The Decoding of Lana Morris (26 page)

Lana slips the picture of her father from her shirt pocket and tilts it to the light. He stands with his line of fish, grinning back at her.

A siren. She can hear it now. The police car is coming with its siren growing louder.

We don’t run and we don’t hide
. Lana suddenly thinks, her father’s words, but they feel like her own now, and it’s not just what she thinks, it’s who she is.
I don’t run and I don’t hide
.

The sound of the siren is close and piercing.

The red spool bed stands under the one large overhead light. Lana walks over to it and sits on its edge, as if under a spotlight. She puts the photograph of her father back into her pocket. She touches the rolled bill over her ear. She feels for the piece of paper in her back pocket, Chet’s wish, the one that says
Lana
.

They’re all there, all of her talismans, safe and sound.

She breathes in and breathes out.

She feels the same calm elation she felt the day the dust devil came onto the porch and went right through her and took away all the bothersome thoughts and left behind a tranquil emptiness that made her feel hopeful about things.

And then she is grinning. She has no idea what Tilly might have done or might still be doing with the last page of sketch paper, but she’s glad, deep-down glad, that the pencil is in Tilly’s hand, because Lana has the sudden certain idea that finding the right wish might be a lot like
finding the right rock or stick or feather, and nobody is better at that than Tilly.

The sirens, close by and shrill, abruptly stop.

It’s still and quiet for what seems like a long while before Lana hears heavy, hurried footsteps on the wooden stairs.

Then the door to Miss Hekkity’s shop bursts open.

T
wo men in sheriff’s uniforms rush a few feet into the dim room, spread their positions, and stop. Each holds a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.

“I’m right here,” Lana says, and at once one of the men crouches and trains his gun on her. Lana, strangely, is not afraid. She is in fact a little indignant. “What’re you
doing
?” she says, and the man yells, “Hands to your sides, fully extended!”

The other man, older than the first, says, “Jesus, Ronald, take it easy, it’s a girl,” and the other deputy says, “You don’t think girls kill people?” but he does relax a little.

Lana stands, and the older man says, “You okay, miss?”

Lana casts a glance at the young deputy. “I am as long as he doesn’t start shooting up the place,” which gets a small smile from the older man.

“Why don’t you go ahead and holster it, Ronald,” he says, and after a second or two, Ronald does. Ronald looks about nineteen. There’s a lot of red in his face—he’s tense and tightly wound, a type Lana saw more than once in the long line of her mother’s boyfriends. The older deputy works at a lower pitch and is clearly in charge. He looks at
the younger one and says, “Go down and radio the sheriff that everything’s secured and we don’t need any backup.”

The younger one seems reluctant to go. The redness in his face is fading, but as it recedes, his self-pride rises. They’ve caught somebody, and he doesn’t want to miss a minute of it. “Shouldn’t we cuff her?” he says.

“No, Ronald, we shouldn’t,” the older deputy says. “But what you should do is what I asked you to do, which is to go downstairs and radio Sheriff Burns that everything’s under control here.”

“What about those retards down there?” the young deputy says.

The older deputy takes a deep breath, and Lana wonders if he doesn’t spend a lot of his day trying to keep himself from strangling the young deputy. In a restrained voice he says, “That’s fine, Ronald. Let the sheriff know we found the kids, too. That they’re all safe and accounted for.”

Ronald starts to say something else, but the older deputy cuts him dead with a look, and Ronald turns to go.

“And get hold of Miss Hekkity,” the older deputy says. “She’s the lady who owns this place.”

Once Ronald is out the door, the older deputy looks around the room for a few seconds, then turns to Lana. “Kind of a funny location for a stickup,” he observes dryly.

“I didn’t steal anything,” Lana says. “I was looking for something and when I found it, I paid for it.”

The older deputy’s eyes are fixed on Lana’s. “And yet the cash register is open,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s where the two-dollar bill was that used to be mine,” Lana says, and points to the bill rolled over her ear.

The older deputy’s eyes go from the bill to the cash register and back to Lana. “You were looking for a two-dollar bill that used to be yours.” He says the sentence slowly, as if that might help reveal its meaning.

Behind him, the door opens, and they both turn to see Miss Hekkity walking toward them. The older deputy nods. “Hello, Julia.”

“Hello, Carl,” Miss Hekkity says, but she’s already looking past the deputy toward Lana. She’s wearing slacks and a light cardigan and the same red shoes as before, and she looks cheerful, as if she’s walked into a surprise party. “What’s the occasion?”

The deputy fills her in briefly, right up to the two-dollar bill. Miss Hekkity listens, and nods, and more than once peers at Lana through her glasses. Again Lana is surprised at the woman’s slightness, the luminous blueness of her eyes, the way she looks like a girl whose skin alone has aged.

“So that’s where we are at the moment,” the deputy says when he’s finished.

Miss Hekkity doesn’t say anything. She laces her fingers together in front of her chest and seems to be thinking. Lana expects her to ask if anything’s missing, but when she finally speaks, she says, “Who’re those other kids down on the street?”

The older deputy is about to speak, but Lana says quickly, “Those are friends of mine. But they don’t have anything to do with this. They don’t even know why I wanted to come here.”

The woman lifts her chin slightly. “And why
did
you want to come?” Not sharp or accusing, but actually curious.

“I’m not sure,” Lana says. “I guess because I had the money to buy back my two-dollar bill.”

There is a brief silence, then the deputy says, “You’d better check out your money drawer, Julia.”

The shopkeeper goes over, gives the open cash register the quickest glance, and says, “Everything’s here.”

The deputy shrugs. “It’s still breaking and entering, if you’re interested in that.”

“I’m not,” Miss Hekkity says in a firm voice. “I’m not in the slightest.” Then, her expression softening: “But that isn’t to say I don’t appreciate your looking after things here, Carl.”

The older deputy takes this in, then nods toward the door. “Let me just have a word with you, Julia,” he says, and the two of them go out to the landing and stand talking in low voices for a minute or two. Once they both look down toward the street and the deputy points at something.

The Snicks, Lana thinks. They’re talking about the Snicks, and her, and probably the car that could be considered stolen. Lana walks over to the window and looks down. Chet has rounded up Alfred and Garth and is standing near the Monte Carlo talking to them and Tilly, who is out of the car now. The sketch paper is nowhere to be seen.

A few seconds later, Miss Hekkity reenters the shop alone. Lana can hear the boots of the older deputy as he descends the stairs.

Lana says, “I put two dollars under the tray in your cash register. To replace the two-dollar bill. So we’d be even steven.”

“Even steven,” Miss Hekkity says in a low voice, almost to herself. She regards Lana for a few moments, then gazes down through the shop’s front window. The two
policemen are across the street, talking to a farmer wearing a seed hat. Carlito has spotted them and is walking toward them in his stiff, openmouthed manner. The young policeman shrinks back a little, but the farmer and older policeman seem relaxed. Carlito touches the policeman on the shoulder, then the farmer, then the younger policeman.

“What in the world is he doing?” Miss Hekkity says.

“That’s Carlito. He’s a shoulder toucher. The girl down there—her name is Tilly—she says it’s Carlito’s way of blessing people.”

Miss Hekkity nods and keeps watching. The older policeman leads Carlito back to the car and addresses Chet. It looks like a friendly conversation, but it goes on a while, and then Chet takes something from his pocket and hands it to the older deputy.

The car keys is Lana’s bet.

Chet and the deputy both glance up at Miss Hekkity’s shop, then the deputy points down the street while Chet nods and looks off in the designated direction.

“I imagine Carl’s telling them where the park is,” Miss Hekkity says. “It’s not big, but it has a gazebo and nice shade trees.”

Chet writes something on a piece of paper that he slips under the Monte Carlo’s windshield wiper, then he leads the others off in the direction of the park, single file, a short parade that a few of the people on the street stop to watch. Lana knows that probably all of them are looking forward to never seeing them again.

Miss Hekkity says, “A little while ago you said those people down there are your friends.”

“That’s right.”

Miss Hekkity turns to look at Lana. “They aren’t more than your friends?” Her voice is soothing, coaxing, but she seems to want a real answer, not just something that will sound good.

Lana tries to compare the Snicks to her friends, but the truth is, she only has one friend, and that’s Chet. She says, “They’re more than my friends in some ways, less in others.”

Miss Hekkity takes this in. “But something’s gone wrong with your more or less friends?”

Inside Lana, some of her composure gives way. “
Everything,
actually.” She glances down toward the street. “They don’t really get it yet, but their whole world’s coming apart at the seams. The state’s going to send all of them every which way and I sort of … drew it on them. I just can’t …” Her voice trails off.

“Let that happen?” the woman says.

Lana nods.

Miss Hekkity pulls in a deep breath, then slowly releases it. She slides two chairs from a nearby table and positions them by the window. They sit down. The air smells faintly of eucalyptus. Probably liniment oil, Lana thinks.

“What’s the worst thing about taking care of your friends?”

To Lana’s surprise, this is the question Miss Hekkity chooses to ask.

Bathroom problems
, Lana thinks, then,
Never being able to leave them alone
. And
How people see them in public
. But then to her own surprise she says, “Nothing. There is no worst thing.”

A silence stretches out.

Miss Hekkity says, “The last time you were here, I
mentioned that I took care of a nephew nobody wanted. He was over forty years old by then, but he was still like a child in his head. Like your friends out there.”

Lana remembers the nephew’s name and says it out loud. “Quinn.”

Miss Hekkity nods and stares off with her luminous blue eyes. “When he was small and came visiting, I used to make him happy by pretending to draw illustrations on his back for the stories I was telling him. He loved adventure and he loved beef stew and he loved the color red, so most of the stories were about a Quinn-like character going through a deep and scary forest full of traps and trolls and wolves until he finally found a snug little cottage with a red door. On his back I would scratch out the thatched roof and the red door with black strap hinges and then inside the cottage I would draw a warm fire and then a big pot of stew hanging over the fire and then a nice woman who’d been waiting for someone just like the Quinn-like character to come through the door and eat it.”

Miss Hekkity keeps staring off. “But he grew up, and I didn’t draw on his back for many years. Then he got sick and I did.” A small smile forms on Miss Hekkity’s lips. “He would close his eyes, and his body would relax, and I could almost feel him slipping off to that place where somebody was waiting behind a red door with a big pot of stew.”

Without thinking, Lana says, “You drew him the perfect wish.”

“What?” Miss Hekkity says. She seems startled.

“I just meant it was nice you knew exactly what to do to make him feel better about … what was happening to
him.” It’s quiet again, and Lana says, “Did you ever finish those big mittens you were knitting?”

Miss Hekkity makes a small laugh. “I did, yes. Finally. I gave them to a neighbor boy who likes the color red. They’re too big, but he didn’t seem to care. He said they could be his pot holders.”

A silence, a calm pleasant silence, then Miss Hekkity looks out the window and points past the opposite buildings. “See that green roof right over there?”

Lana nods. It’s the same housetop she saw the crow fly from.

“That’s my house,” Miss Hekkity says, and Lana suddenly remembers the curlicue
H
on its iron gate.

“I saw that house when I was here before,” she says. “It’s pretty.”

The shopkeeper gives a mild nod. “Pretty
big
is what it is. It’s got seven bedrooms. I’ve just been using the downstairs since Quinn died, but I’ve kept the house up.” She pauses. “It seems like a waste, a big house like that.”

Lana feels something faintly expectant rise in her, like seeing a wrapped present in a room without knowing who it’s for. She says, “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying I’ve got a track record of sorts. I’ve got a house. I’ve worked with the state before as a guardian and every now and then somebody from their agency calls me up to see whether I might be willing to do it again.” She’s been staring out the window, but she turns now to Lana. “They seem a little desperate for new recruits.”

Lana doesn’t know what to say, so she sits quiet, and after a moment or two Miss Hekkity smiles and says, “I have the feeling you and I would get along. You’re the
spunky type, and I’ve always had a soft spot for the spunky types.”

Lana, feeling herself being pulled ahead, suddenly shakes her head. “I couldn’t,” she says. “I couldn’t come by myself. I promised them.…” Her voice trails off.