The Dead

mother, particularly whether she’d be able to handle the funeral arrangements. But just north of Camden, he was roused by the sight of a State Trooper parked just behind an overpass; he slowed immediately. It occurred to him that he had no recollection whatsoever of the forty miles they’d come since the bridge.

“Why do you always do that?” Linda asked.

“What?” he asked.

“Slow down when you see a speed trap. You weren’t even doing the limit.”

“Guilty conscience. I always get nervous when I see a cop.”

Gradually he sped back up.

After a while, he looked over at Linda. She had the window down, and her long dark hair was blowing in the wind; her high-cheekboned, pretty face was pensive.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Your mom,” Linda said.

“What about her?”

“How she kept loving your father.”

“He was a lovable guy.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to.”

“You weren’t married to him.”

“When you’re married, your husband’s supposed to act married-”

“That’s enough,” Gary said. “The man’s gone, and I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Okay,” Linda said.

In the silence that followed, Gary noticed the sign for the I-195 exit and swung into the far right hand lane.

“Why did all that piss you off so badly, anyway?” he asked angrily, almost without thinking. “It’s not as if he did anything to you.”

That’s it, jerk, he told himself. Start it up again…

“I have taken it awfully personally, haven’t I?” Linda admitted.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s because I like your mother so such. Better each time I talk to her. She may be the only really good person I’ve ever met. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, if there’s a Heaven, your mother’s going.”

Linda said it innocently enough; still, it touched a nerve.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gary demanded.

“That it’s much worse when somebody like that gets abused,” Linda answered. “What did you think I meant?”

“I thought you were comparing her to my father.”

“What?”

“Saying he’s burning in Hell, or something.”

“No,” she said.

Despite his anger, he believed her; now that he thought about it, she’d certainly said nothing of the sort. Strange how that idea had popped into his mind…

He paid up at the toll booth, and they continued on their way.

“Hell’s just a fairy tale, anyway,” Gary said.

“Did I say it wasn’t?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t, did you? Guess all that 700 Club crap hasn’t sunk in.”

She laughed too. “I don’t watch the show that much.”

“Watching it at all is too much.”

“It’s not all that bad. The first part, with all the politics and stuff, is usually kind of interesting, even when I disagree with it-”

“Oh come on,” Gary broke in. “They also put on little old ladies who talk about God miraculously multiplying the leftover spaghetti in the refrigerator-” He paused. “What does Pat Robertson think about Hell, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s all for it,” Linda answered.

The white Pinto flew eastward, bound for the Jersey shore.

Taking the Squankum-Bayside Point exit, Gary drove south on Route 35. Lined with sandpits, defunct drive-ins, and fast food joints, 35 was punctuated every five miles or so by that murderous and peculiar Garden State phenomenon known as the traffic circle. Passing Squankum’s huge green River Rest Cemetery, Gary sped toward the Squankum Bridge, only to find that it was up. Bayside Point lay just across the river.

The Point was a small resort community located at the northern end of the long peninsula flanking Barragansett Bay. To the west, a canal courtesy of the Army Corps of Engineers formed the town’s boundary with Bayside Boro, connecting the Squankum River to the Bay; in effect, the peninsula was an island sliced off from the mainland.

Gary waited patiently for the bridge to come down. Finally the sailboat passed, and the span’s iron-grilled center descended slowly. The gate went back, and Gary and Linda were in Bayside Point a half-minute later.

On the left was a billboard reading, “Bayside Point, Crab Capital of the Jersey Shore.” The message had brought a smile to Gary’s lips ever since High School, when he had first learned about social diseases; he was of course smiling now.

Noticing his expression, Linda frowned as she always did when he had something nasty on his mind. He knew, however, that she secretly enjoyed a lot of his raunchier routines.

“Mad at me?” he asked, as he turned left onto fishery-lined Miami Boulevard.

“For what?” Linda replied. “Smirking at that stupid sign like you always do?”

“Yeah.”

“Nope. It’s just so boring, that’s all.”

“Love me anyway?”

“I suppose.”

He turned right on Atlanta Avenue. Bungalows and two-story houses slipped by on either side.

“I’m sorry I brought up that business about your dad,” Linda said.

“Forgot all about it.”

“I was really looking forward to giving him his first grandchild. I suppose I really loved him too.”

“As I said…”

She nodded. “He was a lovable guy.”

He turned left on Seattle Street, went half a block and pulled over just behind Max Jr.’s red Ford junker. Climbing out, they got their suitcases and went up the slate-paved walk toward the big two-story lemon-yellow house. The screen-door was locked; after knocking on it, Gary checked the mailbox, as he habitually did. There was the habitual nothing inside.

Max Jr. appeared, snickering when he saw his brother, opening the door. He towered over Gary by a full head.

“How you doing, jerk?” he asked, extending his hand.

“Just fine, wack-off,” Gary replied, shaking it. He smelled liquor on Max’s breath. “Feeling no pain?”

“Haven’t had that much, “ Max replied. “But Jack Daniels was made for days like this.”

“Yeah.”

“Of course,” Max went on, “Jack or no, it’s hard to be solemn when I see your foolish little face.” He turned to Linda. “Hi, Sis.” He wrapped his massive arms around her, bringing a gasp to her lips. She kissed him on the cheek.

They followed him into the living room and laid their bags down. The TV was on; a slightly overweight man with slicked-back dark hair and wearing a garish checkered suit was reading from a loose-leaf folder.

“The Holy Bible itself includes eroticism. Sex is depicted in the Song of Songs. Breasts are specifically mentioned…”