The Expendable Man (4 page)

“I'll get it,” he repeated firmly.

She looked at the carton in his hand. “Is there any of that milk left?”

“None at all.” He dropped the container on the seat. “There's some water in the Thermos. It may be a bit stale, I didn't refill it this morning. But if you're thirsty enough, you can drink it.”

She scrambled to her knees, leaned over the back seat and lifted the Thermos from the floor. “You want some?”

“No, thank you. You'll find a glass in the glove compartment.”

She punched the compartment open, took out the glass and poured it full of water, slopping some of it on her and some on the floor mat. “It's not very good,” she said, wiping her mouth with her hand. “I wish you had more milk.”

“If I'd known I was having a guest for breakfast, I'd have bought two bottles. When you're through, put the jug back where you found it.”

“You're so funny,” she said sarcastically. “Ha ha.” She finished the water, replaced the glass, banged the compartment shut, and with another scramble swung the Thermos in place. “Maybe we could stop for a Coke in Wickenberg.”

“Barring car trouble—God forbid—our first stop will be the bus station at Phoenix.”

She said cheekily, “Suppose I have to make a stop.”

“I'll pull off the road where there's a bush,” he stated. “And no Coke machine.”

“I honestly think you would.”

“I would,” he confirmed.

She believed him and settled back. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”

“No, I don't mind.”

She played with the finder until she had a station, there weren't many in this neighborhood. As she had last night, she hummed with the music. When the announcer broke in with an ad spiel, she said, “I wish they'd play that new Johnny Mathis record. Do you like Johnny Mathis?”

“I like him.”

“I go ape over Johnny Mathis.”

“Personally I prefer Sinatra.” He wondered if that dated him, as his mother was dated with Bing Crosby.

At least the music kept her quiet and he could enjoy the morning ride. He'd always had a quickening of the heart when he crossed into Arizona and beheld the cactus country. This was as the desert should be, this was the desert of the picture books, with the land unrolled to the farthest distant horizon hills, with saguaro standing sentinel in their strange chessboard pattern, towering supinely above the fans of ocotillo and the brushy mesquite. Because there had been some winter rain, the desert was in bloom. The saguaro wore creamy crowns on their tall heads, the ocotillo spikes were tipped with vermilion, and the brush bloomed yellow as forsythia.

There was little traffic, never much on this span, and the road was well built. They rolled through Quartzsite and Hope and within an hour were in sight of the weathered curio café and new resort motel of Salome-Where-She-Danced.

Iris sat up brightly. “We could get a Coke here.”

“You can get a Coke at Phoenix.” He kept his face expressionless, set ahead on the road, driving with care at the reduced town speed. He must attract no attention from country constables or curious tourists while the girl was in his car.

She wailed, “But that's ages!”

They were already out of the town and approaching the shining span of the railway bridge.

“Two hours. One to Wickenberg. Another to the city limits. Maybe another half hour to get across town to the bus station.”

“I can't wait. I got to have a Coke, I'm dying.”

He made evident his disinterest. “Drink water.”

“That stuff! It tastes like you took a bath in it.”

“If you're really thirsty, you'll drink it.”

“You're revolting.” She sulked for a mile, then asked, “You got any more of that gum?”

He put his hand in his pocket, found one stick and handed it to her. She settled down, still sulky but at least near-noiselessly so. She chomped gum. He ignored her. This was his special part of the countryside, the prime of desert and far mountain landscape. The sun was lifting higher and hotter; it was a good thing he'd made an early start.

The hour passed and they were coming into Wickenberg. It meant reduced speed again, and he didn't like it. At this crawl, the people in passing cars, the people on the downtown main street, couldn't help but notice Iris. But at least she didn't open up on her Coke bit. Once free of the outskirts traffic, he pushed up to the sixty Arizona limit. There'd be traffic between here and Phoenix, but the closer he drew to Phoenix, the less he cared. Phoenix was a city. In a city, people were too busy with their own affairs to wonder about a strangely assorted couple.

They wound through the canyon and emerged into the hot flat desert area. There must have been some familiarity with this final stretch which put the excitement in Iris' voice. “I guess I'd better fix my hair.” Not for the aunt. There was a boy friend somewhere in the visit. At her age it was strange that she hadn't been babbling about him. She untied the scarf, laid it over her knees and began taking the bobby pins out of her hair.

He was curious. “Did you leave it up all evening?”

“Are you nuts? I took it down in the little girls' room at the café before I met the kids. Then I put it up again before I went to sleep.”

“You said you didn't sleep.”

She didn't like being called to account. “Not in a bed. I took a little nap in Rocky's car, that's all.” She pulled the dirty comb out of her purse and combed out the lank curls. She peered into the inset mirror. “I wish I'd left it up longer. Darn it. Does it look too awful?”

He didn't know how it was supposed to look. He said, “I wouldn't worry about it. Your aunt won't care, will she?” He was holding her to her story.

She tied the scarf under her chin. “No, she won't care. But I want to look nice when I get there just the same.”

“A bath and some clean clothes would help.”

“I know,” she said unhappily. For once she wasn't putting on an act. And he realized what he should have before, she didn't have any clean clothes with her. There wasn't room for them in the small bag.

“Maybe you can borrow from your aunt,” he suggested.

“Sure I can. She has lots of clothes, beautiful clothes.” She was lying again. “She doesn't care if I wear her clothes. We're the same size. She's real young for an aunt. She'll fix my hair too. She's a beauty operator, she has her own shop.”

Poor kid. Poor, poor kid. He was a little ashamed of the ire he'd had toward her. But not enough to forget the lies and the perhaps lies. “You haven't given me her address.”

“I don't have a pencil.”

“I have a pen.” He removed the ball-point from his jacket pocket. By now it was too hot for the jacket but he wouldn't slow the car to take it off.

“I don't have any paper.”

He had the letter from his mother which had come yesterday. He slid it out and handed her the envelope. “Write it on the back.”

Slowly she inscribed an address.

“Put her name on it. And phone number.”

“I don't have her phone number.” Reluctantly she wrote a name. He let his eyes touch it when she returned the envelope. Mayble Carney. She couldn't have invented Mayble. No one could.

“My pen?”

She pushed it at him.

“You tell her about the loan right away. Don't make up a big story, just tell her the truth.”

She said huffily, “You're sure worried about your money. You'd think it was a hundred dollars.”

“Do you know what an intern's pay is?”

“No, I don't.”

“It isn't enough to cover bus tickets for strangers,” he said.

They reached the city limits of Glendale. Oleanders were a magic wall of rose and white hiding the railroad tracks. Traffic was heavy from now on in; he didn't make conversation. She too was silent, shimmering with anticipation. She kept her head turned to the window, looking out at the buildings and streets. He followed Van Buren into the heart of town.

He said, “Keep your eyes open for the bus station. It's on the left. We'll probably have to go around the block to get to it.” Even if a left turn were permitted, the unending line of cars would prohibit it.

They saw the sign at the same time. She cried, “There it is. Just let me off at the corner.” Her hand was on the door.

“No, thanks. I'm taking you to the entrance. And you go right inside and telephone your aunt that you've arrived.” He'd do that much to get her settled before she looked for more kids to kick around with.

The light changed as he pulled up to the corner and he turned right before she could get out. He circled the block to First Street, drove across Van Buren, and double-parked.

She was out of the car the moment it stopped. She didn't say good-bye or thank you and she didn't look back. But he saw her walk into the station before he rolled away.

The bad dream was over. He was rid of her. He might or might not get in touch with the alleged aunt. She might or might not be told of the loan. He'd rather write off the ten dollars as enforced charity than take a chance on having Iris move into his life again.

HIS GRANDPARENTS' HOME
was a large old frame house on Jefferson, freshly painted white each spring. Pink and red roses were climbing the trellises against the porch. The oleanders were a glory of white in the dark glossy green of the tall hedge. He'd spent so many summers here as a child, it was like coming home. He'd never noticed the heat then.

He ran up the steps, across the broad porch, and pushed open the screen door. The air conditioning was welcome. “Anybody home?”

From the dining room he heard the clamor of voices, his grandmother's treble piercing through with excitement. “It's Hughie!”

They were around the big dining-room table, like a scene which never changed no matter how many years he was away from it. His grandmother was smaller and grayer but his grandfather stood tall despite his years. His mother was there; the family had flown to Phoenix earlier in the week. And to his delight, his sister Stacy and her doctor husband, Edward, had dropped in. It seemed impossible that Stacy was old enough to be the mother of a bride. Yet Clytie was twenty, older by two years than Stacy had been when she married.

“The house looks as if it knows there's to be a wedding in it. Where is the bride?”

“The girls had a luncheon at the university,” his mother said. “I thought you might be in last night, Hugh.”

“I stayed over in Blythe. It was late when I got off.” He wouldn't tell her the story, he wouldn't worry her. “Where's Dad?”

“Playing golf. He wanted to escape wedding chitchat for a time.”

“Whose clubs? I have his in the car.”

Edward said, “Mine. I wish I were with them but I have to get back to the office.” With mock woe he added, “Doctors can't take time off, right, Hugh? I'll see you at dinner.”

Stacy went to the door with him. By the time she returned, Gram had Hugh plied with more food than he'd seen in years.

Stacy sat down beside him. “We've come up with a housing problem, Hugh. I hope you won't mind too much. We're putting you up at The Palms.”

Gram interrupted. “I still say that's foolishness, Stacy. I can make up a nice bed for Hughie on the back porch—”

“And he'd be waked at dawn with the kitchen racket, Gram. You know what Edward said. An intern needs every bit of rest he can get while he's free of the hospital. You don't mind, Hugh?”

Gram tossed her head. “I am not rackety in my kitchen.”

“I don't mind at all.” Actually he was pleased, though he couldn't say it in front of his grandmother. There wouldn't be much chance to sleep here, not with wedding preparations underfoot. Clytie had chosen to be married in the ancestral home, to walk down the long front stairway as her mother and her mother's mother had before her. With Grandfather to marry her. He was retired now, but once a minister of the Lord, always a minister.

“I am not rackety,” Gram said more loudly.

“Of course you're not,” Hugh's mother said. “Stacy didn't mean it that way. But Hugh will get more rest at a motel. It's only a few blocks away.”

Hugh grinned. “I can be over here before you get that rackety breakfast cooked, Gram.”

“You look thin,” she accused. “You're working too hard.” She said the same thing whenever she saw him. He'd always been her favorite.

“You see,” Stacy continued explanation, “with Mother and Dad and the girls with me, and Ellen, Clytie's roommate from Washington—I don't have any more room. John and his parents and brother we put here. That still left a room for you. But at the last minute his grandparents decided to fly out. So there isn't a room.”

Gram said, “Putting Hughie out for strangers. I don't hold with that.”

“They aren't strangers, Gram,” Stacy said with tired patience. She'd obviously been through this a dozen times. “They're almost in-laws. And John's grandfather is a minister just like Gramps. You'll like them.”

“Hoity-toity New York people,” Gram sniffed.

“Now, Gram, you know John's not hoity-toity. Why would you expect his family to be?” Grandfather asked.

“John's been in Arizona for two years. Time to get over it. They've never been West, John said so.”

Gramps said gently, “We'll make them welcome, Stacy. Don't mind Mama. She's just feeling her pepper today.”

It was all so homey and safe. Iris was only a small memory far back in Hugh's consciousness. She'd been out of it entirely until this matter of the motel came up, and with it, the strange sense of relief. When he analyzed it, he realized he had had a fear of her finding his car and turning up again. Making trouble. If she turned up at the motel, he could handle her. But she wouldn't. He was quite sure she'd take no chance of being held accountable for that ten dollars. She'd had what she wanted from him, the ride to Phoenix. She wouldn't want to see him again any more than he wanted to see her.