Some Other Town (31 page)

“I'm sorry,” he tells me.

“Sorry?” I say. I think this landlord does not have to be sorry. He did not make me cry.

“About Ben,” he says. “Sorry, about Ben, ma'am.”

He stands back up. He starts to turn, he is going to leave. That is all he is going to say? Sorry about Ben? How could he know about Ben and me?

“Wait,” I say. I stand, reach toward him. I am going to ask what he knows.

He turns back, looks at me. “I mean, you was friends and I'm sorry.” He shakes his head. “Terrible shock. The missus and me didn't know till we heard on the news. About the accident, I mean. Was all you heard on the news those first days.”

He stops here. Watches me. Goes on. “I know that bridge,
you don't want to be driving it fast. Ben never had a chance of it, ma'am. Not in that river. Not on that cold a day.” He shakes his head again. “Coldest day of the year. Hard to believe it's three months he's been dead.”

And he looks at me again and I guess he sees something there on my face, because he touches my shoulder, gives it a stiff pat. “I'm real, real sorry, ma'am.”

Then he remembers. He says wait there, disappears into the house, and brings out a cardboard box. “Here,” he says, and holds it out toward me. “Ben's things. His wife didn't want them.”

I hold out my arms. I do not know what I am doing.

“There's not much,” he says. “Some books, a couple shirts, hiking boots.”

He places the box in my arms. “Oh,” he says. “Right.” And goes back inside, brings out a small stretched canvas, places it on top of the box. He smiles but he does not pat me again. Then tipping his seed cap, he is gone.

She drives back into town with no memory of how she gets there. She remembers nothing for days. Until early one morning, just as the peonies are opening, she awakes from a dreamless deep sleep.

Listening, she lies still. Birdsong. He had told her about it, made a point. She smiles, thinks how like him. Remembers.

In a rush then she rises. There is a great deal she has now to do. Call Mr. Abbott, put a sign on the lawn. Call Ford, say he can have
her TV. Call the paper, stop service, water the plants. Leave out new clippers for Mrs. E.

And when she is done, she will head for town center, she will board the first bus she sees. Find a seat by a window, ride to the end of town.

And then? She stops. She does not know. She has not thought this part through. But it occurs to her then she can just keep on riding. It is possible, yes. She will just stay on the bus and ride. To some other place, some other town. She will look for it out all the windows. And when she sees it at last, she will know.

She is late, she must hurry. But as she is leaving, she goes back for the landlord's box, finds Ben's hiking boots there.

She places the boots outside the front door. Touches one more time the soft leather. Then turning, she rises up to her toes and makes a run for the bus.

I am grateful to so many for their help on this book: to Connie Brothers, without whose support the manuscript would not have left my computer; to my agent, Stephanie Cabot, amazing in all ways, who believed in the book and did not give up; to Anna Worrall and Ellen Goodson of The Gernert Company for their excellent comments and help; to my editor, Hannah Wood, whose outstanding insights and unflagging friendship have made this a better book; to Jan Weissmiller for her great kindness and generosity in getting the book into others' hands; to my parents, Margaret and Guilford Collison, for their encouragement and respect for writing and books; to my inestimable early readers and book friends: Anne Collison Johnson, Janet Collison, John Collison, Paul Johnson, Diane Padilla, Patricia Page, Jylian Gustlin, Jim Harris, Pamella and Bud Nesbit, Peter Henriksen, Jennifer Vine, Michael Ham, and the Madeira Club; and throughout, to Scott Alkire, my partner in all things.

Photo by Daniel Lee

ELIZABETH COLLISON
grew up in the Midwest and now lives in the San Francisco Bay area. She received her MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and has worked as an editor, graphic artist, and technical writer. This is her first novel.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.

Cover photograph © itchySan / Getty Images

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SOME OTHER TOWN.
Copyright © 2015 by Elizabeth Collison. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-234882-1

EPub Edition February 2015 ISBN 9780062348838

15  16  17  18  19
    
OV
/
RRD
    
10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

About the Publisher

 

Australia

HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada

HarperCollins Canada

2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor

Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada

www.harpercollins.ca

New Zealand

HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand

Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive

Rosedale 0632

Auckland, New Zealand

www.harpercollins.co.nz

United Kingdom

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

77-85 Fulham Palace Road

London W6 8JB, UK

www.harpercollins.co.uk

United States

HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

195 Broadway

New York, NY 10007

www.harpercollins.com