of hose over his strong shoulder, a big smile on his undamaged face. Wyatt was still gazing at that picture when the phone rang.
“No involvement.”
“Greer?”
“Exactly. She had nothing to do with it, had no foreknowledge, not even a hint. It was Bert by himself, start to finish. Sometimes a guy gets into a position, throws it all into the pot at once. Out of desperation, in Bert’s case, and not too many men do their best thinking when they’re desperate. Maybe not as true for women. But that’s by the by. Also by the by, just a reminder that arson for the insurance score is not for amateurs-the prime suspect is usually pretty obvious.”
“Why would I need a reminder on that?” Wyatt said.
Sonny laughed, a rich, joyful laugh, the kind that was sometimes contagious. “You’re so right,” Sonny said. “Whew. That’s funny. The point is the girl had no involvement.”
“You’re sure?”
“Bert wouldn’t lie to me, not to my face. I’m sure, one hundred percent. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said. And then: “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Click.
Wyatt had a strange feeling, completely new to him, a kind of lessening of pressure inside, or the force of gravity seeming to weaken a little. Hard to describe: perhaps a feeling that came with receiving fatherly advice.
Wyatt finished packing and went to bed. He’d always been the type to fall asleep quickly, but not this night. A toilet flushed upstairs, water ran through the pipes-and was that a burp he heard? — and then the house was quiet. He rolled over, tried different positions, willed his mind to go blank. But his mind wouldn’t go blank. Instead it occupied itself with thoughts of Greer. At the very least, didn’t he owe her an apology? Wyatt went back and forth on that, finally felt for his cell phone on the bedside table and called her number.
She answered on the first ring. “Hey, there.”
“Hi,” Wyatt said. “Did I wake you?”
“Only if I’m sleepwalking.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Meaning I’m walking across your yard as we speak,” Greer said. Wyatt sat up fast. Then came a tap-tap-tap at his window.
Wyatt jumped out of bed, opened the window, smelled her. She smelled great. Greer climbed in. There was lots of moonlight, enough to see she still looked tired and drawn, and also wasn’t wearing the eyebrow ring.
“What are you doing?” he said, his voice low.
“Had to say I’m sorry,” she said. “The kind of thing you do in person.”
Had she been crying? Wyatt thought he saw a tear track on her cheek. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said.
“You? What did you do?”
He’d doubted her, doubted his first intimate love; yes, these feelings he had for her had to be a form of love, might as well face that. “You had nothing to do with the fire,” he said. “I should have known.”
She gave him a long look. “You’re the best,” she said. Then she put her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth.
Soon they were in bed. She got on top of him, sat up, her head thrown back in the moonlight, maybe making a little too much noise, but Wyatt didn’t care. The money got pushed out from under the pillow, scattering everywhere.
After, she slumped down on him, her damp hair against his chest; and was still in that position when the door burst open. The lights flashed on, and there was Aunt Hildy.
15
No one, except maybe Dub, was at their best in the next few minutes. Aunt Hildy used the word whore once or twice, Greer fired back a bad word of her own, Wyatt shouted at both of them to stop shouting, and finally Dub appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in strange clumps and rubbing his eyes. “Something wrong?” he said.
Wyatt and Greer left together, not through the window but out the front door, which slammed behind them. Wyatt, already packed, took his things.
Wyatt spent the rest of the night at Greer’s. When he woke up, lying on his back, she was on her side, watching him. “You look so great when you’re sleeping,” she said. “I’ve never been this happy in my whole life.”
“You look pretty good yourself,” Wyatt said. And she did. The pallor, the circles under her eyes, the drawn expression: all gone. Her skin glowed, her eyes shone, the whites pure white, no hint of yellow, not a blood vessel showing. And again, no eyebrow ring, just the tiny hole, the surrounding skin healthy and unbruised. He considered asking why she wasn’t wearing the eyebrow ring, couldn’t come up with a cool approach. Did it even matter?
“No,” she said. “My face is all wrong. But thanks anyway.”
“Wrong? What’s wrong with it?”
“Everything,” she said. She pushed her face this way and that. “Here. Here. Here.” Had he ever seen anything more beautiful? And right next to him, so close.
Some time later, while he was in a fuzzy state between sleeping and waking, Greer’s lips brushed his ear, and she spoke. “Know what we should do today?”
Wyatt opened his eyes. She was smiling; and had been up to brush her teeth-he smelled mint. What they were going to have to do today was say good-bye. No going back to Aunt Hildy’s, and besides, his mom expected him. “Well,” he said, starting off in a way he knew was pretty lame, “the thing is I have nowhere to stay now, and-”
“Huh? You’re staying here. I assumed that. You’re a high school student, duly enrolled at Bridger High. Don’t you want to make something of yourself? Am I missing something?”
Maybe he was the one doing the missing. Hadn’t the situation changed? Yes, he’d decided to return to East Canton, but that was with Greer out of the picture. Now she was back.
“You’re being a gentleman, right?” she said. “One of those guys with manners, too polite to ask? Don’t have to be polite with me, pal. You can stay here, no thank-you notes necessary.”
He laughed.
“That’s settled,” Greer said. “Now here’s the plan. I think we should go see Morrie Wertz.”
“Who’s Morrie Wertz?”
“I looked him up. It’s a matter of public record.”
“What is?”
“Morrie Wertz was your-was Sonny Racine’s lawyer. It turns out he’s one of the oldsters. You know-at Hillside Breeze.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hillside Breeze-my other job, the old folks’ home, where I read for fifteen bucks an hour. It turns out that Morrie Wertz has been in there the whole time, kind of like fate.”
“Fate?”
“Waiting to happen. I haven’t run across him yet-just about all the ones I read to are women. That’s mostly what’s in there. Men die younger. The crazy thing is a lot of these old biddies still want a guy, and any of the guys who’s not drooling-and maybe even if he is-has his pick.”
“But,” said Wyatt, “how come you know all this?”
