Okay, what to do here… Maybe go to the second day I was there at the house. I wrote “The next day…” in the upper left-hand corner. What did she say that day? She told me I was wasting my time digging a pool, that nobody would ever use it. Then she got to the good part. I’ll start there.
So first panel, her watching me again. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt that day. “So are you going to talk today, or what?”
Next panel, me looking up at her.
Third panel. What did she say next? “I’m calling your bluff, okay? I know you can talk if you want to. So say something.”
Here’s where I took out my little pad of paper that day. Wrote down that I really, honestly couldn’t say anything. Gave it to her. That was what happened in real life, anyway. Here on this page, though, I could do anything I wanted to, right? I could make my own alternate reality.
So fourth panel. Me talking. Yes, me actually opening my mouth and saying a word out loud. On paper, it was as easy as drawing a dialogue bubble instead of a thought bubble. My first word after nine years of silence… She said to say something, so I did. “Something.”
Fifth panel. Surprise on her face. “You can talk,” she says.
Sixth panel. My answer. A little smile on my dirt-streaked face? No. No smile. Just the truth. “I can talk to you, Amelia. To you and nobody else.”
I wanted to keep going. I wanted to fill up ten more pages and give them to her, but that wouldn’t be right. It would be like dominating a conversation, something I’d never done, as you can probably guess. No, one page back from me and then it’s her turn again.
I went over the panels and filled in the details, trying to be a little more selective this time. Following Amelia’s example. The time flew by. Then, as I was about to set my alarm, I stopped and thought about what I was doing. You don’t have to break into her house every night, I realized. If you left the envelope in your car, she’d find it.
But then you’d have to wait an extra day. For someone who’s waited his whole life for something like this to happen…
No. Not if she knew to look for the envelope when you first got there every day at noon. She’d have four hours then to draw her own page and give it back to you. Assuming she’s still up for this. So you don’t have to take stupid chances anymore.
I knew it was the right way to play it, but at the same time I was disappointed that the idea made so much sense. That feeling I got when I picked that lock and stepped into that dark kitchen… I’d have to live without it for a while.
The next day finally came. I got to the Marshes’ house a few minutes early. As I got out of the car, I left the envelope on the dashboard, so there’d be no doubt where she could find it. All she’d have to do was look out a front window.
I felt the whole plan unravel when I went around to the back and saw the Lakeland art mafia sitting under the big umbrella again. Zeke was there with Amelia, along with the guy with the bleached-blond spikes and the girl whose hair color today had been switched from cotton candy pink to sour apple green. I did everything I could to ignore them, but I couldn’t help hearing the laughter, along with the unmistakable sound of one of them applauding my arrival.
I attacked the dirt for the next half hour or so. Whenever I dared to sneak a glance, Amelia seemed to be doing a professional job of not making any eye contact whatsoever. Finally, on my second trip back with the wheelbarrow, I noticed she was gone.
Another half hour passed. The remaining threesome kept working on whatever it was they were working on. The laughter faded with each passing minute. I caught Zeke staring at me. After another five minutes or so, he got up and went into the house. Ten minutes after that, he came out and said something to Blondie and Miss Green Hair. The two of them gathered up their things and left. Then Zeke came walking out to me.
“I thought I told you to stay away from her.”
I kept digging. I didn’t even look up.
“I’m talking to you.”
I stopped, cupping my hand to my ear like I was deaf. Then I picked up a shovelful of dirt and threw it into the wheelbarrow.
“You goddamned son of a bitch.”
He came at me then. I turned and pointed the shovel blade at his neck. That’s all I had to do.
“I will get you, you stupid bastard. I promise you.”
Then he left.
I went back to work. Every few minutes I looked up at the back windows, hoping to see Amelia. I didn’t. When I went to the faucet to fill the water jug, I heard Mr. Marsh yelling into the phone.
Just before four o’clock, I saw the back door open. My heart went into my throat for a second until I realized it was Mr. Marsh. He had a drink in one hand. With his other hand he grabbed one of the patio chairs and carried it out to the hole. He set it down a little too close to the edge, tried to take a seat, and almost dumped himself right into the dirt. He adjusted the chair, sat down again, and this time kept his bearings.
He watched me dig for a while. He took long sips out of his glass until it was almost empty.
“Why are you doing this?” he finally said.
I looked up at him.
“I got all sorts of guys working for me these days. Building things. Trying to make deals happen. You know what I’m saying? All sorts of guys all over the place. And you know what?”
He rattled the ice cubes in his glass and then drained it.
“I’ll tell you what. If every one of those guys worked like you do, I’d have absolutely no problems at all. I’d be fucking rich and I’d have no problems.”
He took out one of the ice cubes and threw it at me. It went two feet over my head.
“Look at you! You show up here every day. You do your job. Every minute you’re supposed to be working, you’re working. Every single minute. And the whole time you keep your fucking mouth shut. No complaining. No back-talk. No calling me up and telling me you can’t do one simple goddamned thing because this thing happened and that thing happened and this person said goddamned whatever. None of that bullshit at all. Not one little bit. Do you have any idea what I’m saying to you?”
I stayed still. I wasn’t sure what the right response would be, or if he’d even notice it.
“Who’da thunk it,” he said. “All these guys supposedly working for me and getting paid pretty goddamned well, and the one guy doing the best job is the juvenile delinquent who has to do it for free. Can you imagine?”
No. I cannot imagine.
“You want a drink?” he said. “A real drink? Come on, I’ll fix you something.”
I put my hands up. No thanks. It’s almost four o’clock, and I’m dying to get to my car, to see what might have been left there.
“You sure? I make a mean vodka martini.”
I put my hands up again.
He got out of the chair and stepped down into the hole. He came close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath.
“I didn’t want you to actually dig me a pool. You realize that. I mean, what the hell do I need a pool for?”
Once again, staying absolutely still seemed to be the only way to go.
“You win, okay? No more digging. Put the shovel away. Put the wheelbarrow away. You’re done. You win. End of story.”
End of story. Yet he was still standing there.
“I’m sorry I did this to you. Will you accept my apology?”
He seemed to really mean it. What else could I do? I nodded my head.
“Can we be friends now?”
Okay… not sure what to think now.
“Tell me we can be friends.”
What the hell. I nodded my head.
“Shake on it?” He switched his glass to his left hand and put out his right.
I shook it. It was cold and wet from the drink.
“When you come back tomorrow, we’ll think up something else for you to do, okay? Something a lot more fun? More rewarding?”
He’s really, really drunk, I thought. Or really, really crazy. By tomorrow, he may have forgotten all about this. Or else it’s going to be an interesting day all around.