“He came home just before lunch time, terribly excited. He told me all about it, how the girl being a suspect would give me double protection and how the money would take care of Clara and me. He made me promise to look after Clara no matter what happened.
“He brought the money to me late in the afternoon, six thousand dollars. A fortune. Next morning the first thing I did was go down to Devine’s and buy back the things Earl had pawned. They were Earl’s keepsakes and I thought I’d have them waiting for him as a little surprise when he got out. I did what Earl said to do with the rest of the money. I deposited a little of it in the old account I had under my maiden name and hid what was left. I thought I was safe. Everything seemed so foolproof. Even if Earl’s confession was torn apart, suspicion wouldn’t fall on me but on the girl. Yes, I felt safe, I even felt hopeful. Earl would get off, we’d go away together, he’d be cured. I was full of crazy dreams like when I was young. I guess Earl didn’t have any dreams. This morning he hanged himself.”
The old lady’s voice drifted from the other room: “Birdie? You there?”
“I’m here.”
“Going to bed, very tired.”
“I’ll help you.” She met the old lady at the kitchen door and took her by the arm. Slowly, the two of them moved across the room. “I can’t stay with you tonight, Clara. You’ll be hearing from me, though. I have to go away for a while but I’ll be back, don’t worry. I’ll be back, won’t I, Mr. Meecham?”
He was sure she would.
The snow had stopped. The air was clear and sharp, and the midnight moon traveled with them along the highway.
You are leaving Kincaid. Elevation 900, Population 10,550. Come Back Soon!
“She’ll be back,” Meecham said. “In a year, two years. Maybe sooner.”
Alice pressed closer to his side, as if the mere mention of departures and returns was a threat of separation. “What will happen to her then? What will she be like?”
“She’ll be the same. The pattern is the same — for Birdie, Miss Falconer, Emmy Hearst — and she’ll follow it.”
Alice shook her head in protest. “No, that’s too cynical. People can change; they do.”
“Do they?” The lights of Kincaid were no longer visible, though their reflection shone in the sky. “She’ll come back,” he repeated. “If Jim is still around she’ll take up with him again. If he isn’t, she’ll find someone else, some man who will depend on her, a prodigal son she can mother.”
“You must believe in fate, Meecham,” she said gravely.
“Maybe.”
“Then I guess you must be my fate. I didn’t choose you. You just suddenly loomed up like a... well, like an iceberg.”
“That’s a beautiful thought.”
“I mean it to be.”
He took his eyes off the road for a second and looked down at her. Her face was a vague white blur in the darkness, anonymous, not Alice’s face, but any woman’s. He wondered, with a curious feeling of tightness in his throat, how many icebergs were ahead for Birdie and with what reckless skill she’d steer toward them.
Whatever happened, Birdie would survive. Thinking of her and of the girl beside him, Meecham was conscious of a great surge of energy and power, as if he could go on driving forever without food or sleep.