He had hoisted the plastic bag and was about to leave when he saw the blond woman at the back of the store, picking through a bin of half-rotten apples. Taking a concealed deep breath, Edward replaced his bag on the counter, motioned with his finger to the clerk that he would be back, and walked to the rear.
“Find your husband?” he asked. The woman glanced at him, smiled sadly, and shook her head.
“No such bad luck,” she said. She held up a particularly bruised apple and inspected it ruefully. “I’m a fruito-phile, and look what they offer.”
“I have some pretty good apples in my…Back at the cabin. I’ll be leaving for Glacier Point soon. You’re welcome to them. Too heavy to carry more than one or two on a hike.”
“That’s very kind,” she said. She dropped the apple into the bin and held out her hand. Slender, cool, strong fingers; he shook the hand with moderate firmness. “My name is Betsy,” she said, “and my maiden name is Sothern.”
“I’m Edward Shaw.” He decided to go for broke. “I’m not with anybody.”
“Oh?”
“For the duration,” he said.
“How long is that?” she asked.
“Somebody said less than a week. Nobody knows for sure.”
“Where’s your cabin?”
“Not far from here.”
“If you feed me a nice, crisp, juicy apple,” she said, “I’m liable to follow you anywhere.”
Edward’s smile was spontaneous and broad. “Thank you,” he said. “This way.”
“Thank you,” Betsy said.
In the tent, he found her the best red apple and polished it with a clean dishcloth. She bit into it, wiped away a dribble of juice running down her chin, and watched him arrange the supplies in his backpack.
“I hope you’re not one of those ignorant people,” she said abruptly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but if you think everything’s rosy, and God’s going to save us, or something like that…”
Edward shook his head.
“Good. I thought you looked smart. Sweet and smart. We don’t have much time left, do we?”
“No.” He flipped the pack over and buckled it, glancing at her.
“You know, if I had it all to do over again,” she said, “I’d choose men like you.”
This pricked Edward a little. “That’s what all the beautiful women say. There aren’t any maidens in foxholes, or something to that effect.”
“Jesus.” She smiled. “I like that. Do you…pardon me for asking…do you have any devastating, immediately fatal communicable diseases?”
“No,” Edward said. “Hardly any.”
“Neither do I. Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
“Neither am I. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand, and Edward shook it delicately by the fingertips, then grinned and pulled her toward him.
66
The network came alive in Arthur’s head at eight in the morning. He opened his eyes, wide awake but feeling as if he had been stunned, and rolled over to shake Francine’s shoulder. “We have to be going,” he said. He got out of bed and slipped into his pants. “Get Marty dressed.”
Francine moaned. “Yes, sir,” she said. “What now?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “We’ve been told to be a certain place in an hour. In San Francisco.”
Marty sat up on the cot, rubbing his eyes. “Come on, sport,” Francine said. “Marching orders.”
“I’m sleepy,” Marty said.
Francine grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him close to her, staring up into his face with a stern expression. “I’m only going to say this once. If you’re crazy and this is all for nothing, I’ll…” She grabbed his nose, and not in play; the tweak she gave it was exquisitely painful. Eyes watering, Arthur took her hand in both of his and rubbed it. “Do you understand me?”
He nodded. “We have to hurry.” Despite his throbbing nose, he was almost ecstatic. Why hustle all of us somewhere this early in the morning? They have plans…
His ecstasy faded when he met Grant, wrapped in a robe, in the hallway, with his daughter following close behind. “You came in awful late to be getting everybody up so early,” Grant said. “We’ve had quite a night. I don’t think I slept more than an hour…Danielle may not have slept at all.”
Danielle sat at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee, when they trooped through the swinging door. Her face was pale and she had been smoking; the brimming ashtray told a plain tale of a full night of cigarettes. “Such early birds,” she said unenthusiastically.
“We have to be going,” Arthur said.
Danielle raised an eyebrow. “We thought you’d stay awhile.”
“We thought so, too. But I spent last night thinking, and we should be…out of here as soon as possible. There’s a lot to be done.”
Danielle leaned her head to one side in query as Francine and Marty came into the kitchen. Marty smiled shyly at Becky; Becky ignored him, glancing between her mother and father.
“What in hell is going on with this family?” Danielle asked, her voice sharp. “Goddammit, Francine, where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” Francine answered bluntly. “Arthur’s in charge.”
“Are you all crazy?” Danielle asked.
“Now, Danny,” Grant said.
“I’ve been up all night trying to figure this out. Why are you leaving now? Why?” She was on the edge of hysteria. “Something’s going on. Something with the government. Is that why you’re here? You’re going to leave us all, let us die!”
Arthur’s heart sank. She might be close enough to the truth. All his excitement seemed to drain.
“We’re going into the city today,” he said. “I have business there, and Marty and Francine have to come with me.”
“Can we come along?” Danielle asked. “All of us. We’re family. I would feel a lot better if we all came along.”
Francine looked at him, eyes filled with tears. Marty’s lower lip was quivering, and Becky stood beside her mother, one arm around her, confused into silence.
“No,” Grant said. Danielle jerked her head around.
“What?”
“No. We will not panic. Arthur has work to do. If it’s work for the government, fine. But we will not panic in this house if I have anything to say about it.”
“They’re going someplace,” Danielle said softly.
Grant agreed to that with a brief nod. “Maybe so. But we have no business horning in.”
“That’s goddamned reasonable of you,” Danielle said. “We’re your goddamned family. What are you doing for us?”
Grant searched Arthur’s face, and Arthur sensed his confusion and fear and determination not to let things get out of control. “I’m keeping us in our house,” he said, “and I’m keeping us civil, and dignified.”
“Dignity,” Danielle said. She upended her cup of coffee on the floor and rushed out of the kitchen. Becky stood by the spill and sobbed silently, painfully.
“Daddy,” she said between tight spasms.
“We’re just arguing,” Grant told her. He kneeled beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”
Arthur, feeling like an automaton, gathered their things from the bathroom and spare bedroom. Francine sought her sister in the master bedroom and tried to soothe her.
Grant confronted Arthur in the driveway. Morning fog was thick over the hills, and the sun was a promise of yellow warmth behind the mist. A few mourning doves sang their sweet, nostalgic stupid song behind the hedges.