The Driftless Area (15 page)

Keith called for Linda and she joined him in the bathroom and stood there reading the note.

“We should look for these things,” he said.

“These five get the money,” she said. “Divide it up equal.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Then give it away. You said I should do what I want with it and that’s what I want.”

She left the bathroom and Keith took an Advil and cupped his hand under the faucet for the water. When he went back into the kitchen he saw that she had found the gray felt hat and was wearing it.

Roland and Carrie Miles sat at the end of a pier on an island off the western coast of Florida. They were on vacation and it would be cold back home. The pier was long and at the end there rose a square building with a bait shop below and restaurant above.

Roland was smoking and fishing and Carrie leaned back on her arms with her face turned to the sun. The water moved past in silver swells that went on and turned to foam on a white beach lined with little houses.

“We should move here,” she said.

Roland reeled in an empty hook and put a shrimp on it and cast it back under the dock. There was supposed to be a barracuda that lurked there, appearing every once in a while to steal a fish off a line.

“All right,” he said. “You find a place and I’ll bring our stuff down in a yellow truck.”

“We could wear sandals and have a fire on the beach at night.”

“Come on, you old legendary barracuda.”

“And you’d come home at night with fish in a bucket and I’d say, ‘What did you catch, my love?’ ”

“Find a place with French doors.”

“And I would say, ‘Look, darling, look what I found. It’s a sand dollar.’ ”

Roland flicked the rod and spun the reel and the hook danced up clean and jangling. “The bastard took my bait again.”

“And we would never fight. Because it’s too hot and we would be in tune with the rhythm of life.”

He got up and handed her the rod and reel. “Here, you try for a while,” he said. “Do you want a beer?”

“Sure.”

She baited the hook and looped another sinker on the line and cast far out into the ocean, away from the pier, thinking she would show him how it’s done.

They were renting a cottage on the beach on the other side of the island. That night Roland wanted to walk to a bar down the road and Carrie told him to go ahead as she felt like staying in.

She sat out on the patio and wrote by the light of an orange lamp on the table.

Bank Robbery Days won’t come again,

Which this year came too true:

The killings three I could not foresee

When I gave the phone to you.

It’s cold and gray in Shale now

And still I drive your car.

The top is down, I shift the gears,

I roam around with wind-dried tears

And wonder where you are.

Then she walked down the sand path to the Gulf of Mexico and waded into the water. On the horizon she could see three lighted ships like distant cities.

Out past the breaking waves she dove in and swam with eyes open in the dark sea, and she thought of the big night fishes cruising around in the deeps with eyes like saucers and fanning fins.

When the water changed temperature at the sand bar she let her feet drop down and stood with the water shoulder high and turned and looked back at the shore. The cottage lights were like a village among the condo towers.

She pushed her wet hair back and waited there with her hands on top of her head and water beading on her face. Yes, she thought, they could live in this place. There might be good things to do here. And it wouldn’t have to be forever.

It’s a warm day late in the fall. Hunting in the hills, he finds an orchard he has never seen before, high and green in the afternoon sun. It is deserted, the trees are young and well tended. He’s walked for miles and as he moves through the orchard he realizes all at once how tired he is. He sits down at the base of a willow tree, lays his gun beside him. His eyes close, his legs unfold, and he breathes deeply.

When he wakes it is dark and cool. The moon is overhead. He has no idea how long he has slept. It feels like days. A woman in a long coat and boots stands looking at him.

“Are you all right?” she says.

“I am,” he says. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Not too late.”

“I must have fallen asleep.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m walking into town if you’re going that way.”

He gets up and looks around. “I don’t know what happened. I sat down to rest this afternoon and that’s the last thing I know.”

“It was a great day,” she says. “And it’s supposed to stay this way for a while.”

“What brings you out here?”

She smiles. “Well, that’s a good question.”

He picks up the shotgun. He has the strangest feeling that he knows this place, knows this woman. He figures it’s because he just woke up, that he’s still partly dreaming. But when he takes her hand it feels warm and real, and they walk down the orchard row with the moonlight on the leaves.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to thank Elizabeth Schmitz and Sarah Chalfant.