, he stops petting the dog and latches the feed door. He’s still crouched on the ground when Julian comes up beside him.
“I have to go out of town,” Julian says. “I need you to feed him.”
The boy looks up at him, puzzled.
“Forget about him and he starves, so don’t forget about him. He looks like he likes you, but don’t start thinking you can let him out of his kennel, because you can’t. He’d tear most people apart.”
When the boy rises to his feet, Julian has the urge to tell him not to talk to strangers, but he keeps his mouth shut. This isn’t any of Julian’s business; he can’t keep tabs on the boy, he won’t even be in town. By morning he should be in Virginia, where he’ll let himself sleep for an hour by the side of the road. Still, he knows what it’s like when no one trusts you; it turns you so inside out that your shadow is the one that leads the way and all you can do is follow wherever it takes you. He knows for a fact that bad boys don’t necessarily run away, even when they’re given the chance. That’s how they get into trouble in the first place. They don’t know when to back down.
“You want a ride to Miss Giles’s, or you want to walk it?” Julian says.
The boy turns his face to him and Julian can tell he doesn’t believe he’s heard correctly. It takes a good while for the boy to understand that he has. After Julian gets into his car, and the key is turned in the ignition and a cloud of blue smoke spills into the black air, the boy finally allows himself to believe. It’s easy to tell when the car reaches the end of the driveway; the merlins begin to call in the tops of their trees. The meanest boy in Verity listens to the sound of birds in the night. It’s all right if he’s out here by himself. It’s all right just to look at the sky. Soon, he’ll be on the road, all on his own, and as he walks beneath the stars, finding his way will be easy as pie.
SIX
IN GREAT NECK, IN THE month of May, you can smell lilacs and freshly cut grass and the sharp, stinging scent of chlorine as pools are cleaned and readied for the summer. On Easterbrook Lane, where the shade trees are more than a hundred years old, it’s nearly impossible to see some of the houses from behind their hedges of rhododendrons, although Lucy manages t
o spy her front door as soon as the taxi turns the corner. It’s a white colonial with green shutters, actually quite pretty, and although it was several steps down from her Uncle Jack’s house in Kings Point, Lucy is astounded to see how large it is, how well kept since her departure, almost as if her presence had made the shutters fall off their hinges and crabgrass sprout up along the brick path to the door.
It’s cool here in the mornings; Lucy had forgotten that. The air is blue and fresh, and you can hear dogs barking in the fenced backyards. Lucy pays the driver and collects her suitcase and purse, but after the taxi has made a U-turn and disappeared she is still standing on the brick path. Someone has planted a new rose bed, and by June there will be huge pink roses lining the walkway. From the moment she left, Lucy erased bits and pieces of this house, until it had become no bigger than a toy she could hold in the palm of her hand. But here it still stands, rooted and sturdy with its red brick chimney. At the front door, Lucy puts her suitcase down on the white wooden bench she once mail-ordered from Smith & Hawken, then runs a hand through her hair. She had to spend the night in Atlanta, where she curled up in a plastic chair and slept fitfully, and now the front of her hair stands straight up, as though she’s had a bad scare. She has brought almost nothing with her; her suitcase is filled with tank tops and jeans. It is possible that she may not even have brought a comb.
She knocks twice, and it’s a while before the lock slides open and Evan appears at the door. She’s woken him, and standing there in his blue robe, he’s sleepy and confused. He’s a good-looking man, tall, with the same thick, fair hair as Keith and a face so open it hides nothing, not even the fact that for a moment he doesn’t recognize his ex-wife.
“Lucy,” he says finally. All the color has drained from his face and he doesn’t open the screen door. “What happened ? Where’s Keith?”
“He’s fine,” Lucy says. It’s so much easier if you take a deep breath before you begin to lie. “He went to a friend’s and didn’t bother to tell me. You know how he is,” she adds when Evan looks doubtful.