“He’s a good boy” he said. “Things will start going better for him.” He said it and it didn’t even feel like a lie, Billy being a good kid, it was just something he wished were true.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I mean it.”
They kissed a little but there wasn’t any heat in it. He had a moment of panic, he wanted to shake her, he had the feeling he was going to lose her again. They were both just sitting there on the couch staring at different things like an old couple.
“Let’s go out somewhere,” he said. “I’ll take you to Speers Street.”
“Nah,” she said. She lifted her hand and brought it down hard on his, almost a slap. She squeezed it.
“There’s still a lot that has to happen.”
“I know what’s going to happen to him, Bud.”
He started to contradict her but there was no point, Billy was not going to be saved, in fact he was going to drag her under as well, he was going to drag all three of them under. There was a sudden rush of anger and he crossed his arms over his chest as if to squeeze it out of himself. The looks she used to give Billy, it had always made him jealous, he was embarrassed to admit it but it was true, he had been jealous of her son. A guilty thought came to him: it would have been better if the boy had died—she’d be able to move on, believe what she wanted. Now the boy both existed and didn’t exist, he was there but being kept from her, she would never be able to stop thinking about him. The only torch she could carry.
She interrupted his thoughts: “You’re lucky you’re alone.”
“Grace,” he said. “Poor Grace.”
“I’m serious, it’s not worth it.”
“Let’s get out of here. We could go up to the city, even. We could go to Vincent’s, we haven’t been there in years.”
She leaned over, hugging herself. “I just want my stomach to stop hurting.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“I can’t.”
“You need to.”
She shook her head.
He rubbed her back, then ran his fingers up and down it, gentle, and closed his eyes and felt the fabric of her blouse.
“I know I’m lucky,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m being so dramatic.”
“No, come here,” he said. She leaned into him, put her head on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes again.
“Maybe I need to make love,” she said. “I think that’s what I need.”
They kissed some more and it was awkward and he half- wanted to stop but she wouldn’t let him. It was a long time before they were both ready and then it took a long time to finish. He felt drained and she got up and she went to the bedroom and came back wearing a bathrobe; he sat awkwardly on the couch without his clothes. After a while he put his undershirt over his lap.
“Not to beat a dead horse,” he said. “You should try to eat.”
“I just want to lie down.”
“Okay.”
“I need to give you these things before I forget.”
She got up again and came back with the lever- action rifle, he recognized the old .30-30 that was Billy’s, and an old single- barrel shotgun.
“It’s probably better if you take these.”
He stood up naked and looked into her eyes but there was nothing in them. She handed the guns over impassively. He set them in the corner by the door.
After lying in the bed awhile they slept together again, not awkwardly but as if by routine, she was responding to his touch but it was not the same, she had retreated to some place the signals barely reached. When they were done they lay there holding hands. She would never get over this. He would have to make a decision.
Except it was already made. Possibly he’d made it when he’d first hidden Billy’s jacket. He was not going to leave her like this. He smoothed the blankets on top of him, it seemed that if he pushed hard enough he could break through his own skin like a drum. He had done this to himself, let the dark times catch up. It was an old feeling. The last time it had come was on a hunting trip in Wyoming, lost and trapped two nights in a snowcave, out of food and the snow kept collapsing on him. He knew he would die, there was no question about it, he had earned it, gone out with weather coming in, known it might turn bad and walked out into it anyway, he had flown all the way out to Wyoming and had not wanted to waste his big trip.
It was no different than this. He’d walked into it. At dawn the third morning he’d left the cave and started to walk, set out postholing through the snow, too weak to carry his rifle or daypack, and ten hours later, in the last few minutes of daylight, he’d found a road. He had never told a soul what happened, not Grace, not Ho, not his doctor, he’d checked into a motel and caught his flight the next day. A piece of him had stayed out there. This will make sense also, he told himself. This is the only thing you can give her.
He started to pull the covers up but he made himself stand and walk around the room. Maybe he had always known it. He stood by the window and waited to see what he would say.
“Come back to bed.” She patted the place next to her.
“I will.” Out the window there was a faint light, a few stars, he was looking for something but he didn’t know what.
“I’ll be alright, it’s just that it all hit me today. I promise I’ll be better. Just come back a minute.”
Later that night he opened his eyes and realized he hadn’t really been sleeping. It would be no different than anything else he’d done before, getting rid of a bad element. A talking to. There wasn’t any point in thinking about it. It had always been Billy over everyone else, there were people who lived for their children and she was one of them. She would be a different person otherwise. Plenty of other people didn’t, it was good there were people like her in the world. It was lucky he knew one of those people.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“I’ll take care of Billy. I’ll make sure nothing happens to him.”
They looked at each other for a long time across the dark. She doesn’t know, he thought. She doesn’t know what this is going to mean.
“Just in case, it’s better if you don’t say a word about this to anyone. Not a word.”
He could see that her eyes got wet but she wiped them and that was all.
“I’m a bad person,” she said. “Aren’t I?”
He reached and stroked the hair from her face. “You’re his mother.”
12. Isaac
He slept in the undergrowth at the edge of a field and was awakened by the sound of an approaching truck, its headlights bearing down on him. Get up, he thought, here they come. He tried to remember where he was, and where he was going to run, and the noise got louder and the headlights swept to a different part of the woods and Isaac jumped to his feet.
It was a green farm tractor. Isaac sat down again and the farmer shot past, not noticing him, a large John Deere planter trailing a plume of bright yellow seeds. Christ these early risers. His blood was rushing and part of him wished he was still asleep but he couldn’t help grinning. The old man’s driving that thing like a racecar. Except very straight rows. He stayed where he was and watched the farmer work and then watched the sun come up over the long flat field before collecting himself and slipping the back way out of the hedgerow. There was a road on the other side.
The land was very flat, mostly agricultural. A few scattered housing developments, but mostly broad
