— Your mother, Pete, said Mr. Casey. What does she do these days?
Pete hadn’t realized his mother was known to Mr. Casey. He wondered vaguely how.
— She stays at home. Looks after my brothers. When we moved here from North Bay, she got a job as a secretary at the chemical factory, but they laid her off. That was four years ago.
— And your dad, he’s a pastor, right? Out at that Pentecostal church?
— Dad, said Emily.
— It’s okay, said Pete. Yeah … my dad is a pastor. I didn’t know you knew them.
— Not really well, said Mr. Casey.
They did not ask him anything further. After supper, Stan was quick to collect his coat. He said he had the dog to get home to and he asked if Pete would let him out of the driveway. Pete went out and backed his car onto the street. He passed the old man as he was heading to his truck.
— Good to see you, Mr. Maitland.
— Is your uncle working?
— No. He hasn’t been able to get anything. He tries, you know. Tries to find work … but, so far …
Stan nodded. He said so long and got into his truck.
When Pete went back inside, Mr. Casey gave him strict orders to have Emily back by eleven. They went out and got into his car. He kissed her before anything was said. Then they were driving.
— That was not how I wanted it to be, said Emily. I did not want everybody to be mad at each other.
— I thought maybe it was me.
— It wasn’t you. It was my grandpa and my parents. Fifteen minutes before you got there, my dad broke the news to him.
— They’re not going to take the house?
— No. They’re not going to take the house. And there’s more. There’s been something wrong between my grandpa and my dad for a month. I wish they’d just come out and say what it is.
— Oh, said Pete.
She was quiet for the rest of the drive. They went to the cinema out by the shopping mall and she insisted mildly that she would pay. She bought tickets for The Empire Strikes Back and bought popcorn and soft drinks. They went into the theatre. She allowed him to take her hand and he tried to think nothing of it. Pete lifted her hand to kiss it. After the film started she took her hand back to eat with.
Later, coming out of the theatre, they talked about the movie on their way back to the car.
— Did you want to drive around awhile? said Pete.
— Just drive around?
— Or go somewhere?
— And do what, Pete?
She was looking at him with a touch of amusement. He felt very small.
— I haven’t seen you in a week.
— I should probably go home. My dad will be waiting up.
— Okay.
She watched out the window while he drove. There was a faint reflection of her face in the window-glass. When they got to her house, there were lights in the living room window. She allowed herself to be kissed a little. She touched the swelling over his eye.
— I do not understand boys at all.
— I didn’t think it would be so noticeable.
— It was. But don’t worry about it.
She allowed him to kiss her again, then she said: I should go in now.
— Did I say something wrong? I didn’t go looking for a fight with your friends, if that’s what you thought.
— You didn’t say anything wrong, Pete, and I know you didn’t go looking for a fight. They are not my friends. They’re a bunch of spoiled brats. I can’t wait to be done with them all. Anyway, thanks for taking me out.
She was getting out of the car.
— Well, said Pete, should we plan something?
— It’s a busy few days. I have to play piano at the Christmas Eve service and I haven’t even practised. You heard it when you came in. It sounded horrible.
— It didn’t sound so bad.
— I need to practise more. I have to go …
— Emily, for Chrissake. What’s going on?
She paused with the door open. The cold flowed into the car. She sat back down on the passenger seat. She said: I think tonight wasn’t a good idea but it was too late to take a step back from it. That’s my fault, Pete, and I apologize.
— I don’t understand.
— We’re just moving a little too fast.
— I thought we were having fun. I thought you miss me when we’re apart.
— I really have to go.
— So what now?
— I’ll call you.
And she was gone. She went up the driveway and into her house. He saw the silhouette in the living room window and then put his car into gear. Nothing seemed quite real. There was a weight on his chest. As he drove away from her house, he could still taste her on his lips.
Two days passed and Emily didn’t call. Late Thursday, Pete was in the booth between the pumps, watching vehicles on the bypass. Duane had the day off and Caroline was in the store. Pete hunched down in his winter coat. The cold in the booth was a qualitative thing. The cold could be addressed.
From time to time he would touch his eyebrow to bring the pain, which had subdued to an ache. He ate half a sandwich. Then he heard the bell and saw a police cruiser pulling up to the pumps. Pete went out, knowing who it was before the window rolled down.
— Hey, Mr. Casey, said Pete.
— A top-up is all I need.
As far as Pete knew, the local detachment had a service contract with one of the other petroleum companies, so if Mr. Casey was at the Texaco station, it was because he’d gone out of his way. The tank was topped up in a minute.
Mr. Casey paid cash. He was casually watching the sunset through his windshield. Pete struggled for something to say: Thanks again for supper the other night.
— I guess you know where we stand. Most times I don’t get involved in her business. But I know about you. I know what you are.
— Mr. Casey, if you mean my uncle …
Mr. Casey looked at him directly: I know exactly what you are. She’s got too many good things going in her life for you to make a jackpot of it. You’ll just want to look for another kind of girl, one who’s more your sort. I won’t have you hanging around my property or my daughter. It’s no goddamn good for anybody.
Pete studied the scoured pavement: I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.
— That’s right. That’s exactly right.
The patrol car pulled out of the station and back onto the bypass.
Pete found himself pacing the apron. He stopped once and touched his eyebrow. It did not hurt enough. He pressed it with his thumb. He could leave. He could leave right now. There wasn’t enough money but when was there ever enough money. Instead, he sat back in the corporeal cold of the booth as the dusk gathered.
The question remained. It had always been there.
Later, Pete took his supper break at the hospital. By that hour his family had come and gone and his grandmother was watching television. Pete watched with her for awhile, nursing a hot chocolate he’d bought in the cafeteria. Mrs. Petrelli was gone. Departed from the world, about a week earlier. The bed was remade and vacant, ready to take on a new occupant. There was nothing to suggest Mrs. Petrelli had ever been there.
Irene asked in halting words how was work and when would he be going back to school. He told her what he always told her. Then he asked her the question.
— You know that, Peter.
— I just thought maybe you remembered something. Or maybe I forgot something you or Mom told me once.
— He wasn’t nobody at all. Come and gone. Left a young girl pregnant …
She lifted her hand and gripped his wrist with surprising strength. She whispered: Don’t you go treating girls that way.
— I won’t, said Pete.
— I know.
Irene’s eyes gaped at him. He smiled for her and wondered was she afraid of this, the long business of dying.
It was after midnight by the time he got home from work. The only sound was Luke grinding his teeth. Pete got into bed. He read a paperback until his eyes burned. He shut off the light but did not sleep. He saw Emily in the bowling alley, in her formal dress, laughing. It was four o’clock before he fell asleep.