usual. She had read to him for a time and taken him to the store with her. She had pulled him around the block in his wagon and pushed him on the tire swing in the backyard. for, as she stared at the unwashed dishes in the sink and thought about the pile of ironing she had been avoiding, it was all she could do to keep from breaking down. Through the door to the living room she could see her son, Lying on his back on the carpet, staring at the ceiling. troby, ' she called out, 'five more minutes and Robin's on. We missed him this morning while we were at the park. Why don't you go nd get your bear, and I'll turn him on.' rhat the boy did not react was upsetting.
When Toby was at his worst, his most distant, the prospect of watching Robin the Good usually brought a response of some sort. The actor who played Robin was Overveight for the role and as patronizing to the children, as inane and vapid, as anyone she had ever seen, but his half-hour show, aired three times a day, was bright and quick. 'Okay, honey, ' she said, 'you just stay put, then. I'm going to do some dishes, and then I'll turn on Robin.'
Glancing almost continuously over her shoulder, she thrust her hand into the sink and snapped a nail off so low that it drew blood. 'Dammit,' she said, sucking at the wound. 'Dammit, dammit, damfait.'
She ran cold water over her finger. Then, as much from frustration as from pain, she began to cry. She snatched up the phone, dialed the mill, and had her husband called out of a meeting. 'Bob, hi, it's me, ' she said. 'I know. Has he done it again?'
'No. No, he's okay just now. But he's not acting right.'
'He never acts right. Honey, I'm sorry I can't talk now, but I'm in the middle of an important meeting. Was there something special?
' farbara blotted her bleeding finger on a towel. 'I… I was hoping you might be able to come home early. I'd like to put a nice dinner together, but I'm worried about Toby.' 4'Impossible, ' Bob Nelms said too quickly. 'Honey, you just said he was okay. The people from Chicago are here. I've got a ton of stuff to go over with them. In fact, I was going to have Sharon call and tell you I'd be late.'
'Couldn't you postpone them for a day? Just this once?'
'Sweetie, you know I'd come if I could. But they're only going to be here for a day.'
'Please? ' she whispered, fumbling through a cabinet for a Bandaid.
'What?'
'Nothing. Nothing. When should I expect you?'
'Probably pretty late. How about you take Toby out for some pizza I'll eat here.'
'Bob, isn't there any way you could-'
'Barbie, please. Don't make things any more difficult for me than they are. I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?… Okay… Doggone it, Barb, don't do this…'
Slowly, Barbara Nelms replaced the receiver. Then she waited for her husband's return call. A minute passed, then another. Finally, she wrapped a Band-Aid around her finger and shuffled to the living room 'Come on, my merry man, ' she said hoarsely, 'it's time for Robin., Toby Nelms let his mother lead him into the den and then sank down on the floor by the couch. He wanted her to get his bear for him, but the words to ask wouldn't come. 'Okay, To be, ' she said, switching on the television, 'I'll just be in the kitchen. Call if you need me.'
Stay, he thought. Please stay with me. The cartoon that introduced Robin the Good's show appeared on the screen, along with a now-familiar voice that announced, 'Hey, merry men and merry maids, get out your longbows and your stout staffs. It's time to travel once again to those days long, long ago-to Sherwood Forest and that friend of the poor, Robin the Good.'
Toby watched quietly as his mother adjusted the color and then left the room. Moments later, she returned and set his tattered bear beside him.
'Enjoy the show, ' she said, patting him on the head. 'I'll be in the htchen.'
'Thank you, ' Toby whispered. But she was already gone. He stared toward the kitchen for a time, and then stuffed his bear between his legs and turned his attention to the television. Robin the Good, wearing a green suit and a hat with a feather, was dancing about and singing, while Alan-a-Dale played his guitar… We welcome all you boys and girls. But don't bring any diamonds or pearls. Cause I take from the rich and give to the poor. Then I go right out and get some more… What ho, merry men and maids. Welcome to Sherwood, where learning is always fun, fun, fun. Today we're going to do some drawing with Little John and take a ride on a camel with Maid Marian. But first, here's Friar Tuck. Tell us, pray the, good friar, what letter we are going to learn about today.' A fat man with a brown robe and a bald place on the top of his head hopped onto the screen. 'Hello, boys and girls, ' he said. 'What ho, there, Robin. Today, we're going to learn about one of my favorite letters. It's the letter that starts off a lot of our favorite words like candy and cartoon. It's the third letter in the alphabet, and it's called C. So here're Robin and Alan to tell you about it.'
Robin the Good swung across the screen on a rope with leaves growing off it. Then he dropped to the ground as Alan-a-Dale began to play. 'Alas, my love, you do me wrong, ' Robin sang, 'to cast me out so discourteously. Because today I sing this song about our friend the letter C…'
Toby Nelms rubbed at his eyes as the color of the television set began growing brighter and brighter.'… C, C, is all our joy. C's for carrot and car and cat. C, C starts club and cloud. Now what do you think of that?…'
Robin the Good danced around a tree. Seated on the floor in his den, Toby Nelms's body grew rigid. His shoulders began to shake. The sound of Robin's voice grew softer as the music grew louder. Overhead, lights began to flash past. A face floated into view.'… There's C for comet and C for crab, and C in front of the coat we wear…'
'… Now, Toby, ' the face said, 'there's nothing to worry about. You're going to go to sleep. Just relax. Relax and count back from one hundred…'
Robin the Good was singing and prancing across the television screen as Toby Nelms began, in a soft, tremulous voice, to count. He was on one knee, crooning the final lines of his ballad, as the boy began to scream. IT WAS, all would later agree, a magnificent funeral. Standing room only. The crowd, sweltering in the brutally humid summer afternoon, filled the pews of St. Anne's Church and spilled out into the vestibule.
The priests conducting the mass were not only from the predominantly French-Canadian St. Anne's, but from the cross town parish, St.
Sebastian's, as well.'… Guy Beaulieu was not a son of Sterling,'
Monsignor Tresche was declaring. g in his eulogy. 'He was one of its fathers-a gentle man, whose skill and caring hands have, through the years, touched each and every one of us…'
Over the three days following Beaulieu's death, Zack had visited his widow, Clothilde, and daughter, Marie Fontaine, several times. Even so, he was surprised when Marie asked him to serve as a pall bearer.
Although he would have preferred to remain less intimately involved with Guy's funeral than he had been with his death, accepting their request was the least he could do. It had been at his desperate urging that Marie and her mother had put aside their biases against such things and had agreed to an autopsy… a man of vision and conviction. A humble man, who faced mounting personal difficulties with courage and dignity….'
The priest droned on, but Zack, seated in the first row with the seven other pall bearers, heard only snatches. His thoughts kept drifting, as they had much of the time, to the agonizing scene with Guy in the emergency room, and to the equally unpleasant experience of viewing his post mortem examination. As Zack had suspected, the man had died of a massive cerebral hemorrhage. There was, however, a major surprise. The arteries in Beaulieuss brain, and, in fact, in his whole body, were those of a man decades younger. The lethal stroke had resulted not from any crack in a hardened vessel but from the rupture of a small aneurysm-a pea-sized defect in one artery which, almost certainly, had been present without producing symptoms for many years. The cause of that fatal tear, Zack knew, could only have been a sudden, drastic rise in blood pressure. That thought sent an angry jet of bile rasping into his throat, as it had over and over again since the autopsy. Guy Beaulieu's two years of difficulties at Ultramed-Davis, whether real or contrived, had loaded the weapon of his destruction. The humiliating conflict in the emergency ward with Mainwaring, Frank, and the security guard had, in essence, pulled the trigger. Frank, of course, saw things differently. He had issued statements of shock and bereavement from the hospital, and from Ultramed, and had sent a basket of fruit to Guy's widow. But in the few minutes he and Zack had spent alone, he had made it clear that he considered Beaulieu's death nothing short of an act of Providence. Unobtrusively, Zack glanced about the chapel. Suzanne, though dressed in sedate blue and wearing no makeup, sparkled in the midst of two rows of Ultramed-Davis physicians which did not include Donald Norman, Jack Pearl, or Jason Mainwaring. Several pews behind her, between the Judge and Cinnie, sat Frank, resplendent in a beige summer suit and appearing, as usual, composed and in control. The mayor was there, along with several other area notables,
