seemed to rest on the place where Shed A had been until 1982 or thereabouts. 'I dunno much about that,' he said. 'Don't remember much. Most of the big stuff was over by the time I got here, you know.'
Even Ned must have known the man was lying; Eddie was spectacularly bad at it.
'I just came out to tell you I put in those three hours I owed from last May, Sarge - you know, when I took off to help my brother-in-law build his new studio?'
'Ah,' I said.
Eddie bobbed his head up and down rapidly. 'Uh-huh. I'm all clocked out, and I put the report on those marijuana plants we found in Robbie Rennerts's back field on your desk. So I'll just be heading on home, if it's all the same to you.'
Heading down to The Tap was what he meant. His home away from home. Once he was out of uniform, Eddie J.'s life was a George Jones song. He started to get up and I put a hand on his wrist. 'Actually, Eddie, it's not.'
'Huh?'
'It's not all the same to me. I want you to stick around awhile.'
'Boss, I really ought to - '
'Stick around,' I repeated. 'You might owe this kid a little something.'
'I don't know what - '
'His father saved your life, remember?'
Eddie's shoulders came up in a kind of defensive hunch. 'I don't know if I'd say he exactly -
'
'Come on, get off it,' Huddie said. 'I was there.'
Suddenly Ned wasn't so interested in videotapes. 'My father saved your life, Eddie? How?'
Eddie hesitated, then gave in. 'Pulled me down behind a John Deere tractor. The O'Day brothers, they - '
'The spine-tingling saga of the O'Day brothers is a story for another time,' I said. 'The point is, Eddie, we're having us a little exhumation party here, and you know where one of the bodies is buried. And I mean quite literally.'
'Huddie and Shirley were there, they can - '
'Yeah, they were. George Morgan was there, too, I think - '
'He was,' Shirley said quietly.
' - but so what?' I still had my hand on Eddie's wrist, and had to fight a desire to squeeze it again. Hard. I liked Eddie, always had, and he could be brave, but he also had a yellow streak.
I don't know how those two things can exist side by side in the same man, but they can; I've seen it more than once. Eddie froze back in '96, on the day Travis and Tracy O'Day started firing their fancy militia machine-guns out of their farmhouse windows. Curt had to break cover and yank him to safety by the back of his jacket. And now here he was trying to squiggle out of his part in the other story, the one in which Ned's father had played such a key role. Not because he'd done anything wrong - he hadn't - but because the memories were painful and frightening.
'Sandy, I really ought to get toddling. I've got a lot of chores I've been putting off, and -
'
'We've been telling this boy about his father,' I said. 'And what I think you ought to do, Eddie, is sit there quiet, maybe have a sandwich and a glass of iced tea, and wait until you have something to say.'
He settled back on the end of the bench and looked at us. I know what he saw in the eyes of Curt's boy: puzzlement and curiosity. We'd become quite a little Council of Elders, though, surrounding the young fellow, singing him our warrior-songs of the past. And what about when the songs were done? If Ned had been a young Indian brave, he might have been sent out on some sort of dream quest - kill the right animal, have the right vision while the blood of the animal's heart was still smeared around his mouth, come back a man. If there could be some sort of test at the end of this, I reflected, some way in which Ned could demonstrate new maturity and understanding, things might have been a lot simpler. But that's not the way things work nowadays. At least not by and large. These days it's a lot more about how you feel than what you do. And I think that's wrong.
And what did Eddie see in our eyes? Resentment? A touch of contempt? Perhaps even the wish that it had been him who had flagged down the truck with the flapper rather than Curtis Wilcox, that it had been him who had gotten turned inside-out by Bradley Roach? Always-almost-overweight Eddie Jacubois, who drank too much and would probably be making a little trip to Scranton for a two-week stay in the Member Assistance Program if he didn't get a handle on his drinking soon? The guy who was always slow filing his reports and who almost never got the punchline of a joke unless it was explained to him? I hope he didn't see any of those things, because there was another side to him - a better side - but I can't say for sure he didn't see at least some of them. Maybe even all of them.
' - about the big picture?'
I turned to Ned, glad to be diverted from the uncomfortable run of my own thoughts. 'Come again?'
'I asked if you ever talked about what the Buick really was, where it came from, what it meant. If you ever discussed, you know, the big picture.'
'Well . . . there was the meeting at The Country Way,' I said. I didn't quite see where he was going. 'I told you about that - '
'Yeah, but that one sounded, you know, more administrative than anything else - '
'You do okay in college,' Arky said, and patted him on the knee. 'Any kid can say a word like dat, jus' roll it out, he bound t'do okay in college.'
Ned grinned. 'Administrative. Organizational. Bureaucratized. Compartmentalized.'
