“I looked at Mrs. Timmons, but she was mopping the counter; she was deaf. ‘God damn it to hell, Timmons!’ I shouted, and I reached over the counter and got him by the shirt. ‘You look up your records! You look up your Goddamned records and tell me where this stuff came from.’
“‘We know what it is to lose a son,’ Mrs. Timmons said at my back. There was nothing full to her voice; nothing but the monotonous, the gritty, music of grief and need. ‘You don’t have to tell us anything about that.’
“‘You didn’t buy this merchandise from me,’ Timmons said once more, and I wrenched his shirt until the buttons popped, and then I let him go. Mrs. Timmons went on mopping the counter. Timmons stood with his head so bent in shame that I couldn’t see his eyes at all, and I went out of the store.
“When I got back, Doc Mullens was in the upstairs hall, and the worst was over. ‘A little more or a little less and you might have lost them,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I’ve used a stomach pump, and I think they’ll be all right. Of course, it’s a heavy poison, and Marcie will have to keep specimens for a week?it’s apt to stay in the kidneys?but I think they’ll be all right.’ I thanked him and walked out to the car with him, and then I came back to the house and went upstairs to where the children had been put to bed in the same room for company and made some foolish talk with them. Then I heard Marcie weeping in our bedroom, and I went there. ‘It’s all right, baby,’ I said. ‘It’s all right now. They’re all right.’ But when I put my arms around her, her wailing and sobbing got louder, and I asked her what she wanted.
“‘I want a divorce,’ she sobbed.
“‘What?’
“‘I want a divorce. I can’t bear living like this any more. I can’t bear it. Every time they have a head cold, every time they’re late from school, whenever anything bad happens, I think it’s retribution. I can’t stand it.’
“‘Retribution for what?’
“‘While you were away, I made a mess of things.’
“‘What do you mean?’
“‘With somebody.’
“‘Who?’
“‘Noel Mackham. You don’t know him. He lives in Maple Dell.’
“Then for a long time I didn’t say anything?what could I say? And suddenly she turned on me in fury.
“‘Oh, I knew you’d be like this, I knew you’d be like this, I knew you’d blame me!’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t my fault, it just wasn’t my fault. I knew you’d blame me, I knew you’d blame me, I knew you’d be like this, and I…’
“I didn’t hear much else of what she said, because I was packing a suitcase. And then I kissed the kids goodbye, caught a train to the city, and boarded the Augustus next morning.”
WHAT HAPPENED to Marcie was this: The evening paper printed Selfredge’s letter, the day after the Village Council meeting, and she read it. She called Mackham on the telephone. He said he was going to ask the editor to print an answer he had written, and that he would stop by her house at eight o’clock to show her the carbon copy. She had planned to eat dinner with her children, but just before she sat down, the bell rang, and Mark Barrett dropped in. “Hi, honey,” he said. “Make me a drink?” She made him some Martinis, and he took off his hat and topcoat and got down to business. “I understand you had that meatball over here for a drink last night.”
“Who told you, Mark? Who in the world told you?”
“Helen Selfredge. It’s no secret. She doesn’t want the library thing reopened.”
“It’s like being followed. I hate it.”
“Don’t let that bother you, sweetie.” He held out his glass, and she filled it again. “I’m just here as a neighbor?friend of Charlie’s?and what’s the use of having friends and neighbors if they can’t give you advice? Mackham is a meatball, and Mackham is a wolf. With Charlie away, I feel kind of like an older brother?I want to keep an eye on you. I want you to promise me that you won’t have that meatball in your house again.”
“I can’t, Mark. He’s coming tonight.”
“No, he isn’t, sweetie. You’re going to call him up and tell him not to come.”
