'It's terrible, but did you ever wish we'd never had any kids? So when something like this comes up, I mean, we could walk away without worrying about tender psyches and trauma and warping the kid's mind? Did you ever think about that, Norm?'
He tried to see her face in the dark. 'Are we being honest?''
'Yes.'
'Then ... yes. Yes, it has crossed my mind now and then.' But he didn't tell her about the guilt he felt when it did.
'That doesn't mean we don't love him,' she said anxiously, begging for belief. 'And god, I still miss my little Sam.'
'I know.'
'But it would be so much easier, you know what I mean?'
'Yeah.'
The alarm clock buzzed softly. The wind blew over the roof. They could hear, faintly, two cars racing down the street.
'Don was in the park tonight.'
'So?'
'Didn't you listen to the news after the fight?'
'Oh.' He shifted but didn't release her. 'Yeah. I guess I'd better have a talk with him. At least until they catch that guy.'
'Maybe he saw something.'
'No. If he did, he would have told us.' He kissed her right ear and made her squirm.
'Norm?'
Wearily: 'Yes?'
'Don's grades are going down. Not a lot, but it worries me. You should talk to him about that too. He spends too much time fixing up those animals of his, and making new ones.'
'I will,' he promised. 'Maybe we should tell him to get rid of the beasts.'
'That would be cruel.'
'He wouldn't waste time on them.' As she agreed, he nipped an earlobe.
'Norm?'
'Jesus, now what?'
'I want to work things out, really I do.'
'Good,' he said, rolling her breast beneath his palm.
'No, I mean it, Norman. I really do want to work at it.'
'So do I,' he said, almost believing. His head shifted to the hollow of her shoulder. 'So do I, love.'
'Norm, it's late,' she whispered, her eyes half closed, 'and you know how tired you get lately after this. Besides, I have a committee meeting first thing tomorrow. We have to decide on the fireworks.'
'Good for you. Make them loud as hell.' 'Norman!'
'Joyce,' he said, 'if you really want to work things out, you'd better shut up.'
FOUR
On Saturday afternoon Don returned with his mother from a shopping expedition for new clothes during which she cited dubious, sometimes outlandish statistics which contrasted the annual before- and after-taxes incomes of veterinarians and surgeons, suggesting jokingly that spending the day shoving your hand up animals' rectums and down their throats was about as glamorous and status-marking as his late grandfather's working for the cloth mills here in town. Don laughed and almost told her what he was really planning.
When they arrived home, he found his father in his room, looking at his pets.
'Aren't you a little old for these?' Norm asked, and left without an answer.
In the middle of the hall on Monday Don grabbed Jeff's arm and nearly spilled the books he was carrying.
'Jeff, you got a minute?'
'Hey, it's the Detention Kid. What's up? The bell's gonna ring. Jesus, that eye looks like hell!'
'Thanks a lot, pal. It feels better, sort of. Look, I want to ask you about Tracey Quintero.'
'What's to ask? You know her as well as I do.'
'I want to know if she's with Brian.'
'Brian? Brian the Prick Pratt? That Brian?'
'Stop kidding, Jeff, I gotta know.'
'Jesus, where the hell've you been? And she isn't. Hey, you know that kid that got offed in the park last week? It was the Howler, they said.
Chewed the poor bastard up like he was dog meat or something. That guy's a real pervert, you know it? Killed five kids in New York. Like us, I mean, not little kids.'
'Jeff, I don't care about some freak, I am talking about Tracey.'
'And I told you she's not with Brian, okay?'
'But the other night at the park, after the concert ...'
'You mean all that talk about her boobs?'
'Well ...'
'Boyd, are you really that dense?'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'Brian sees boobs on anything that even faintly looks like a female. And if you listen real close, you'd think he's laid every damn one of them.'
'Then she isn't.'
'His? Hell, no.'
'Jeez. Oh ... jeez.'
'You gonna tell me what this is all about or am I gonna have to read it in the paper?'
'Can't, Jeff. The bell's rung. We're late.'
That afternoon Detective Sergeant Thomas Verona walked into Norm's office, Patrol Sergeant Luis Quintero at his side. After a few minutes of small talk, Quintero left to have a word with the secretaries in the outer office, and Verona asked the principal if he had heard anything, rumors or otherwise, about a stranger hanging around the school. Norm insisted he hadn't, but if the police wanted to ask either students or teachers during school time, it would have to be cleared with the board first. He himself didn't mind, though he didn't quite understand why they were interested if the man was already gone. That, he said when the policeman looked at him oddly, was the usual pattern as he understood it: the Howler would strike, then move on to another town. Verona, whose father had worked the mills and had known Norman since they were kids, told him off the record that if the guy had actually approached any of the students, or if he had gotten wind of the Ashford Day activities, there was a fair chance he'd stick around because there were going to be a lot of people on the streets starting the middle of next week, and safety in numbers was apparently something he counted on. When Norm asked why the man hadn't yet been caught, Verona, again off the record, told him there wasn't a picture, not a fingerprint, nor a scrap of cloth or drop of blood to build even the skimpiest physical profile. They couldn't begin to guess at his appearance, though they didn't have to guess at his strength. Norman didn't ask for more details, but he did promise to keep his ears open and to have a quiet word with the faculty to the effect that it would probably not be a good idea to keep kids very long after school for a while. Verona appreciated the cooperation and suggested they stop being strangers after so many years and have a beer together sometime soon. Verona's wife was on the committee with Joyce, and the detective allowed as how he was tired of being an Ashford Day widower.
Norman laughed, but he didn't think it was very funny.
After gym Don managed to get next to Fleet under the last nozzle, for the first time forgetting his embarrassment at seeing another guy naked.
It took him a moment, too, to stop staring at the clouds of freckles that covered Fleet's body.
'Hey, Fleet, is Trace ... you know, is she Brian's girl?'
'Trace? Gimme the soap, man, I smell like horseshit. Trace Quintero, the cop's kid?'
'Yeah.'
