“Inside I’m happy. Deep inside.”
She looked hurt, and I realized she didn’t understand that it hurt me to know she would now be spending a lot of time with Stu.
I took her hand and held it. I wanted to say something sarcastic, and then I wanted to say something genuinely, profoundly, sickeningly hurtful. But all I said was, quietly, “I hope you have a good time. I’m sure you’ll be the most beautiful girl there.”
“Thanks, McCain. I knew you had it in you.”
And with that, I left.
On the way back to my office, I stopped by the hospital. The weather had changed abruptly, the way it does in Iowa. Gone the blue skies, gone the fiery trees. The sky was a cold gray, the temperature dropping quickly, already below 50 degrees. You could even smell snow. It wouldn’t be long now.
Not even Fats Domino made me feel much better. I kept thinking about Keys and his poor wife. She’d be left alone. The scandal of adultery would be made far worse by the scandal of murder. In a small town like ours, murder is much more than a statistic. It brings down entire families, the way it did in the time of Balzac and Ibsen. I guess that’s the understanding I get from reading. That all people are the same, no matter how far back in history you go.
I skidded into the hospital, my heel catching on the wet rubber rug at the entrance door. A nun watched me stumble head first into the lobby.
“Ed Sullivan booked me for next Sunday night, Sister,” I said. “As the lead dancer.”
She smiled her nun’s smile and said, “She’s doing much better, McCain. Much better.”
“Her memory back?”
“She’s started recognizing people. Most people, anyway.”
A nurse was plumping Mary’s pillow for her when I walked in. “There you go. A nice shower and fresh clothes, and your dinner’ll be along in another hour or so.”
Mary’s smile was a measure of her condition.
It was back to three-quarters power. Which is damned powerful, believe me.
She looked at me. There was just a moment’s hesitation and then she said, “McCain!”
I walked over to her. I’d brought her a Herman Wouk novel and flowers, which the nurse took and put in a vase. The room was an art gallery of Get Well cards and a hothouse of flower-stuffed vases.
Mary said, holding my hands, “The nurse was telling me how you found me. On the highway.”
I nodded. “I owe that to the black Ford.”
“The black Ford?”
I nodded. “I don’t know who she is. But she’s been around town lately in this Ford ragtop just like mine. Except it’s black. I was out on the highway, heading into town, and she suddenly appeared. So we started to drag.”
“Now, that’s mature.” The smile again.
“It’s that clean stretch of road. You can see for a couple of miles. I couldn’t help myself.
And I’m glad I did it. Dragging put me in the right spot to see you come up from that gully.”
“Well, then, I take it back.” She laughed. “I’m very glad you acted maturely and broke the law and endangered your life by drag-racing with a beautiful woman.”
“I didn’t say anything about her being beautiful.”
“She’d have to be beautiful or the story wouldn’t be as good. All mystery women are beautiful. It’s in their club rules.”
“They have club rules?”
“Oh, yes. Developed over the centuries.”
“Well, then, I’d say her dues are paid up.”
I leaned in and kissed her. First I kissed her on the cheek. Then I kissed her on the mouth. And I kissed her longer on the mouth than was strictly necessary.
“Say,” she said. “I’ll have to come to the hospital more often. I love all this attention from you. Especially the kiss.”
“My pleasure.” I took her hand.
She lay back. Sighed. “Sorry. I just need to rest a bit. That kiss took all my energy.”
I pulled up a chair and sat down. She dozed off quickly. I didn’t want to wake her up. It was all academic now anyway, what had happened to her. She was doing fine and the murderer had been caught. In time, she’d remember everything and we’d talk about it.
Dusk came early. The transition was quick.
What happened was the sky darkened by four or five shades on the gray scale, letting a few stars be seen in the sweep of early night.
Streetlights came on, looking lonely. You could hear news on several Tv sets in other rooms. Nurses squeaked by in the hall, rubber soles official and officious. The dinner cart started rattling from room to room.
I mst’ve held her hand for close to an hour.
On and off, of course. In movies constant lovers really are constant. But not in life. Not in my life anyway. I occasionally had to take my hand back to dry off the palm, shake feeling back into it, scratch my head, light a cigarette, pour myself a little more water.
Then I’d put my hand gently back in hers and the feeling would come back. The surprising feeling of contentment, of genuine peace, that touching her had suddenly inspired in me. I put our hands on her womb, imagined a child there. Andfora long time I watched the shadow play of the streetlights on her face and imagined it at various stages of her life: her thirties, her forties, her fifties, her sixties. And when she was an old woman, though it was difficult to imagine in any especially vivid away because her youth was so perfect and indelible now.
The cart came to the door. Mary woke and clipped on her light.
“You ready for dinner?” a heavy woman in a pink uniform said.
“Yes, thanks.”
The smell of the food made me realize I was hungry. It also made me realize that I wasn’t hungry for hospital food. God knows they try. You see those folks in the kitchen down there working their asses off trying their best to prepare a genuinely delicious meal. But something happens to hospital food. It never quite tastes familiar. It is sort of like food but not quite, the only food that can make you long for an airline meal.
She ate hungrily, fork and knife flashing.
“This is great.”
“First it was amnesia. Now it’s delusions.”
She grinned and shook her head. “Ever the cynic. This stuff is actually pretty good.
Maybe I could order an extra meal for you tomorrow night.”
“Only if I get to drink a quart of gin first.”
“McCain, you couldn’t drink a quart of gin.
I can hold my liquor better than you can, and I can’t hold my liquor at all.”
A knock. I turned to see her mom in the door. I stood up, kissed Mary on the forehead.
“I like the way you kissed me earlier a lot better,” she said.
“So did I but I don’t want to shock your mother.”
Her mom laughed. “Go ahead, Sam. Shock me.”
I glanced at my watch. “Actually, I have to be at my office in a few minutes.”
“What’re you working on now?” Mary asked.
“I’d say it’s a divorce case but the couple isn’t actually married yet.”
Mary smiled. “You’re so masculine when you’re incoherent.”
I got the lights on, the heat up, stopped the toilet from running, started heating up yesterday’s coffee, and officially retired my Captain Video notebook. It had done well by me.
But now the case was officially over, it was time to salute the Captain and put him away in the bottom drawer, along with notebooks from other cases.
I spent the next half hour getting the lie-detector rig set up. I still didn’t have any idea how to work it but I
