could wait, but the display area could not. If he could finish it in the next couple of weeks they could open for business by Memorial Day — and the hell with what the office looked like.
It would be a pretty gallery, Glen was sure. The rough-hewn plank paneling would show off his primitive painting style to its best advantage, and his sculptures, finely finished and glowing with their hand-rubbed patina, would provide a nice contrast. Reluctantly, he decided to swallow his pride and ask Rebecca to pitch in. With a wry chuckle he admitted to himself that her help would speed the work fivefold at least He should have done it weeks ago but his ego had prevented it. And now another afternoon was gone with not enough done. Time to call it a day. He put his tools away, locked up the building, and climbed into the ancient Chevy that served as the Palmers’ second car. It refused to start.
“Damn,” he said aloud. He twisted the key again and listened to the angry grinding of the starter. Three tries later he got out of the car and raised the hood to stare at the engine. But he knew even less about motors than he did about carpentry. He slammed the hood down again and, with the blind faith characteristic of people who know nothing about cars, got in and tried the starter once more. Again the grinding noise, but weaker this time. Glen decided to give it up before he ruined the battery as well.
He searched his mind. Pruitt’s gas station would be closed by now. He considered searching out Bill Pruitt and talking him into taking a look at the car. No good. Pruitt had never been particularly friendly, less so after his mother had sold the Palmers their cabin — no doubt against Bill’s advice. Glen was sure that even if the owner of the town’s sole service station could be persuaded to do something with the car, the bill would be padded because of the late hour. He’d leave the Chevy where it was and walk home. He could take care of it in the morning.
He walked along the road at first, thinking of trying his luck at hitchhiking, but soon put that idea aside: he was enjoying the walk and the exercise was relaxing, so he left the road and cut through the forest to the ocean, emerging from the woods at the south end of Sod Beach, near the old house he and Rebecca had originally tried to rent. Now he was glad Harney Whalen had refused to rent to him: though the house was larger than the Palmers’ cabin, it stood exposed on the beach, unprotected by the sheltering forest that nearly surrounded the tiny home he and his family occupied And it had that awful look of abandonment, a look he hadn’t recognized the first time he had seen the place. Then it had seemed picturesque; now he found it forbidding.
He skirted the house quickly and made his way down to the surf line, where the sand was packed hard and walking was easy. In the distance he was pleased to see the faint glow of the lantern in his window, just beginning to contrast with the fading light of the evening. Smoke curled from both chimneys of the cabin and he wondered what Rebecca was fixing for dinner.
He almost passed Miriam Shelling without seeing her, and probably would have if she hadn’t waved to him. At her movement he veered away from the lapping water to angle across the beach.
“Hello,” he said as he approached her, smiling tentatively.
Miriam stared at him for a long time, not speaking. Glen was about to turn away from her when she raised her hand again and made a vague gesture.
“You didn’t believe me, did you?”
It was an accusation. Glen hedged, studying her. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. The odd glaze was gone from her eyes; now she seemed to be nothing more than a tired middle-aged woman.
“Today,” she said, “when I came into your — what do you call it?”
“The gallery?”
Miriam nodded. “The gallery,” she repeated dully. “You should have believed me.”
Glen watched the woman carefully, trying to fathom what might be going on in her mind. She seemed much more in control of herself now than she had earlier. But you never knew with people like her.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Waiting.”
“Waiting? For me?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just waiting. Something’s going to happen, and I’m waiting for it.”
“But why here?” Glen pressed.
“I don’t know,” Miriam said slowly. “It just seemed like a good place to wait.” Suddenly her eyes were filled with anxiety as she looked up at Glen. “It’s all right, isn’t it? You don’t mind if I wait here?”
“No, of course I don’t mind. I don’t own the beach. But it will be getting cold soon.”
“A storm’s coming,” Miriam Shelling said softly. “A big one. Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. It can’t hurt Pete now.”
“But what about you?” Glen asked gently. He wondered if he ought to invite Mrs. Shelling home with him, then thought of the children. He didn’t want them hearing any of this ominous nonsense she kept muttering.
“I’ll go home soon,” she said. “I guess I can wait there just as well as here. You go on now — I’ll be all right.”
Glen started away but turned back when he heard Miriam Shelling calling to him.
“Young man? You be careful, you hear? It’s going to be a big storm.”
Glen smiled at her and waved “I’ll be all right,” he called. He walked on and didn’t look back again till he was near the cabin. When he did finally turn, Miriam Shelling was gone. Glen felt an odd sense of relief, as if a momentary threat had passed. He went into the cabin as the last of the sunlight faded from the beach.
“I didn’t hear you drive up,” Rebecca said as Glen came in.
“I didn’t drive — I walked.”
Rebecca felt a sinking sensation as the meager balance in their checking account flashed in front of her eyes. “What happened to the car?” she asked.
“I wish I knew. It wouldn’t start, and you know how I am with cars. I thought about walking over to see if I could find Bill Pruitt but he charges double after six.”
Rebecca was about to press him for details when the children came tumbling out of their tiny bedroom, Missy demanding to be picked up and Robby saying, “Look at me! Look at me!”
Glen swung his daughter off the floor, then looked at his son. He set Missy back down and knelt next to Robby.
“What happened to you?” He asked the question of Robby but his eyes went immediately to Rebecca.
“He was defending our honor,” Rebecca began, but Robby cut in.
“I had a fight,” he said in a rush. “Four guys ganged up on me and I got a black eye, but I won. Did you bring Snooker home?”
Glen glanced at Rebecca but she shrugged helplessly. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “He must be off on a hunting expedition.”
“He’s never stayed away all day,” Robby said accusingly.
“Well, he must be getting adventurous, just like his master,” Glen replied. “But he’ll be back, you’ll see. Just wait until morning.”
“He’s not coming back,” Missy said softly. She looked ready to cry. “He’s not ever coming back.”
“He is too,” Robby shot back.
“Of course he’s coming back, Missy,” Rebecca said. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Missy said, her eyes brimming with tears. “But he’s not coming back, and I miss him.” The tears overflowed and she fled to the bedroom, where she flung herself on her bunk. Rebecca looked helplessly at Glen, then went after her daughter. Robby stared at his father.
“He is coming back, isn’t he?” he asked plaintively.
“Of course he is, son; of course he is,” Glen said, But he suddenly had the sinking feeling that the dog was not going to return.
After dinner they put the children to bed, then Glen threw another log on the fire. Rebecca watched him but didn’t speak until he had finished poking at the blaze and sat down again.
“Glen, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Little things, I guess. The car and the gallery and now Snooker. I think Missy’s right I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“Don’t be silly. What could have happened to him? Of course he’ll be back.”
“There’s something else too.”
Rebecca suddenly stiffened. Whatever he was about to say, it was going to be important She could tell by the look in his eyes.
