Two or three nights she drew the bathtub full of warm water and sat in it and soaked; and I'd sit and watch her and think how much she looked like her. And afterwards she'd lie in my arms-just lie there because that was about all either of us was up to. And I could almost fool myself into thinking it was her.
But it wasn't her, and, for that matter, it wouldn't have made any difference if it had been. I'd just been right back where I started. I'd have had to do it all over again.
I'd have had to kill her the second time…
I was glad Amy didn't bring up the subject of marriage; she was afraid of starting a quarrel, I guess. I'd already been right in the middle of three deaths, and a fourth coming right on top of 'em might look kind of funny. It was too soon for it. Anyway, I hadn't figured out a good safe way of killing her.
You see why I had to kill her, I reckon. Or do you? It was like this:
There wasn't any evidence against me. And even if there was some, quite a bit, I'd be a mighty hard man to stick. I just wasn't that kind of guy, you see. No one would believe I was. Why, hell, they'd been seeing Lou Ford around for years and no one could tell them that good ol' Lou would- But Lou could do it; Lou could convict himself. All he had to do was skip out on a girl who knew just about everything about him there was to know-who, even without that one wild night, could probably have pieced some plenty-ugly stuff together-and that would be the end of Lou. Everything would fall into place, right back to the time when Mike and I were kids.
As things stood now, she wouldn't let herself think things through. She wouldn't even let herself start to think. She'd cut up some pretty cute skylarks herself, and that had put a check on her thinking. And I was going to be her husband, so everything was all right. Everything had to be all right… But if I ran out on her-well, I knew Amy. That mental block she'd set up would disappear. She'd have the answer that quick-and she wouldn't keep it to herself. Because if she couldn't have me, no one else would.
Yeah, I guess I mentioned that. She and Joyce seemed pretty much alike.
Well, anyway…
Anyway, it had to be done, as soon as it safely could be done. And knowing that, that there was just no other way out, kind of made things easier. I stopped worrying, thinking about it, I should say. I tried to be extra pleasant to her. She was getting on my nerves, hanging around so much. But she wouldn't be hanging around long, so I thought I ought to be as nice as I could.
I'd taken sick on a Wednesday. By the next Wednesday I was up, so I took Amy to prayer meeting. Being a school teacher, she kind of had to put in an appearance at those things, now and then, and I sort of enjoy 'em. I pick up lots of good lines at prayer meetings. I asked Amy, I whispered to her, how she'd like to have a little manna on her honey. And she turned red, and kicked me on the ankle. I whispered to her again, asked her if I could Mose-y into her Burning Bush. I told her I was going to take her to my bosom and cleave unto her, and anoint her with precious oils.
She got redder and redder and her eyes watered, but somehow it made her look cute. And it seemed like I'd never seen her with her chin stuck out and her eyes narrowed. Then, she doubled over, burying her face in her songbook; and she shivered and shook and choked, and the minister stood on tiptoe, frowning, trying to figure out where the racket was coming from.
It was one of the best prayer meetings I ever went to.
I stopped and bought some ice cream on the way home, and she was giggling and breaking into snickers all the way. While I made coffee, she dished up the cream; and I took part of a spoonful and chased her around and around the kitchen with it. I finally caught her and put it in her mouth, instead of down her neck like I'd threatened. A little speck of it got on her nose and I kissed it away.
Suddenly, she threw her arms around my neck and began to cry.
"Honey," I said, "don't do that, honey. I was just playing. I was just trying to give you a good time."
"Y-you-big-"
"I know," I said, "but don't say it. Let's don't have any more trouble between us."
"D-don't"-her arms tightened around me, and she looked up through the tears, smiling-"don't you understand? I'm j-just so happy, Lou. So h-happy I c-can't s-sstand it!" And she burst into tears again.
We left the ice cream and coffee unfinished. I picked her up and carried her into Dad's office, and sat down in Dad's big old chair. We sat there in the dark, her on my lap-sat there until she had to go home. And it was all we wanted; it seemed to be enough. It was enough.
It was a good evening, even if we did have one small spat.
She asked me if I'd seen Chester Conway, and I said I hadn't. She said she thought it was darned funny that he didn't so much as come by and say hello, after what I'd done, and that if she were me she'd tell him so.
"I didn't do anything," I said. "Let's not talk about it."
"Well, I don't care, darling! He thought you'd done quite a bit at the time-couldn't wait to call you up long distance! Now, he's been back in town for almost a week, and he's too busy to-I don't care for my own sake, Lou. It certainly means nothing to me. But-"
"That makes two of us, then."
"You're too easy-going, that's the trouble with you. You let people run over you. You're always-"
"I know," I said. "I think I know it all, Amy. I've got it memorized. The whole trouble is that I won't listen to you-and it seems to me like that's about all I ever get done. I've been listening to you almost since you learned how to talk, and I reckon I can do it a while longer. If it'll make you happy. But I don't think it'll change me much."
She sat up very stiff and straight. Then, she settled back again, still holding herself kind of rigid. She was silent for about the time it takes to count to ten.
"Well, just the same, I–I-"
"Yeah?" I said.
"Oh, be quiet," she said. "Keep still. Don't say anything." And she laughed. And it was a good evening after all.
But it was kind of funny about Conway.
15
How long should I wait? That was the question. How long could I wait? How long was it safe?
Amy wasn't crowding me any. She was still pretty shy and skittish, trying to keep that barbed-wire tongue of hers in her mouth-though she wasn't always successful. I figured I could stall her off on marriage indefinitely, but Amy… well, it wasn't just Amy. There wasn't anything I could put my finger on, but I had the feeling that things were closing in on me. And I couldn't talk myself out of it.
Every day that passed, the feeling grew stronger.
Conway hadn't come to see me or spoken to me, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. It didn't mean anything that I could see. He was busy. He'd never given a whoop in hell for anyone but himself and Elmer. He was the kind of a guy that would drop you when he got a favor, then pick you up again when he needed another one.
He'd gone back to Fort Worth, and he hadn't returned. But that was all right, too. Conway Construction had big offices in Fort Worth. He'd always spent a lot of time there.
Bob Maples? Well, I couldn't see that he was much different than ever. I'd study him as the days drifted by, and I couldn't see anything to fret about. He looked pretty old and sick, but he was old and he had been sick. He didn't have too much to say to me, but what he did have was polite and friendly-he seemed hell-bent on being polite and friendly. And he'd never been what you'd call real talky. He'd always had spells when you could hardly get a word out of him.
Howard Hendricks? Well… Well, something was sure enough eating on Howard.
I'd run into Howard the first day I was up after my sick spell; he'd been coming up the steps of the courthouse, just as I was heading down them to lunch. He nodded, not quite looking at me, and mumbled out a, "H'are you, Lou?" I stopped and said I was feeling a lot better-still felt pretty weak, but couldn't really complain any.