possible.
They found her waiting on the front lawn, walking in circles, confused
and worried. Two squad cars emptied four officers into her house.
Upstairs, hiding in her father's closet, they found a man with ashirt
wrapped tight around a bleeding index finger. Or what was left of it.
I guess the dog had proven itself a good watchdog but a clumsy eater.
He'd taken the intruder's finger off at the knuckle and swallowed it
whole. And that was what was lodged there in his throat.
"I'm supposed to believe that?"
"Absolutely."
Two finger stories in one week, I thought.
"If you don't believe me, ask Casey. The girl used to babysit for her
brother."
"Her brother."
I guess I jumped on that one a little.
"Sure. You ... you knew about her brother, didn't you?"
"Yes and no."
She knew she'd made a mistake. I watched her get more and more
uncomfortable, trying to figure how to handle it. Finally she said,
"Well, you can ask Casey about Jean Drummond. She'll tell you."
"-r , I,
Talk to me about her brother, Kim.
She considered it. I had the feeling that there was something there
she thought I ought to know. I knew she liked me. I remembered her
warning about Casey over Cokes that day. Loyalties, though. They die
hard.
"I'd ... rather not. That's Casey's business."
"Not mine? Not even a little?"
"I didn't say that."
"So? Should I ask her about it, Kimberley?"
She paused. "Maybe you should. I don't know. It depends.
"On what?"
"On how well you need to know her, I guess."
"Suppose that's a lot?"
She sighed. "Then ask. Ask her for god's sake. Jesus! I can't hold
your goddamn hand for you."
She stood and walked away from me into the shallows. As far as I knew
it was the first time she'd gone into the water all summer. I called
out to her.
"You won't like it."
She turned around and looked at me. She spoke quietly. "Neither will
you."
The opportunity to ask her about her brother came along two nights
later.
I think I remember everything there is to remember about that night.
The smell of fresh-cut grass on her lawn, the warmth of the air its
exact temperature- the scent of the hair moving toward me and then away
on the flow of breeze through the open windows as we drifted along in
the car, the feel of damp earth under me later and the smell of that
too, the long empty silences, crickets, night birds, her awful shallow
breathing.
I remember every bit of it, because that night put all the rest in
motion. And the next day was Saturday, and the next night was Saturday
night. And I've never looked at Saturdays the same way since. Maybe
you'll find that hard to believe. But you weren't there.
You don't carry it around with you like a sackful of cinders.
Like I say, you weren't there.
I'd taken the day off again and this time the boss wasn't happy with me
at all. I was "ill" again. McGregor wasn't stupid. You only had to
look at Casey once or twice to know what was keeping me away.
I was endangering the job. I didn't care.
We drove to Campobello for the day to see the Roosevelt summer home. We
were the only ones there, so the guide gave us
special attention. Steven, whose hand was still wrapped in bandages,
found it all a bit hard to take.
"There's an awful lot of wicker."
He was right as far as I was concerned. Nice house, big, but otherwise
nothing special. The guide was a lot more impressed than any of us
were. But that was her job. She was a nice old woman and you didn't
want to insult her. Except for Steve, who kept wandering off
impatiently by himself, we followed her and nodded attentively.
It was a relief to get outside, though.
"Thank god," said Steve as we piled back into the car. "How do
tourists stand themselves, anyway?"
"They still believe in education," Casey said.
Steve nodded. "Self-improvement."
"History."
We stopped for a drink at the Caribou on the way home. Hank always
served us, though I'm sure he knew they were underage. I suppose he
needed the business.
It was still early and the after-work crowd hadn't arrived yet, so we
had the place nearly to ourselves. Steve played some Elvis and Jerry
Lee on the jukebox. All the drinks were the usual- scotch with beer
back for me, Bloody Marys for Casey and Steve and a tequila sunrise for
Kimberley. We finished one round and ordered another. And that was
when the disagreement started.
We'd planned to drive to Lubec that night to listen to a local band
there, one Kim happened to like. Steve and I were agreeable. But
Casey hadn't committed herself. And now it turned out that there was a
movie she wanted to see over in Trescott. It was nothing to me either
way, but Steve got annoyed with her.
"Anything you want, Casey. Don't mind me."
She swirled the ice in her Bloody Mary, oblivious to his irony.
"Fine."
"You go to your movie and we'll go see the band."
"All right."
"What about you, Clan?"
He was pointing his finger at me again. He was using the bandaged hand
and it was sort of funny-looking but I didn't dare laugh. I kept it
straight.
"That's fine too."
You could see he was ready to walk out in one of his ten-minute sulks.
He still had a half a drink left, but he got up off his stool.
"Sit down, Steven," said Kimberley. "We can all get together tomorrow
night. Relax."
It didn't really take. He still wanted to march off on us, you could
tell. It was all display. Competitive, possessive and pretty silly.
By tomorrow he'd have forgotten all about it. In this kind of contest
of wills with Casey he never won anyway. You wondered why he
bothered.
But he sat, and he finished his drink. And then stalked off, without a
word or a smile for any of us. I turned to Kimberley.
"Are you going to get more of this tonight? Maybe you ought to come
along with us."
"No, he'll be fine. He'll walk it off now. Besides, I'm the one who
wants to hear the band, remember?"
Casey was expected home for dinner. So I ate alone at the diner,
something very rubbery they had the guts to call steak, and then drove
out to her place around seven in the pickup. I turned off the ignition
and waited. I didn't like going inside unless I had to. The few times
I had, Casey's mother had been very uncomfortable. I had the distinct
sense that she thought her daughter was slumming. She was a fluttery,
mousy thing, and I didn't like her much. Casey's looks came from her
father. As for him, he made me uncomfortable.
The street was so quiet you could almost feel the dusk turn to dark
around you like a slag of fog descending. I heard crickets, and
somebody dropped a pan a few doors down. I heard kids shouting
somewhere out of sight down the block, playing some ga me or other, and
a mother's voice calling one of them home for dinner.
Casey was late.
After a while I heard voices raised inside their house. I'd never had
the illusion that they were a happy family. On the other hand, I'd
never heard them fighting, either.