On the Loose (22 page)

"Who's Lula Simmons?"

"She wrote those two books: Speaking Fatly
when she was in her twenties and Speaking Thinly
after she had trimmed herself with diet and exercise. I'm proofing her third, Speaking Honestly,
about her struggle as a woman."

"Sounds interesting," Ben said unconvincingly.

Trish lowered her window as they inched toward Government Center. The traffic took on an
odd beat, like an orchestra tuning up. Pigeons swirled up from the mall like packages coming
apart.

"Neither of her marriages were successful," Trish
said. "Bummers, both. She said she never made
love with either husband. She merely copulated
with them and produced two sets of children, the
second set less ungrateful than the first."

"Maybe she never met the right man," Ben said.

.The right man never met her. She says he probably resides in Finland or Tibet, which makes a
meeting unlikely."

Bus fumes made her raise the window. Ben angled toward the artery, and they got on it sooner
than they'd thought, though Trish was in no hurry.

"She's seeing a younger man, but she says only
raw nerves, hers, and sexual energy, his, keeps the
affair going. It's all in the book."

"Are you asking me to read it?"

"No. You wouldn't like it." She lowered the window again.

"What's the use of air-conditioning if you keep
doing that?"

"None at all. Lula says her second husband was
an industrial polluter, which made him a human
turd."

"Enough, Trish."

Traffic rolled free off the artery onto the interstate. The sky opened up, revealing a large cloud
shaped like the torso of a woman. It made her look
twice.

"Any chance of seeing you later?"

"None," he said. "Belle and I are going out."

Trish dropped her head back. They were in a
middle lane. Cars whizzed by on each side. "Have
you noticed, Ben, we always screw in silence. We
never say a word."

Ben kept his eyes on the road. "Is that a time for
conversation?"

"Are you silent with Belle?"

"Drop it," he said in a deathly quiet voice.

Neither spoke during the rest of the drive. On
Ruskin Road, which led to the Heights, they interrupted crows scrapping over carrion. When he
pulled the car up near her front door, she unharnessed herself and patted his thigh.

"It's all right, Ben. I still love you."

The twins were watching television, eating popcorn, drinking Coca-Cola. Each was sitting on the
floor against propped cushions, each wearing cutoff jerseys and shorts, their midriffs exposed. At
fourteen, nearly fifteen, their bodies were accumulated treasures, the value obvious when they were
in the company of boys. Jennifer was shy and
aloof. Sammantha had two youths calling her,
Mark English, who was overly handsome and saw
Hollywood in his future, and Russ Lapierre, who
was not handsome at all but had a way about him.

"I don't understand what you see in either of
them," Jennifer said.

"It's not like I'm serious about either of 'em,"
Sammantha said and gave her sister a shrewd
look. "They're like the rest. You know."

"No, tell me."

"They all want you to touch it. If you don't, they
call you a goody-goody."

Jennifer took a quick swig of Coke. "Have you
ever touched it?"

"Once," Sammantha said. "No big deal."

Jennifer grimaced. "I'd never do that."

"It doesn't bite." Sammantha had the remote
and changed the channel.

"I was watching that!"

"It was boring."

"Sam, what does it do?"

"Spurts."

"Gripes!"

Sammantha changed the channel again, the
sound increasing because of a commercial. Dog
food was the product.

"Sam, what if ...

"It has to be in you." She switched back to the
channel they were originally watching, the laugh
track in full force. "I was just thinking, Bobby will
be getting out soon. He won't recognize us, I bet."

"I don't know if I want to see him," Jennifer
said. "I heard it was really two women he killed."

"That's just a rumor."

"What if it isn't?"

"Then it's true, nothing we can do about it."

Jennifer ran her fingers into the bowl of popcorn
but didn't pick up any. "What will you say when
you see him?"

"He's our cousin. I'll say hi and give him a kiss."

Jennifer stared at the television screen, a sitcom, and saw none of it. "If one of us died, Sam, what
would the other one do?"

Sammantha threw her a startled look. "What
did you ask that for?"

"You know why. Bobby."

On the drive home from Cinema Showcase in
Lawrence, Belle Sawhill said, "When he's back,
will we dare leave the girls alone?"

Ben stared straight ahead, both hands on the
wheel. "Why would he want to hurt them?"

"I don't know. Why did he kill Claudia
MacLeod? We don't know that either. And Mrs.
Bullard. There's another unknown. Lots of things
we don't know, Ben."

The lights of an approaching car flashed bright
because Ben had neglected to lower his.

"I think we should move out of Bensington," she
said. "It's not the same anymore. He's changed
everything."

"We can't let him do this to our lives. Where
would we go? To another part of the state? Another part of the country? No, Belle, it wouldn't
solve anything."

Another car hurled its lights at them.

"Will you dim your fucking lights, please!"

He did. "Belle, calm down."

She took some deep breaths. "So what are we
going to do?"

"We'll deal with it, somehow. Trust me."

She looked away. "No, Ben. I'm afraid I don't."

Chief Morgan viewed it from the street. A few
shingles were sliding off the roof, slats escaping
blinds, paint vanishing from the sun side. He tailed
Gloria Eisner through the low gateway. The flower
garden was weeds. Rose bushes had turned wild,
some looked vicious.

"I know it needs work," Gloria said. "That's one
of the reasons I got it cheap."

Morgan said, "A purchase agreement doesn't
mean you have to go through with it. You can get
your money back."

"I don't want my money back, I want the house.
I want to make it mine. I love that little balcony,
don't you?"

"It could fall off," he said, mounting the steps
with her. He pushed a button. The doorbell was
failing, the ring of a faint stutter.

"You expecting someone to answer, James?"

"Just testing it."

"The young couple living here separated and
walked away from it. The bank gave me a key."

When she opened the door and stepped in, Morgan drew back. "I don't care to go in," he said, and
she stared out at him. He frowned. "I've seen
death in it. Two times. Two women."

"Will you never come in?"

"I don't know. It may take awhile."

"I estimate it'll be a couple of months before I
can move in. Will that be time enough?"

He moved forward a bit and looked into her
eyes. "Change your mind."

"It would be healthier if you did," she said.

Reverend Stottle carried two coffees from the Blue
Bonnet onto the green and presented one to Trish
Becker, who'd been waiting for him on a bench,
her attention fixed on a towering red maple.
Leaves were breaking loose from branches and
taking flight. "Summer's gone," she said. "It forgot
to say good-bye."

Settling beside her, Reverend Stottle enjoyed the
closeness. When she glanced at him through dark
glasses, he viewed himself in the lenses. "When I
was a boy I looked forward to autumn, loved the
smell of burning leaves. Now it's outlawed."

"I want them to stay where they belong. On the
tree."

"A leaf turns and a rose withers because God
demands it. He demands it of every living thing,
even of himself. Like stars that die but still shed
light, he may already be gone. He may even have
left -before-we-began."

Her coffee had sugar in it, but she didn't complain. She said, "Life is tough, isn't it?"

Reverend Stottle liked sugar and had extra in
his. "Living requires courage, fortitude, and from
time to time a good stiff drink. Indulging in the latter can make you an alcoholic. God knows we
don't want you-ending-up like Harry."

"Sometimes I think I'm going crazy."

"What a coincidence. I have that feeling each day."

She dumped some of her coffee out to prevent
spilling it, then spoke vulnerably, as if reduced to her underwear. "Ben and I are fucking. How
wrong is it?"

He raised his eyes and thought carefully. "The
sex act takes its cue from the to-and-fro motion of
molecules, the molecules that keep our world intact, that keep us from falling apart. Seen another
way, woman is the inclined plane and man the
lever, the rigid bar that transmits force. Everything
is physics. Maybe God put us into play, but my private opinion is that he's long gone. Otherwise he'd
be refereeing."

"What the hell are you saying, Reverend? You're
not answering my question."

"I'm saying that if getting it off with Ben Sawhill
keeps you whole, how can it be wrong? If, on the
other hand, it's tearing you apart, how can it be
right?"

She studied the smudge of lipstick on the edge
of her coffee cup. "I'm so confused."

"It's the human condition. Otherwise men and
women would have no need of each other."

She placed the cup on the bench and stood up.
He rose at the same time. "I don't know how
much it has helped," she said, "but I'm glad we
talked."

"Call on me anytime. Day or night," he added.

She would have stepped closer and kissed his
cheek, but his erection, straining thin trousers, was
in the way. She pictured it as the tongue of a church
bell. She shook his hand. "Thank you," she said.

Officer Floyd Wetherfield appeared in Chief Morgan's office in full uniform, with tears in his eyes
and his wife at his side. "We both come to thank
you, Chief." He flung an arm around his wife. "Tell
him what it means to me, Betty."

"It means everything." Betty, a bit of a thing, had
a high voice and an uncommonly pretty face of apple pink. "Now he can hold his head up."

"I won't have to sling newspapers at doorsteps."

"I used to help him stuff 'em in plastic sleeves
when it rained."

"You must've missed one. Mine came wet the
other day." Morgan tipped back in his chair. "If
you screw up again, Floyd, it'll be my neck as well
as yours. You understand that?"

"He does," Betty said.

"I do."

Morgan softened his expression. "Who's minding the baby?"

"My mother," Betty said.

"We have another son, we're gonna name him
James. We've already decided, haven't we, honey?"

She nodded. "We love you, Chief."

"You don't have to go that far," Morgan said and
picked up the telephone in the pretense of using it.
"OK, I'll see you two later. You have a shift coming up, Floyd."

They shuffled out, Officer Wetherfield leading
his wife by the hand, but a second later he popped
his head back in as Morgan was putting the phone
down. "I owe you, Chief."