“If you break the surface,” Lester said, “it’s still white underneath. As white as the day it came down.”
“Such a pleasant thought. And do you know something? You’re absolutely right!” She looked at him with solemn respect as if he were a stranger with remarkable insight. “I’ve done that myself. Why, I recall a summer several years ago. I was hiking in the Sierra. It was August, I believe. Late August or early September. At any rate, it was toward the end of summer and the first snow hadn’t come yet, but I found a gray, crusty old patch of snow. It had lasted since winter because it was sheltered from the sun all day long beneath an overhang. Well, the water in my canteen was lukewarm and cool refreshment sounded mighty welcome. So I kicked through the dirty crust and the snow underneath was so white it nearly blinded me. I scooped it up and ate it from my hand. Biting it. I still recall the way it tasted, and the way it squeaked against my teeth. Have you ever eaten snow?”
“Many times,” he said. “But not since I was a kid.”
She shook her head sadly. “We did so many marvelous things when we were children. I used to lie in the grass and watch the shapes the clouds made. Did you do that?”
“Sure.”
“There was always a high percentage of bearded men and sheep.”
Lester laughed.
“I’m perfectly serious. I also used to walk through puddles in my galoshes, stamping down hard to make big splashes.”
“I did that, too. I was very big on throwing things.”
“Rocks?”
“Rocks, bricks.”
“Snowballs?”
“And spitballs and paper airplanes.”
“And chunks of dirt that exploded into a million bits!”
“And once, when I was very lucky, my older brother—over my shoulder with judo.”
Emily Jean laughed. “All for the sheer joy of throwing,” she said, and hurled her empty glass at the fireplace. As it struck the grate and smashed, Lester threw his. It glanced off the bark of a log and exploded against the bricks.
They both were laughing and then they were in each other’s arms. The laughter stopped. They lay down on the couch and held each other for a long time. They said nothing. They hardly moved. They simply held each other close.
Then they moved their faces apart. Lester’s cheek was hot from pressing against hers. She looked in his eyes and he smiled and she kissed him. “Shall we move into the bedroom?” she suggested.
She led him upstairs and entered the room with the blue bedspread and the sweaty rock star writhing on the poster.
“Let’s go to your room,” Lester said.
She looked at him solemnly.
“If we’re going to make love, Emily Jean, I want to do it on your bed—not on your daughter’s. With you. No more pretending you’re her.”
“We tried that before, darling. It didn’t work.”
“It’ll work now.”
She began to cry. Lester held her. He led her quietly through the hallway to a bedroom with blowing curtains and two swirling landscapes of Van Gogh above the bed.
And it worked.
They were asleep when the telephone rang. Lester opened his eyes. The room was dark.
He felt a rush of alarm.
How late is it?
The phone rang again.
Must be at least six o’clock, he thought, or the sun wouldn’t be down.
What if that’s Helen on the phone?
It rang again.
She doesn’t know I’m here.
The hell with Helen, he thought, and smiled. So poetic: the hell with Helen.
Emily Jean reached an arm through the darkness and picked up the phone. Her voice sounded sleepy and pleasant as she said, “Hello?” She listened for a moment. “Yes, this is she.” Seconds passed. Suddenly, she blurted, “No! How badly?”
Lester climbed out of bed.
“I see.”
He started putting on his clothes.
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
He tried not to listen. He felt out of place and wondered if he should leave the room.
“No, not that I know of.”
He stepped into the hallway, buttoning his shirt, and didn’t return until he heard Emily Jean hang up.
“It’s May Beth,” she said softly as if dazed. “Somehow…she’s been hurt. She was taken to the hospital…in Denver. County General…all cut up…last night.”
“How bad is she?”
“Critical. The doctor said, ‘critical.’ She was unconscious until…half an hour ago.” Emily Jean shook her head. “I have to go to her.”
“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Lester said.
She sat up in bed. “Oh, thank you. But you can’t do that, Lester. Helen…”
“The hell with Helen,” he said. “Let’s get going.” He sat beside Emily Jean and put his hand on her warm, fragile shoulder.
She was already dressed and dialing the phone in the living room when the doorbell rang.
“Could you get it for me?” she asked.
What if it’s Helen?
The idea made Lester feel squirmy and sick.
“Sure,” he said.
I hope it is Helen.
He hurried to the front door and swung it open.
“Trick or treat!” shouted a trio of little kids: a ghost, a vampire and a Yoda.
Isn’t Halloween tomorrow?
No, this is Thursday. This is Halloween.
Here are the trick-or-treaters to prove it.
Lester wondered if Emily Jean had candy stashed away somewhere.
She was still on the phone to the substitute office. He could hear her speaking slowly and clearly, the way people do when talking to a tape recorder.
Lester reached into a pocket of his trousers. He felt some coins down there, and scooped them out.
“Here you go, kids.”
They held out their bags.
“Happy Halloween,” Lester said, and dropped a quarter into each bag.
FORTY-ONE
TRAVELER’S FRIEND
Butler Avenue. Butler would do fine.
Who done it? The Butler, of course.
If I had a Butler, he would tuck me into bed…
Albert shook his head sharply, trying to clear it. He flicked on the Volkswagen’s right-hand turn signal, moved over a lane, and exited Interstate 40.
Welcome to Flagstaff, he thought.
Staff of life. Sleep. Or is it bread? Staff of life?
Who knows? Who cares?
He hadn’t slept since when? Pueblo, Arizona. That quiet dark street in Pueblo where he parked and slept until dawn broke through his windshield. But that was…thirteen hours ago? No, fourteen. Something like that.
So much driving. Endless. Putting miles between…
This is it. End of the road. Till tomorrow.
He saw a big neon sign.
TRAVELER’S FRIEND
The small flashing green sign below it read VACANCY.
Albert pulled into the driveway of the motel and climbed out. The air was cold and helped to clear his head. The desk clerk was a smiling, blond woman. Mrs. Friend or Mrs. Traveler?
He signed the registration card as Arnold Price.
He paid with a twenty-dollar bill. One of those he’d given the girl last night…the one that got away.
Got away like Charlene.
Win a few, lose a few, he thought.
But I keep losing the best of the bunch.
“I can give you room fourteen,” said the woman.
“Good. Thank you.”
Key in hand, Albert returned to his car. He found a space in front of room fourteen. Got out. Opened the door of the room. Shut it. Bolted it. Pulled off his clothes. Turned back the covers. Climbed naked between the cool smooth white sheets.
Sleep was at the bottom of a dark hole, waiting for him. He fell toward it, spinning.
FORTY-TWO
CONFESSION
“I hope you enjoyed yourself
,” Helen said. She glanced at him from the couch, then returned her eyes to the ceiling as if its pebbled surface were a far better companion that Lester.
“I had a fine time.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, I know what time it is. I don’t know why you should care, though. It’s no later than the time you usually get home from your goddamn classes and board meetings and shit.”
“I didn’t have any classes or board meetings. This is Halloween. What I had were gangs of rug rats ringing the doorbell. I ran out of candy at about six o’clock and had to stop answering the door.”
“Sorry,” Lester said. “I thought Halloween was tomorrow night like the faculty party.”
“Where were you?”
He thought about the airport and the three-hour wait for Emily Jean’s flight to Denver. They had eaten supper there. She had cut her sirloin steak into dainty bites, but couldn’t eat them because she was sick with worry about May Beth. Later, she’d declined his offer to take her into the bar, so they had waited on plastic chairs at the departure gate.
She left holding out her boarding pass like a ticket to a violent game she was afraid to see. Lester watched her and found himself crying.
“Well, where were you?” Helen asked again.
“I went to the airport.”
“You were at the airport until eleven o’clock?” Her voice was mocking. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“I did. I got a big thrill out of watching all those people fly away.”
“You probably wished you were one of them.”
“Sure did.”
“Well, why the fuck didn’t you go! You think I want you around here all the time acting like some kind of goddamn baby?” She turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes and nose were red, just as Emily Jean’s had been red at the airport when she had spoken quietly of May Beth. “I don’t need you. You’re nothing but a goddamn baby. What the hell happened to you, anyway? I used to think you were a man.”
“You happened to me.”
“Sure, lay the blame on me. That’s just like you.”
“Of course it is. I’m going to bed.”
“Sure. Now you’re gonna run off to bed like a bad little boy.”
“Why should I stand here and take all this crap from you? You’re supposed to be my loving wife, but you’ve been treating me like shit for years. What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you what’s the matter. Do you really want to know? Are you sure you want to know?” With the sleeve of her sweater, she wiped tears from her face. Then she glared at him, dared him with mocking eyes.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“After I ran out of candy for the little bastards and you still weren’t home, I went over to a friend’s house. And you know what we did?”
Lester seemed to shrink inside. “Bob for apples?” he suggested.
“We screwed our brains out.”
The strength drained from his legs. He dropped onto a chair.
“It wasn’t just tonight, either.” She sat up on the couch and leaned forward, elbows on knees. Her voice quickened. “I’ve been seeing him for weeks. For weeks, Lester. All those nights when you thought I was in class or at a meeting, I was in his bed—fucking! Because he’s a real man and you’re nothing but a worthless loser!”
He held tightly to the arms of the chair. The lights of the room looked dim and hazy. Helen’s eyes, far away, were fierce as she laughed.
“How does it feel?” she asked. The words had a hollow ringing echo. “How do you like the idea of your wife in another man’s bed? Another man?” Her laugh washed over him like a breaker, engulfing him, drowning him. “You’re no man. He’s the man. You’re nothing. You’re a cipher. You’re a dickless wonder—that’s what he calls you. He laughs at you. We both do. You’re so fucking pathetic it’s sad.”
“Who is he?” Lester heard himself ask, and wondered why he’d asked.
Doesn’t matter who the bastard is.
Nothing seemed to matter except the warm darkness that was quickly overtaking him.
“Ian Collins, of course. Who do you think? He’s the only real man I…”
The floor slammed into Lester’s face, jarring him with a blast of pain, and he began to vomit. He thought he would never stop, never cleanse his guts of the filth that seemed to be clotted there.
But finally he did stop. He pushed himself away from the mess and got to his knees. He wiped his mouth and runny nose. Blinking tears from his eyes, he saw Helen’s contempt.
“You fucking whore,” he said.
Helen grinned. “Why don’t we go to the Halloween party tomorrow night as a pair? I’ll be the slut and you be the cuckold.”
“Fuck you.”
“Better still,” she said, “you’d better just stay home. Ian says he’s gonna kick your ass the next time he sees you.” With a laugh, Helen got up from the couch. “Don’t forget to clean up your puke before you come to bed.”
“Who says I’m coming to bed?”
“Wouldn’t you like a chance to outperform Ian? I’ll let you give it a try…if you don’t mind putting it into some leftover Ian.” Helen chuckled and walked away.
Lester heard the bedroom door shut.
“G’bye,” he muttered.
With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. And a single key.
The key to Emily Jean’s house.
“G’bye, whore,” he muttered.
FORTY-THREE
THE CALL
The ringing became part of Janet’s dream.
Excuse me while I get the phone, she said to the man in her dream.
Not until we’re done, he said, and selected a long-bladed scalpel from a tray beside the operating table.
No! Janet cried out. You can’t take my baby out yet. It’s not nine months and by then the phone won’t be ringing anymore.
If you don’t want me to take it out, he said, how about if I stick this in?
NO!!!
Janet suddenly woke up, gasping and drenched with sweat, and found herself in bed. Though the window curtains were open, the room was gloomy with gray light.
The phone jangled, making her flinch.
My God, Janet thought, it is ringing!
She rolled onto her side. As she reached out, her hand knocked a drinking glass off the nightstand.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Is this Janet Arthur?”
“Yes.” She suddenly felt alert, excited.
“I’m Hazel Green from the Grand Beach Unified School District offices. Will you be available for substituting today?”
“I sure will!”
Sitting up, Janet turned on the lamp. She took a note pad from the table.
“The classes we’d like you to take will be Mrs. Bonner’s eleventh- and twelfth-grade English.”
“Fine.”
“Do you know how to get to the high school?”
“Yes. I’ve driven past it. I know right where it is.”
“Very good. You’ll need to report to the high school’s main office before eight o’clock this morning to pick up your schedule and lesson plans.”
“I’ll be there.”
“They’ll be expecting you. Good-bye, now.”
“Good-bye,” she said. “Thank you for calling.”
She hung up the phone, leaped off the bed, clapped her hands together once so hard they hurt, and yelled, “A-WWW- RIGHT, LET’S HEAR IT FOR BIG JANET!!! WHOO-EEE!!! YESSSS!!!”
Then she remembered Dave. Tonight, she had to see him. Otherwise, he would probably cause more trouble—maybe put the make on Meg again…
She sank back down on the edge of the bed and muttered, “Terrific.”
Suddenly, she had an urge to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over her head and stay there.
Can’t do that, she told herself. Gotta get cleaned up and ready to go.
My first
substituting job!
High school, eleventh- and twelfth-grade English.
They might be reading someone really good.
Feeling better, she climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
FORTY-FOUR
ALBERT PLANS AHEAD
There was a pool of warmth in the middle of the bed. Albert curled inside it. Whenever he moved, his body touched its cold shore. Trying to stay inside the warmth started to make him feel cramped, however, so he finally gave up. He rolled through a plain of cold sheets and got out of bed.
He rushed to the bathroom, leaned over the tub and turned on the hot-water faucet. The water came out cold. While he waited for it to warm up, he urinated.
When the water was hot, he stoppered the drain. He stepped into the tub, adjusted the heat and stood as the water climbed his ankles. Then he stretched. The muscles of his legs and back and shoulders and neck were stiff and it was a luxury to stretch them. When he was finished, he sat in the hot water. He let it rise higher and higher. Then he turned off the faucets.
He lay back until only his knees and head remained above the surface. The heat of the water seemed to penetrate his skin, softening his muscles until he felt that he would never be able to move again.
But he would have to move. And soon.
He had taken a big chance, coming to a motel like this. What if the gal at the front desk had recognized him from the news drawings or photos?
Well, she hadn’t done that or the cops would’ve grabbed him by now.
But he’d better not try this again. From now on, he should only stay at houses. Taking houses seemed to work fine.
Even that’s risky, he reminded himself.
He’d been lucky back at Charlene’s place that nobody from her school or from her father’s store…or even from her mother’s bridge group…had gotten too curious. Three people can’t just drop out of their lives for very long without someone noticing.
Especially not on weekdays, Albert thought. Too much goes on during the week.
Next time, he should take over a house on a Friday night. That way, he could spend a couple of days without having to worry about anyone being missed from a job or school.
Today’s Friday!
And Albert knew exactly which house to hit.