“I’m sorry we have to go to the early show,” Colin said.
“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s the same movie no matter what time it’s shown.”
“And like I said, I’ve got to be home by nine o‘clock or so, before it gets completely dark. That’s a real drag.”
“No,” she said. “That’s okay, too. You’re not going to be punished forever. The curfew’s only for a month, right? Don’t worry about it. We’ll have fun. See you later.”
“Later,” he said.
He watched her walk across the quiet library. When she was gone, he turned his gaze to the graveyard once more.
A dead sister.
30
Colin had no trouble finding the tombstone; it was like a beacon. It was bigger and shinier and fancier than any other rock in the graveyard. Mr. and Mrs. Borden had spared no expense in the matter. It was a very elaborate stone, done in sections, constructed both of granite and marble, joined together almost seamlessly. Every aspect of it was artfully shaped and highly polished. Wide, beveled letters were cut deep into the richly veined, mirror surface of the marble.
BELINDA JANE BORDEN
According to the date on the marker, she had died more than six years ago, on the last day of April. The monument at the head of the grave was surely several times the size of the body that it memorialized, for Belinda Jane was only five years old when they put her in the ground.
Colin returned to the library and asked Mrs. Larkin for the spool of microfilm that contained the six-year-old, April 30 edition of the News Register.
The story was on page one.
Roy had killed his baby sister.
Not murder.
Just an accident. A horrible accident.
Nothing anyone could have done to prevent it.
An eight-year-old boy finds his father’s car keys on the kitchen counter. He gets it in his head to take a ride around the block. That’ll prove he’s bigger and better than anyone gives him credit for. It’ll prove he’s even big enough to play with Dad’s trains, or at least big enough to sit at Dad’s side and just watch the trains, which is something he’s not permitted to do but which he wants to do very badly. The car is parked in the driveway. The boy puts a pillow on the seat so that he can see over the steering wheel. But then he discovers that he can’t quite reach the brake or the accelerator. He searches for a tool, and beside the garage he finds a piece of lumber, a three-foot length of two-by-two white pine that is just about exactly what he needs. He figures he can use the lumber to push the pedals that his feet won’t reach. One hand to hold the two-by-two, and one hand for steering. In the car he starts the engine and fumbles with the gearshift. His mother hears. Comes out of the house. She’s in time to see her little girl walk behind the car. She shouts at both the boy and the girl, and each of them waves at her. The boy finally throws the car into reverse as the mother rushes toward him, and at the same instant he thumps the accelerator with the wooden prod. The automobile goes backward. Fast. Just shoots backward. Strikes the child. She goes down hard. Goes down with one short scream. A tire thumps across her fragile skull. Her head bursts like a blood-filled balloon. And when the men in the ambulance arrive, they find the mother sitting on the lawn, legs akimbo, face blank, saying the same thing over and over again. “It just popped. Just popped open. Just like that. Her little head. It just popped.”
Popped.
Popper.
Colin switched off the machine.
He wished he could switch off his mind.
31
He got home a few minutes before five o‘clock.
Weezy walked in one minute later.
“Hello, Skipper.”
“Hi.”
“Have a good day?”
“It was okay.”
“What’d you do?”
“Not much.”
“I’d like to hear about it.”
He sat down on the sofa.
“I went to the library,” he said.
“What time was that?”
“Nine this morning.”
“You were gone when I got up.”
“I went straight to the library.”
“And after that?”
“Nowhere.”
“When did you come home?”
“Just now.”
She frowned.
“You were at the library all day?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on now.”
“I was.”
She paced the middle of the living room.
He stretched out on his back, on the sofa.
“You’re making me angry, Colin.”
“It’s true. I like the library.”
“I’ll restrict you to the house again.”
“Because I went to the library?”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
He closed his eyes.
“Where else did you go?”
He sighed.
“I guess you want a juicy story,” he said.
“I want to know everywhere you went today.”
“Well,” he said, “I went down to the beach.”
“Did you stay away from those kids, like I told you to?”
“I had to meet someone at the beach.”
“Who?”
“A dope pusher I know.”
“What?”
“He deals out of his van at the beach.”
“What are you saying?”
“I bought a mayonnaise jar full of pills.”
“Oh my God.”
“Then I brought the pills back here.”
“Here? Where? Where are they?”
“I split them up into cellophane ten-packs.”
“Where have you hidden them?”
“I took them into town and sold them retail.”
“Oh Jesus. Oh my God. What have you gotten into? What’s wrong with you?”
“I paid five thousand bucks for the dope and sold it for fifteen thousand.”
“Huh?”
“That’s ten thousand clear. Now, if I can make that much profit every day for one month, I can get enough money together to buy a clipper ship and smuggle tons of opium from the Orient.”
He opened his eyes.
She was red-faced.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” she demanded.
“Call Mrs. Larkin,” he said. “She’ll probably still be there.”
“Who is Mrs. Larkin?”
“The librarian. She’ll tell you where I was all day.”
Weezy stared at him for a moment, then went into the kitchen to use the telephone. He couldn’t believe it. She actually called the library. He was humiliated.
When she came back to the living room, she said, “You were at the library all day.”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“‘Cause I like the library.”
“I mean, why’d you make up that story about buying pills down at the beach?”
“I thought that’s what you wanted to hear.”
“I suppose you think it’s funny.”
“Kind of funny.”
“Well, it’s not.”
She sat down in an armchair.
“All the conversations I’ve had with you during the past week-haven’t any of them sunk in?”
“Every word,” he said.
“I’ve told you that if you want to be trusted, you’ve got to earn that trust. If you want to be treated like an adult, you’ve got to behave like one. You seem to listen, and I let myself hope we’re getting somewhere, and then you pull a silly stunt like this. Do you understand what that does to me?”
“I think I do.”
“This childish thing you did, making up this story about buying pills down at the beach… it just makes me distrust you all the more.”