Bob wanted to be with Ida and June, and began jumping up to try to catch sight of them. A passing soldier asked him, “You looking for your people?” and lifted him up to scan the crowd. Bob looked and looked but he couldn’t see his friends. After a while the soldier lost interest and set Bob back on the ground and walked off. Now the crowd shifted and spit Bob out to its edges.
The sheriff’s patrol car was parked against the south side of the hotel and the sheriff was sitting on the back bumper, massaging his temple, and his flesh had a waxy cast, and he was squinting against the sunlight. When he saw Bob, he pointed. “Hey, kid, come over here a minute, will you?” As Bob stepped closer, the sheriff told him, “You want to know what happened? I figured something out about you.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and showed it to Bob. It was a missing persons report; Bob stood looking at a blurred photostat of his school yearbook picture. The sheriff said, “This came through yesterday morning. I thought I remembered your face from seeing you the other day outside the P.O. I should have tracked you down sooner but it’s been a time here, and I’ve been distracted.” The sheriff removed a bottle of aspirin from his shirt pocket and tossed a handful of tablets into his mouth, chewing them up, his face made bitter by the taste. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he peered out at the crowd and said, “It’d have to happen today.” He looked back at Bob. “So, what are we going to do about you?” Bob shrugged and the sheriff said, “Maybe I ought to check in. Hang on a minute, kid, will you?” He leaned into his car and took up his two-way radio. “Come in HQ. HQ, do you read.”
“HQ here. How’s your head, Sheriff?”
“Well, how do you think it is?”
“Shame they couldn’t wait a day to call the war off.”
“It surely is. What about all the lumberjack crazies? How’s their outlook this morning?”
“About the same as yours, I’d say. They’re a lot quieter than last night, I’ve noticed. But say, we’re getting a lot of calls about the crowds downtown?”
“That’s where I’m at now, HQ.”
“Any problems?”
“No, there’s folks on the loose, but it’s a cheery occasion and no troubles that I can see.”
“That’s nice.”
“I guess we were due some good news. Which reminds me. The reason I’m calling is. I found the kid from Portland. Comet.”
“You did? Where is he?”
“I got him here with me now.”
“He all right?”
“He looks all right. You all right, kid?” Bob nodded and the sheriff said, “He’s all right.”
“What kind of name is Comet?”
“I don’t know. Kid, what kind of name’s your name?”
Bob shrugged.
“Kid doesn’t know what. He’s the incurious type. Anyway, you’re going to want to call Portland PD, tell them the blessed news.”
“I will do, Sheriff. When should I say they can expect him home?”
“Well, I’d like you to frame that as their problem to solve, HQ. Maybe they’ll send his folks to fetch him, or maybe Portland PD can spare a man. But, shoot, wait a minute.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Where’re we going to keep him until then?”
“Put him in the tank.”
“Squeezed in with the crazies?”
“Not so crazy anymore, like I was saying.”
“Still, I don’t like it.” The sheriff was looking at Bob. He said, “I guess I’ll just run the kid back myself, HQ.”
“You’re going to drive to Portland?”
“Well, why not. I’m overdue a visit to my mother-in-law, anyway. There’s two good deeds with the one stone. Can’t hurt my luck and maybe it’ll bolster my self-esteem.”
“When should I say you’re coming up?”
“Soon enough. Just, let’s wait until after these aspirin cast their spell. You’ll want to get our brash young deputy out of bed, give him a shake and send him over here to keep watch in my stead. If he complains, remind him it was his idea to stop for a nightcap.”
“Yes, Sheriff.”
“Tell him it was my idea to remind him it was his idea.”
“Yes, Sheriff.”
“It might get noisy tonight but I’ll be back by then.”
“All right. What else?”
“Nothing I can think of. I’ll see you, HQ.”
“Good morning, Sheriff.”
The sheriff hung up his radio and asked Bob, “You got a bag somewhere, kid? Long stick with a hanky on the end of it?” Bob pointed at the hotel and the sheriff said, “Okay, you go on, then. I’ll wait here for you. Only don’t dillydally, all right?” Bob said all right and stepped away. “Hey, though,” said the sheriff, and Bob turned back. “I just want to say that if you run away again then you’ll make me look bad and everyone’ll make fun of me and I’ll be sore and I don’t want to feel that way about you because you seem like a nice kid.” Bob said he wouldn’t run, and he was telling the truth, and so the sheriff believed him. He told Bob, “You’re not in any real trouble, by the way. I mean, I’m not sure what your reception at home’ll be like but from the legal standpoint you’re not in trouble hardly at all. You’re in a very mild and manageable amount of trouble, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, go get your things. I’ll be here.”
Bob walked back in the direction of the hotel. The trumpeter had found a fiddler and guitar player and they were trying to come together to make some moment-appropriate war-is-over music, but they couldn’t agree on a song, or there wasn’t one that they all three knew how to play. The lobby was empty; Bob rang the bell but no one answered. He went to his room and packed up his pajamas and toothbrush. The snare drum and sticks sat on the floor; Bob took these up, along with his knapsack, and left his room. He knocked on Mr. Whitsell’s door but no one answered. The door was unlocked and he opened it but the room was empty. Next he climbed the stairs to the tower and knocked on Ida and June’s door. Buddy and Pal whined but no one answered; Bob tried the doorknob but it was locked. He left the drum in the hall and made for the lobby. Again he rang the bell and again there was no response. The auditorium was empty. The conservatory was empty.
Bob stood once more at the top of the blue stairs out front of the hotel. The crowd was growing, and he could see cars parked along the highway for half a mile, with men and women hurrying up and toward the excitement. On the sidewalk across the road, on the far side of the melee and all the way up against the long row of plate glass storefronts, Bob saw Alice and Tommy running off together, running away from the crowd and toward a privacy, and their hands were clasped, and Alice looked so happy, her greasy hair flapping behind her as she and Tommy vanished around a corner. The trio of musicians had landed on an up-tempo number Bob was not familiar with. They played badly but sincerely. Bob could see the sheriff’s patrol car still parked in the distance. The sheriff was lying down along the full length of his front seat, the door open, his boots hanging stilly in the air above the white pea gravel.