“I will, I will.”
“And get it out of here tomorrow.”
On the porch, they paused before going in.
“Can you busy yourself this afternoon?” she asked him.
He nodded, gesturing to the cement-block outbuilding where he maintained his practice. “I’m going to make some calls from my office. Let my nurse and receptionist know that they’re on paid leave till this settles down. Call the other two family practice docs in town and make arrangements for my patients. Call a couple of specialists in Atlanta to take over certain key cases. I have plenty to do.”
“All right.” She sighed and her smile was small and sad. “Pity it took a bunch of dead doctors and a murder threat against our son to bring us together.”
He studied her. “Are we? Together?”
“Where the welfare of our son is concerned? We may disagree about the ‘how,’ but not that there’s a need. And responsibility.”
They went inside and Roy headed upstairs and went to his son’s room. The walls had posters of TV shows and movies Richie liked — Star Trek, Batman (the old Adam West one), Scooby Doo. The boy kept a neater room than most his age and was protective of his comic books, which were in neat piles atop a low-slung bookcase filled with Little Golden Books and Dr. Seuss.
But the child, predictably, was not there.
And the stethoscope, so precious and compelling to the boy the night before, lay abandoned on his bed. At least Richie had made his bed, which was one of his regular chores.
Roy went quietly up the stairs and heard his son’s voice: “I’m going to do Track and Field at the Olympics. I do a lot of running in the yard to get ready. And Dad got me all this stuff to get in shape...”
Roy entered the attic, Richie hearing him immediately. The boy, who’d been sitting Indian-style in front of the ghostly-looking mummy — which looked like a refugee from the end of Psycho — sprang to his feet and turned to his dad. The child’s smile indicated he knew he’d been caught doing something maybe he shouldn’t.
“Hi, Dad. I was just talking to my friend. Do you know his name?”
Roy walked over to Richie. “No, son, I don’t. Your uncle didn’t put that in his birthday note to you. I’m guessing your gift’s name is lost to time.”
“Oh. Well, he doesn’t need to have a name to be my friend, does he?”
“No, but you do understand he’s a pretend friend, son. He’s not alive.”
“I thought you said—”
He put both hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I told you before that you’d misunderstood me. He was once alive, of course, but we don’t know exactly when he died. He’s not a toy or a plaything.”
“No. He’s my friend.”
“Pretend friend.” He put his arm around his son’s shoulder, putting the mummy to both their backs. “He was a real living breathing someone once, and it would be disrespectful to play games with him.”
“I wasn’t playing games.”
“I know. But go on down to your room now. We’ll be having lunch soon and then your mom wants to do some art and crafts with you. Spend the afternoon with her favorite son.”
“I’m her only son.”
“Right. But that doesn’t mean you’re not her favorite.”
The boy was uncharacteristically sullen as he walked down the attic stairs, but at least he’d obeyed.
Roy tousled his son’s hair as he passed through the bedroom on his way downstairs. He had a lot of work to do this afternoon in putting his practice on hold, and he was pleased his wife would be spending some quality time with their boy. Maybe she’d realize just how much she and her father underestimated Richie.
At least she might if the kid kept his mouth shut about that mummy being his pal and still alive...
They had spaghetti for supper, a favorite of Richie’s and a specialty of his mother’s, and the evening was quiet and homey — the only fire being the one in the fireplace. Helen reported her afternoon with their son in loving detail, Roy went quickly over what he’d accomplished with his work, and Richie watched TV in the book-lined study.
Helen went up to bed early, around nine o’clock, which was Richie’s bedtime. They tucked the boy in together and Roy said goodnight to his wife at the guest room door. Then he went downstairs, fixed himself a highball, thought about how much he still loved that woman, fixed himself another highball, and after while went back upstairs.
He knocked at the guest room door.
She said, “Yes,” and he went in. She was in a negligee with her covers at her waist, the full breasts discreetly covered by the garment but still a formidable presence in the room. Roy came over and, rather boldly, sat on the edge of the bed near her.
She nodded around the room, where three of her framed landscapes hung, including the Hawaiian one she’d painted on their honeymoon. “I’m a little surprised to see so much of my artwork on the walls. I kind of thought they’d be stowed away in the attic.”
“Then where would I put my brother’s gift?”
She actually chuckled at that. “What about my self-portrait?”
“It’s in my bedroom. Care for a look?”
Her smile was crinkly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself...”
He leaned in. “Okay. Look, I know this has already been an awful ordeal, but I was thinking — really, we’re in a better place with this thing now, since that attack last night.”
Her eyes grew big. “Really? That was a help was it, that flaming bottle of gasoline?”
He nodded. “It gives the police something tangible to deal with. Up till now they thought the doctors might be accidental deaths — now they’re talking serial murder. It has their attention.”
“And you have mine.” She sat forward and those breasts came along for the ride. “But, Roy — nothing’s changed. We’re still legally separated and the reasons for that remain. We’ll always be Richard’s parents, but anything else is... well, we need to face it... It’s over.”
He shook his head slowly. “It sure doesn’t feel like it. And even if that’s so, we have a son in the middle. Right now he doesn’t know what the hell’s happening between us — never mind that he’s the target of some mentally deranged loon who was able to murder three medical men.”
“Roy...”
“I’m just saying... let’s not make it any tougher on Richie than it already is. Let’s just keep it friendly between us, even if it’s only us playing a game. To keep the boy from getting tied up into knots.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms over the shelf of her bosom. “If you’re talking about maintaining appearances in front of our son, that’s a game I can play. But if you think you’re climbing into this bed tonight, buddy boy, you are on the losing end.”
That hurt. He knew he probably deserved it, but it damn well hurt, and the two highballs fueled his response as he got to his feet: “Honey, you better get over yourself. Get something straight, if you can get out in front of that overblown ego of yours. Right now you’re nothing to me but my son’s mother, a biological reality I can’t do anything about at this point. And I have about as much romantic interest in you as a potted plant.”
Her frown was like a fist clenching. “I don’t have to put up with this crap...”
“Then don’t. But the last time you walked out on me, when things got a bit too tough for your sensitive nature? You wound up on the wrong side of a custody battle. And if you walk out now, honey, you might find out that whatever’s out there in the dark wanting to take me and our kid down might just be waiting for you. He might’ve decided you make a pretty attractive alternative target.”
Her chin was quivering and her eyes threatened to overflow. “That was a lousy goddamn thing to say...”