him. One of them was a constable, young. The other was a sergeant. A thin man, precise. They were standing alongside a patrol car. Lee was aware of people stopping to watch.
The sergeant said: Mr. King. Thought we’d have a word.
— Word about what?
— Why don’t you come along with us. Just for a bit.
It had to be out front of the grocery store. It had to be the middle of the afternoon when people could watch. The constable took Lee’s grocery bag and put it on the front seat. Then he patted him down. Just for procedure, he said. They didn’t handcuff him, but they did seat him in the tightly caged back seat.
Lee looked out at the people standing around the front of the A amp;P, and a bitter flame, anger and humiliation, flared in his gut. The constable got behind the wheel and the sergeant got into the passenger seat, partly crushing the grocery bag beside him. The way the rear-view mirror was angled, the sergeant’s eyes were in it.
They drove through town and Lee didn’t say anything. It was the sergeant who finally spoke. -Your parole officer, what’s his name?
— Wade Larkin.
— That’s right. I know him. He’s a nice chap, Wade Larkin. He’s really a nice chap. How often do you see him?
— Once every six weeks.
— Once every six weeks. You see what a nice chap you got for a parole officer?
— Listen, boss, I get seen like this I could lose my job.
— What I can’t figure out is why you’re back in town at all. After they saw fit to cut you loose and set you up with a really nice chap like Wade Larkin, you came back here.
— My mother is sick with cancer.
Nothing was said in reply.
They drove for a short while until they were cruising past a long brick building with a curved roof. They rounded the corner and there was a baseball diamond, deserted except for some high school kids smoking at the bleachers. The kids saw the patrol car and got up and left. The car pulled around in front of the building and Lee saw the sign over the front doors: Charles Grady Memorial Community Centre — Home Of The Dynamite! He looked at the eyes looking at him in the rear-view mirror.
— Kind of funny, don’t you think?
— I don’t think it’s real funny, boss, said Lee.
— Myself, said the sergeant, I was just brand new here. I know that wasn’t my very first call but it was one of them. I was sick when I saw it. What you did. I was sick right there on the driveway. I don’t care what you think of that. If a man tells you he’s got the stomach for it, first time he sees something like that, he’s a goddamn liar. Maybe I was sick because the other boy was still alive.
— What do you want from me?
— I guess you get this idea, maybe, because there’re all kinds of people who will tell you just how misunderstood you were, how what you really needed was this and that, how you deserve good things same as anybody else, so I guess you get this idea that you can put mileage between then and now. But I know you.
— I told you, I’m here to work and look after my mother. I haven’t been bothering anybody. I don’t even drink.
The eyes in the rear-view mirror. The man hadn’t even raised his voice. He said: I know you and I know all about you, my friend. You remember that.
Then the sergeant told the constable to let Lee out of the car. The constable came around and opened the door. He gave Lee his bag of groceries and he grinned and said he hoped he’d see him again. The car pulled out of the parking lot and was gone.
Lee was breathing hard. His thoughts raced. He wasn’t surprised that they had come for him, but nevertheless it burned him, far more than he had thought it would. He’d gotten out of prison, but his life was still under the thumbs of men with badges and guns. He’d been foolish to think it might ever be otherwise.
He put the groceries down and found himself a cigarette. It seemed ridiculous that he’d bought a television an hour ago. That he’d presumed to buy it, had presumed to buy groceries, had presumed to visit the house where he’d grown up. That he’d presumed at all.
He picked up his grocery bag and held it at his midsection while he walked. The ash from his cigarette drifted down. He passed a chain-link fence and a mean-looking dog came at him, barking, gnashing its jaws, until it hit the end of its chain. It stood with its forelegs splayed. He looked at it.
A short distance later the grocery bag was getting heavy. He put it down on the curb, and thought again of the day his father died, thirty-five years ago, but the man was present now more than he had been in a long time. He thought of the basement, the caretaker with the shovel. How he’d fled. How the crippled caretaker never said anything to him, never called him out.
TWO
OCTOBER TO NOVEMBER 1980
Thanksgiving came with a cold snap. Stan was invited to Frank and Mary’s house for turkey dinner. He drove over on Sunday afternoon, bringing Cassius along with him. After he got to the house and said hello, he walked Louise up to the park so she could collect leaves for a school project. The dog went with them. Louise dug through the leaves on the ground at the park and brought her findings for Stan to inspect.
— What do you think, Grandpa?
— I’d say that one’s a beech. It’s just a couple inches. There’s not so many of the little edges on it.
— They call those teeth, said Louise.
— That’s right.
— Beech, said Louise.
She took a small plastic bag out of her jacket pocket. She’d already collected a maple leaf and an oak leaf. She put the beech leaf in and added a check mark to her notebook. Stan sat on a park bench and watched her. Cassius was over sniffing the base of a tree. After Louise had found a birch leaf, she told Stan she’d collected enough and now they could go.
Back at the house, they saw an older-model red Camaro parked at the curb. Emily was standing alongside it, speaking to the driver. Louise hung close to Stan as they came into the driveway. They weren’t close enough to hear whatever was being said, but they caught sight of a boy behind the wheel. He had a look of raw pain on his face.
— Do Grandpa a favour and take Cassius around back, said Stan. Make sure the gate is latched. We don’t need him running down the street.
Louise went with the dog and Stan started up the front walk. Emily came over and kissed him on the cheek.
— Hi, Grandpa. I’ll be inside soon.
Emily went back to the Camaro and Stan caught a few words: I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense to you. And the boy saying: Hey, baby, please.
Inside the house Frank was watching from the front window.
— I was about to go outside.
— I think she’s got it in hand, said Stan.
— Goddammit. Look at the hair on him.
Stan went into the kitchen. The smell of roasting turkey brought juices to his mouth. Mary was drinking a glass of wine and studying her mother’s recipe book. It occurred to Stan that it had been a long time since he’d seen the book. He saw Edna’s neat cursive-
— The turkey is huge, said Mary. We’ll have leftovers for a week. I’ll send a bunch of it home with you.
