Chunk shifted in his chair somewhat. He glanced at me, but I was still watching my tea swirl around in my glass.
“We went down there yesterday to try to see the orioles,” Billy said. “The kid's crazy about those birds.”
“I knew that,” Chunk said.
“Yeah. So you know it rained pretty hard on us the night before, and we wanted to see if their nests were okay. The water had run over the banks pretty good.”
Chunk nodded. Patient, letting the conversation develop.
“I took Connie's binoculars, and while I was looking through them I happened to turn towards the wall. Where the creek goes under. The Army put a heavy grill there when they set the thing up, you know? No way to cut it or anything like that.”
Chunk said, “The grill's still there?”
“Yeah, it's still there. Only I was kind of surprised to see that a small section of the bank next to it had been washed out, gone.”
Chunk shifted around in his chair again. Nobody said anything for a long time after that. We sat there, sipping our iced teas, the air so thick between us I could barely breathe.
Finally, Chunk said, “It must have been some storm.”
“A lot of rain,” Billy said. “And you want to know something else funny about it?”
“What's that?”
“While I was looking at that hole under the wall, I couldn't help thinking that somebody could make a boat-a long one that might look like a brush-covered log from the air-and float right underneath the wall.”
I sucked in a breath and held it. There it was. Out in the open.
“The hole's big enough,” Billy said, “that if somebody wanted to do that they could probably make a raft big enough for three adults and a child. They could just float on the current all the way out to the Guadalupe River. From there…” Billy shrugged.
Chunk put his tea between his legs and stared out at the yard, looking over the coffins there.
“The trouble with doing that,” Chunk said, and the way he said it was still that we're-just-having-a- hypothetical-conversation-here tone, “is that the helicopters are equipped with thermal imaging cameras. If three adults and a child were to slip under the wall, they'd be shot on the spot.”
“They might,” I said. “Of course, if they were to borrow one of those SWAT sniper blankets, that would make them invisible to thermal cameras. Stick some shrubs on top of the blanket, and if anybody saw them they'd just look like debris floating down the river.”
Chunk took a long sip of his iced tea. “You know, if Cole is right about there being three killer strains of H2N2 out there, three adults and a child could hardly be blamed for wanting to get out.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said.
Billy said: “It is something to think about.”
Chapter 21
The party started around five-thirty. We set it up in the dining room because that room opened up directly onto the back patio, where most of our parties ended up anyway. The dining room faced to the northeast, so it avoided the direct heat of the evening sun, yet still had plenty of natural light, which, as it turned out, we needed, because the power went out about an hour before anybody got there.
Chunk showed up first, bearing a beautifully wrapped yellow box that Connie promptly took from him and put on the table in the kitchen.
“You did a good job wrapping that,” I said.
“I think she's really gonna like that one.”
Connie was busy looking the box over, bouncing on her toes, barely able to contain herself.
“Looks like she's having a good time with it already.”
Chunk smiled at her. “Yeah, this was a good idea, Lily. I can tell Connie needed it. I bet you did too.”
“I don't know,” I said. “I'm a nervous wreck.”
“It's not gonna be that big of a crowd,” he said. “Just a few friends.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Just then Connie turned around and said, “Mommy, can I open it please? Pleeeease?”
“No, honey. You'll have to wait till the party starts.”
“Mommy, please?”
“No, Connie. Put it down.”
“You could let her open it now,” Chunk said. “It might actually be better if she did.”
I gave him a crossways look. Why? What did you get her?
“It's okay,” he said, reading the look, but ignoring it. “Really, it's okay.”
I turned back to Connie, who seemed to know what was going on, for she was poised over the yellow wrapping paper like a hawk about to fall on a dove. She looked at me expectantly.
“Go ahead,” I said.
She started ripping paper before the words had completely left my mouth. She got down to the box inside, popped that open, and looked inside, her face glowing with the light of childish wonder.
Her mouth turned to the shape of an O, and a long 'Ahhh' sound came out.
“What did you get her?” I asked Chunk. But all he would do was smile.
Connie reached into the box and pulled out three yellow porcelain combs-fancy ones, very old, very expensive looking. Each one had a finely etched bird pattern on the edge. I recognized them from Chunk's grandmother's collection. They could be used as a regular comb, or folded over and used as a clip. Perfect for Connie now that her hair was getting so much longer.
“Mommy, they're so pretty,” Connie said. Then she ran over and hugged Chunk. “Thank you, Uncle Reggie. I love them.”
She was bubbling over with excitement, trying to figure out how the set worked.
Chunk mussed her hair. “You're welcome, squirt. You'll have to get your Mom to teach you how to use them, okay?”
“Okay,” Connie said, never taking her eyes off the combs.
My mouth was hanging open the whole time. As soon as Connie was out of ear shot, I turned to Chunk.
“That's too much.”
“Nah,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “it is. Those things are priceless antiques. And you already did more than enough getting me the stuff for the cake.”
“Please,” he said, waving me off. “It's nothing. Besides, it's not like I'm ever gonna use them. Gram would have wanted them to go to a little girl anyway.”
Before I could argue with him though, there was a knock on the door and Billy let in our next door neighbors, Avery and Lynn Cameron. Billy brought them inside and introduced them to Chunk.
Avery Cameron was a sickly thin cadaverous man with absolutely no chin. He wore obscenely huge eyeglasses, had a pale and waxy complexion, and when he shook your hand made you feel like you were squeezing an almost frozen fish.
Avery was a photographer by trade and a staunch liberal in politics. He also affected a flamboyant style in his clothes that I guess he thought made him look more artsy, but in my opinion only made him look silly. For the party he wore vibrantly green pants and a matching jacket, a white, silk shirt, and a bright green cravat with gold flecks worked into the fabric. The cravat matched his face mask.
His clothes were so bright that I didn't notice until a moment later that he had a dollop of shaving cream on his cheek, like it had dried in the process of dripping off his face. The entire party I had to force myself not to reach out and flick it off.
