On Tuesday evening at seven, Drum said, “Why are we waiting so long to eat? I’m starved.”
“In a minute,” Evie said. She stood in the living room window, pressing her face against the glass so that she could see past her own reflection.
“You ain’t even started cooking.”
“In a minute, I said.”
A pair of headlights swung up the road, recognizable even at this distance. The headlights were round and close-set, like the eyes of some small worried lady. They floated gently up and down, bouncing on the uneven road. “Who’s that coming?” Drum asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s it look like?”
“I don’t know.”
Drum sighed and moved up next to her. She could smell the marigold smell of his skin. “That’s David’s Jeep, as any fool can see,” he said.
“Is it?”
The Jeep parked in the dirt yard, but the lights stayed on. A minute later there was a knock at the door, and when Drum said, “Come in,” the three girls entered first — Violet, Fay-Jean, and Fay-Jean’s sister Doris, all dressed up. David came behind. “Well, hey,” Drum said. He nodded to Violet and Fay-Jean, and then looked toward Doris and waited to be introduced. No one bothered. The three of them kept walking until they had surrounded him. Then Fay-Jean brought out a shimmering length of nylon cord and reached for one of his hands. For a minute it looked as if it would be as easy as that — just tie him up while he stood waiting. But as her fingers were circling his wrist, Drum said, “What in—” and jerked away. “What the hell’s going on?” he said.
“They’re kidnapping you,” Evie told him.
“They’re—”
“Kidnapping. It’s only for publicity.”
“Are you out of your head?”
“Now wait,” David said. “It’s not such a bad idea, Drum. We’re taking you to my shed. Evie will tell the police a bunch of crazy fans got you, and then you’ll be returned. No more than an outing.”
“You have went too far this time,” Drum said, but it wasn’t clear whether he was speaking to David or to Evie. He backed away, holding both arms ready at his sides, while the three girls advanced. “I would help you,” David told them, “but it wouldn’t look right.” Fay-Jean made another pass with the nylon cord and Drum lashed out, clipping the side of her face with his forearm and sending her crashing into the wall. ‘Ouch,” she said. “Get him, Doris!”
But it was Violet who got him. All she did was fling herself against him like a pillow, knocking him flat on his back. She set her one hundred and eighty pounds squarely on his chest. Even though he was still hitting out at them, Fay-Jean and Doris between them managed to tie his wrists together. Then they all sat there, breathing hard, and Drum lay scowling on the floor. “This is laughable,” he said.
“Well, sure,” said Violet. “So laugh. Enjoy yourself. We’re only going for a little ride.”
“Oh, no.”
He heaved until they couldn’t sit on him any longer. He tripped Violet with one kick of his foot and rammed an elbow into Doris’s stomach. “Now, you better stop that,” Doris said. Her voice was on the edge of tears. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to go hitting girls?”
“Here,” Violet said, and tied his feet together with enough space between them so he could walk. Then they raised him up, keeping tight hold of his elbows.
“Evie,” Drum said.
Evie pressed both hands together and shook her head.
“Now, Evie, I know this was your idea. It couldn’t be nobody’s else’s. You tell these girls to let me go, right this second. I don’t adapt well to being kidnapped.”
“It’s only for a while,” Evie said.
“I mean it, Evie.”
“I packed you a supper. It’s in the Jeep. A brown paper bag.”
“David?”
David hesitated.
“The worst part’s over anyway,” Evie told him.
“She’s right, Drum. No point untying you now. If I’d of known you’d take it so hard I would have said no, but what have you got to lose? You’ll be back by bedtime.”
Drum seemed to have nothing more to say. When David had opened the door, the girls led him out with no trouble at all.
After the Jeep had driven off, Evie sat on the couch for a while with her hands pressed together. She had not expected a kidnapping to be so difficult. The room was a shambles — furniture kicked over, cushions and papers scattered across the floor. When she finally crossed to the closet for her coat she nearly tripped over the rug, which lay in a twisted heap. She closed the door behind her before she had even put her coat on and ran toward the Volkswagen.
More headlights floated down the road, wide apart and rectangular. While she stood waiting beside the VW the other car drew to a stop, and a man said, “Evie?”
“Sir?”
“It’s me. Mr. Harrison.”
“Oh, Mr. Harrison,” Evie said. As if this evening had been none of her doing, she felt shaky and relieved at the sight of him. “Drum’s been kidnapped,” she said. “Not for real, but a bunch of fans got him. What’ll I do? I’m getting worried.” And she was. Her throat muscles knotted, and that uneven heartbeat was beginning in her ears again.
“Drum can wait,” Mr. Harrison said. “Your father’s sick. I want you to come with me.”
“Drum’s been kidnapped.”
“Evie, we haven’t got time for that. Your father’s in the hospital.”
“Will you listen?” Evie said. She had drawn closer to the car now. Her hands clutched the window frame; she felt them trembling. “Drive me to where Drum is. No, never mind, I’ll drive myself. Do I have the keys? Tell my father I’ll be there soon. It doesn’t matter about the police, just tell my—”
“Your father,” said Mr. Harrison, “has had a heart attack and is dying. I didn’t want to say it but I see I had to. Climb in. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
He opened the door on the passenger side, flooding the car with a dingy yellow light. Evie circled the car and climbed in slowly.
“Hospital,” she said. Her voice was as clear and sudden as if it were an order, but she was merely echoing him without any idea at all of what to do next.
15
In the hospital lobby, on a sectional vinyl couch, sat Mrs. Harrison and Mrs. Willoughby, the old lady who lived next door to Evie’s father. They stood up when Evie entered — a bad sign. Evie and Mr. Harrison clicked toward them across polished tiles, between potted palms and standing ash trays. As they came up to the two women, Mrs. Harrison tugged her skirt down and straightened her belt and smoothed the gray pompom of hair on her forehead. “Evie, dear—” she said. Her tone made everything clear, there was no need to say more, but Evie was in the grip of a stony stubbornness and she refused to understand. “How is he?” she asked.
“He passed, dear,” Mrs. Willoughby said. Mrs. Willoughby was as small and as dumpy as a cupcake, raising her creased hands to her bosom and furrowing her powdery face into sympathy lines. Everyone else was small too. The scene was miniaturized and crystal-clear, like something seen through very strong prescription glasses. Lights were sharp pinpoints. Sounds were tinny.
“Would you like to see him?” Mrs. Harrison asked.
“No, thank you,” said Evie.
“It happened not long after you left, Bill. I wished you had known, so as to prepare Evie. I thought of coming out after you.”
“Well,” said Mr. Harrison. “This is very very sad news. Very sad. Sam Decker was as fine a man as I’ve known. How long have we known him, Martha?”
“Oh, years. Since back before — Evie, we will expect you to come stay the night. You don’t want to go all the way out to your place again, do you?”