It was a long day, that day. I kept telling myself that in a few hours Creston and all its memories would be behind me, and Paula and I would start building something for ourselves. I never thought about our future, just the beginning of it.
The end I didn't want to know.
I wasn't afraid of my father's telling what he knew. After all, I was his son, and a man doesn't go out of his way to send his son to the electric chair. I actually hated Paula every time I thought of her telling him everything. The hate became so powerful at times that my hands ached to get around that pale, soft throat of hers—but I knew what would happen if I tried it. She would look at me and I would be kissing her.
The best thing to do was forget it. My father was hurt and there was no way to ease the pain. And there was no changing the way I felt about Paula, either. Forget it.
I tried. I cleaned all around the grease rack and straightened things in back of the station, and somehow the morning became afternoon and after a long while Ike came, as he always did.
“How's it goin', Joe?”
“All right, I guess. You take over for a while. I think I'll go back to the shack and wash up a little.”
“Sure.”
Ike thought I was acting strange, and I guess I was. But every hour now seemed like a year, and I kept looking at my wrist for the watch that wasn't there. Every time I did it I thought of Otis Miller and wondered if he and Ray King had dug up anything else or if they would be back to take up the questioning again.
They didn't come back. Maybe they had somebody watching me, but I doubted it. So I went to my cabin, took a cold shower, and gave myself a few minutes to settle down, and then I began packing. I threw all my clothes into suitcases, rounded up a few other things I would need, like toilet articles and razor blades, and not until that minute did I remember the gun. That revolver that Sheldon had given me. The one that had killed Otto Finney.
I didn't want to keep it on me, but I sure couldn't leave it here in my cabin. Finally I shoved it into my waistband, under my shirt. It felt cold and deadly, like a coiled snake.
It was almost sundown when I left my cabin. Ike was doing something in front of the station but he didn't seem to be looking my way, so I went over to the Sheldons'. Paula and her husband were having what sounded like a serious talk when I came in, but they broke it off and Paula stood up.
“Are you ready, Joe?”
“I was ready days ago.” I looked at Sheldon. “How do you feel?”
“Better than I did yesterday. Have you heard any more from the Sheriff?”
“No, but that doesn't mean he's stopped working on me.” I turned to Paula. “You've got everything ready to go, haven't you? I want to pull out as soon as it's time to close the station. With a little luck we ought to be well into Arkansas by sunup tomorrow.”
“Everything's ready,” she said. “But I want your father to have another look at Karl before we leave.”
I stared at her. “Are you crazy? We've pushed my father just about as far as he'll go. It simply won't do to have him come again.”
“Would you like it better if Karl's arm became infected again, and we had to go to another doctor somewhere? A doctor we didn't know?” She turned suddenly, went to the window, and stood looking flatly at the sleazy curtains. “It doesn't seem very smart to me,” she said. “The answer is no,” I said.
“All right. But it seems like a little thing to fight about. If your father just brought out some sulfa, we'd have nothing to worry about. We wouldn't have to depend on doctors.”
“No.”
But I was weakening, and she could tell it. She turned from the window and said, “I know what's worrying you. You just don't want to see him, do you? Well, you won't have to. I can drive into town and pick up the drugs and dressings we'll need; all you have to do is let him know I'm coming.”
It seemed a little thing. It didn't seem possible that it could cause my father any more pain. After a moment I said, “It's no good. You don't even know where the house is.”
“I can find it. I've been in bigger towns than Creston. All you have to do is give me the directions.”
What a hell of a fuss about nothing! I thought. It was beginning to grate on my nerves. “All right!” I said finally. “If it will make you happy, you can drive in and get the medicine you need. I guess it's all right.”
“Of course it's all right,” she said. “The Sheriff doesn't suspect me and Karl. If I should be seen, it wouldn't mean anything.”
“I know all that, and I said it was all right!” I was getting jumpy, much too jumpy. I just wanted to get away from here—far away. That was the only thing I could think of. I walked to the door and said, “I think I'll go to the station.”
Sheldon said, “You'd better send your helper home and close the station yourself when the time comes.” I nodded and went out.
Darkness had settled over that bald Oklahoma prairie, but it was still early and there was plenty of traffic on the highway. As I came around to the front of the station I saw that Ike had washed down the cement driveway by the gas pumps, and now he was spraying water around the station to settle the dust.
I didn't know just what to do about Ike. We were friends and he had been a lot of help to me with the station, and I didn't feel like picking up and leaving him without a word. He turned and grinned when he heard me come up.
“Hot as hell tonight.”
“Yeah.” I went inside and checked the cash register. I took out enough to cover Ike's salary for two weeks and it just about cleaned it out. “Ike,” I called, “can you come here a minute?”
“Sure.” He hung up the water hose and came inside. I handed him the money.
“What's this, Joe?”
“Two week's pay, Ike. It looks like you're out of a job.”
He looked as though he had been slapped. “You mean I'm fired, Joe?”
“I mean the business is on the rocks. You know as well as I do that we've barely made expenses these past few months, if that.”
He stood there for a moment, looking stupid. He scratched his head. “You mean you're throwin' it up, Joe? You're quittin'?”
“There's nothing left to do. If you can't make this kind of business pay during the tourist season, then you might as well give up.”
He looked uncomfortable as he took the money, folded it slowly, and put it in his pocket. “By golly, Joe, I'm sorry to hear it. I kind of liked working out here. You've been a good boss.”
“Thanks, Ike.”
“If there's anything I can do...”
“Just one thing, Ike.” I counted out forty dollars, most of it from my pocket. “This is what I owe the gas company on the last delivery. Will you contact them tomorrow and pay them off?”
His forehead wrinkled at that one. “Ike,” I said, “I'm just sick of this place. When I close up tonight I don't want to have to look at it or think about it again. Maybe I'll just pack up and go fishing or something. Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you'd take care of the gasoline people.”
“Well, sure, Joe, if that's the way you want it. I guess I know how you feel. The business has been pretty much of a disappointment, at that, I guess.”
“Ike,” I said, “that's the understatement of the year.”
I had expected something of a fuss, or at least a pep talk, for Ike was a great one for seeing a thing through to the end. But he was surprisingly calm, as though he had seen it coming from a long way off—and maybe he had.
“Well, Joe...”
“I guess that's it, Ike.”
We said a few more things, none of them making much sense, and finally I got Ike in his Ford and headed him for town.
The last small thread was cut. I was free. Automatically, I began locking up, bringing in the display cases of oil, disconnecting the water hose, locking the pumps. I looked out at the highway and thought: I'm free! Free to go anywhere I damn please!