who had gone on hayrack rides, all the way back to the 1880’s, when the men wore bowlers and the women wore huge picture hats. There were doughboys from World War One and dogfaces from World War Two. There were flappers and Frank Sinatra’s bobby-soxers and Johnnie Ray’s teary teens. And somehow I was a part of it, just like Mom and Dad and Sis and Grandad and Grandma were part of it, and that made at least a little sense of life for me, being part of a town and a tradition, and if that was all I ever got, it was enough.
Then we were moving again, the wagon jostling left and right, bouncing up and down, the kid with the guitar singing a Frankie Laine song called “Moonlight Gambler.” He did a pretty good job of it too.
“She ever talk about her marriage?”
“Just kind of hinted about it from time to time.”
“Anything specific?”
“Well, that he spent a lot of time away from home. His legal practice and everything.”
“Ever mention divorce?”
“No.”
“His ex-wife ever get over it?”
“You think she might have killed him?”
“It’s a thought.”
“Gee, I hadn’t even considered her.”
“Susan ever mention the woman’s confronting her or anything?”
“Say,” she said, “you’re right! One day at Nicole’s.” Nicole’s On Main was the high-fashion emporium of the town. They have indoor plumbing and everything. “She came right up to Susan and slapped her.”
“See? There you go. You could be a detective.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Well, you just told me something very important.”
Right there we were headed into the white birches where the creek widens out. The Mesquakie Indians used to call the birches ghost trees, and that’s what they looked like, too, with their spectral moonlit glow.
Then I surprised both of us by leaning over and kissing her.
As I’ve told you, a couple of times we almost went all the way, Mary and I. One was the night of our high school graduation and the second time was just a regular night at the drive-in watching a couple of really bad Japanese science-fiction movies. Both times both of us pulled back. Our relationship was complicated enough. I’d wanted to sleep with her for many long years but I was worried that it would hurt her.
But within five minutes tonight I was on first base and rounding toward second. And in her sweet, somewhat tentative way I sensed she was as up for it as I was.
We sank into the hay and did some serious making out. A hoot owl and a coyote crooned to the moon to lend everything a note of prairie romance.
I always carried my emergency red Trojan, and I had reason to believe that my erection would soon start making overtures in that direction. Bad enough I wasn’t in love with Mary. But to make love to her and still not be in love with her would be awful.
“We’d better stop,” I whispered.
“Oh, God, why?”
“You know.”
“Oh, McCain, c’mon. I’m twenty-two years old. You want to see my driver’s license?”
“It’ll just make things worse.”
“For whom?”
“For you. And me.”
“For you, you mean. The guilt.”
But by then the point was moot. A private plane was buzzing the wagon and everybody on the loft was waving. Mary got embarrassed suddenly and eased me away.
By the time we got back to the barn, I was so charged up with lust I had lost the use of my eyes, ears, and nose. I was virtually insensate.
I went into the men’s room-a stall; standing at a trough with a hard-on was apt to get you some funny looks-and commanded my penis to cease and desist.
I threatened lawsuits; I hinted at solitary confinement. And it finally complied.
Mary had used the time to freshen up. We’d both had to de-hay ourselves the way you have to de-tick yourself after a walk in the woods.
She looked even better than before. And she loved me. And she was tender and smart and faithful and would make a great wife and great mother and-why had God saddled me with Pamela? Why? Oral Robbers could heal people, supposedly. Maybe he could cure me of Pamela. It was something to think about anyway.
The dance pavilion was built right onto the east side of the barn.
We danced fast to a Rick Nelson song and then slow to a Patti Page song and then we went over to the bar and ordered two Falstaffs in the bottle. A bartender with a big ragged straw hat and a piece of hay sticking out of his mouth served us.
From what I could hear around us, the conversation this evening was Susan Squires’s death.
“I hope this doesn’t make me sick.”
Mary wasn’t much of a drinker.
“Then don’t drink it.”
“Well, I like to feel like an adult every once in a while.” She slid her hand in mine. “That was a lot of fun. On the hayrack.”
“It sure was.”
“I just wish you didn’t worry about stuff so much.”
“So do I.”
“If you’re worried about breaking my heart, McCain, I’m the only one responsible. I could’ve walked away a long time ago.”
A Little Richard song came on. Most of the people were on the dance floor and I mean they were wailing and flailing. I wonder what our ancestors would have thought-y know, the ones who always look so prim in those 1880 photographs-if they could have seen my generation cavort. Probably put the lot of us in the public stocks.
I slid my arm around her. Pushed my face into her lustrous and sweet-smelling hair.
“I’m very seriously in like with you,” I said.
“Well.” She smiled. “That’s a start anyway.”
“Hi, Mary.”
The words came over my shoulder. I saw Mary’s face as they were spoken. She seemed less than happy to see the speaker.
“Hi, Todd.”
He walked around me where I could see him.
Our town was getting just big enough that it was impossible to know everybody’s name. I’d seen him around, a big towheaded guy who could’ve doubled for the hearty lumberjack on a cereal box. He even dressed that way. Plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, big studded belt, jeans. I was just happy he wasn’t carrying an ax. He looked to be about my age. He also looked to be drunk.
“You goin’ to the funeral?” he said to Mary.
“Of course.”
“I can’t decide. Her folks don’t like me much.”
“I wonder why.” Then: “Todd Jensen. This is Sam McCain.”
He didn’t acknowledge me in any way.
“Maybe if she’d married me instead of him, she wouldn’t be dead.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“You figure it out.”
“That her husband killed her?”
“You figure it out. She treated me like shit.”
“And you were always such a prince.”
