“For as long as we live,” I said. “Or until you can’t bear me anymore. Whichever comes first.”
We were in Smithfield now, past the country club on the left, past the low reedy meadow that was a bird sanctuary, and the place where they used to have a cider mill, to Summer Street, almost to Smithfield Center. Almost to Susan’s house.
“For as long as we live will come first,” Susan said.
I drove past Smithfield Center with its old meeting house on the triangular common. A banner stretched across the street announced some kind of barbecue, I couldn’t catch what in the dark. I put my hand and Susan took and we held hands to her house.
Everything was wet and glistening in the dark, picking up glints from the streetlights. It wasn’t quite raining, but the fog was very damp and the dew was falling. Susan’s house was a small cape, weathered shingles, flagstone walk, lots of shrubs. The front door was a Colonial red with small bull’s-eye glass windows in the top. Susan unlocked it and went in. I followed her and shut the door. In the dark silent living room, I put my hands on Susan’s shoulders and turned her slowly toward me, and put my arms around her. She put her face against my chest and we stood that way, wordless and still for a long time.
“For as long as we live,” I said.
“Maybe longer,” Susan said. There was an old steeple clock with brass works on the mantel in the living room and while I couldn’t see in the dark, I could hear it ticking loudly as we stood there pressed against each other. I thought about how nice Susan smelled, and about how strong her body felt, and about how difficult it is to say what you feel. And I said, “Come on, honey, let’s go to bed.” She didn’t move, just pressed harder against me and I reached down with my left hand and scooped up her legs and carried her to the bedroom. I’d been there before and had no trouble in the dark.
Chapter 17
In the morning, still damp from the shower, we headed back for the Cape, stopped on the way for steak and eggs in a diner and got to the hotel room I still owned about noon. The fog had lifted and the sun was as clean and bright as we were, though less splendidly dressed. In my mailbox was a note to call Harv Shepard.
I called him from my room while Susan changed into her bathing suit.
“Spenser,” I said, “what do you want?”
“You gotta help me.”
“That’s what I was telling you just a little while back,” I said.
“I gotta see you, it’s, it’s outta control. I can’t handle it. I need help. That, that goddamned nigger shoved one of my kids. I need help.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll come over.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t want you here. I’ll come there. You in the hotel?”
“Yep.” I gave him my room number. “I’ll wait for you.”
Susan was wiggling her way into a one-piece bathing suit.
“Anything?” she said.
“Yeah, Shepard’s coming apart. I guess Hawk made a move at one of the kids and Shepard’s in a panic. He’s coming over.”
“Hawk scares me,” Susan said. She slipped her arms through the shoulder straps.
“He scares me too, my love.”
“He’s…” She shrugged. “Don’t go against him.”
“Better me than Shepard,” I said.
“Why better you than Shepard?”
“Because I got a chance and Shepard has none.”
“Why not the police?”
“We’ll have to ask Shepard that. Police are okay by me. I got no special interest in playing Russian roulette with Hawk. Shepard called him a nigger.”
Susan shrugged. “What’s that got to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I wish he hadn’t done that. It’s insulting.”
“My God, Spenser, Hawk has threatened this man’s life, beaten him up, abused his children, and you’re worried about a racial slur?”
“Hawk’s kind of different,” I said.
She shook her head. “So the hell are you,” she said. “I’m off to the pool to work on my tan. When you get through you can join me there. Unless you decide to elope with Hawk.”
“Miscegenation,” I said. “Frightful.”
She left. About two minutes later Shepard arrived. He was moving better now. Some of the stiffness had gone from his walk, but confidence had not replaced it. He had on a western-cut, black-checked leisure suit and a white shirt with black stitching, the collar out over the lapels of the suit. There was a high shine on his black-tassled loafers and his face was gray with fear.
“You got a drink here,” he said.
“No, but I’ll get one. What do you like?”
