“He had nice things to say about you.”
“I don’t care. That’s all in the past and it’s no good to live in the past, not for me, not for you.”
That had the sound of good, sensible advice, but not the feeling. All at once Wyatt remembered a line from Hamlet — so weird, because he wasn’t good at remembering stuff like that, even when he tried to memorize it, and in this case he hadn’t. Actually he didn’t remember the line exactly. “Do not for ever” something something “seek for thy noble father in the dust.” Spoken by Hamlet’s mother, the queen, to Hamlet. Whoa. He felt a lurch inside, as though the ground had abruptly lowered itself. “I saw that baby,” he said, the words just popping out.
“What baby?”
“The baby who got shot.”
Linda covered her mouth with one hand. “My God,” she said.
“Her name’s Toni.” Wyatt told his mother about Toni-how she’d been adopted by the Pingrees, was going to Northwestern, seemed happy. Linda’s face, worried and irritated when he started, had softened by the end, and her eyes were damp.
“Thank you, Wyatt,” she said. “That’s good to know.” She reached across the table, took his hand. “But that’s enough now. Promise me.”
“Promise you what?” said Wyatt, who was wondering whether to bring Doc into the story.
“That this is over,” Linda said. “That you’re back home.”
Wyatt rose, went around the table, put his arms around her, and kissed her cheek. “It’s good to be home, Mom.” That was true, but it promised nothing, not in his mind. She gazed up at him with worried eyes.
Wyatt slept in his own bed that night, had no dreams, sweet or otherwise. He fell deep, deep down into a state of perfect rest, sleeping, yes, like a baby.
25
“Hey, Wyatt-it’s a nice day.”
“Shh-he’s sleeping.”
“But I want him to take me to the bus.”
“You’ve been going to the bus on your own.”
“But now Wyatt’s home. I want him to take me to the bus.”
Wyatt opened his eyes. For a moment he felt great; lighthearted, energized, rested. Then memory awoke. His mother was wrong about the past: it returned every morning.
“It’s okay,” he called. “I’ll take her.”
His door burst open. Cammy ran in and jumped on the bed, then kept jumping, higher and higher.
“No jumping on the bed,” Linda said, watching from the doorway. She was dressed for work but hadn’t finished with her makeup, one eye still undone. Something about that sight touched him. He was lucky to have a mom like her.
Cammy landed on her knees beside him. “Mommy says are you going to school today.”
Wyatt looked past Cammy to his mom. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow sounds good,” said Linda.
Linda left for work soon after. She was going in a little early these days-the boss had laid off one of the girls, as they were called, saving one salary and making the others nervous at the same time. A two-fer, she told Wyatt on her way out.
Wyatt and Cammy had cereal for breakfast.
“Do you ever just eat sugar right out of the bowl?” she said.
“No.”
“I do.”
He walked her to the bus stop.
“Where’s your jacket?” he asked her.
“Don’t need it. The sun’s out.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s warm.”
“I’m warm.”
The bus rolled up. The door opened, and Mr. Wagstaff looked out. “Hey, Wyatt-ain’t seen you in a while. Been sick or something?”
“No.”
“Lost some weight, buddy.”
Cammy climbed onto the bus. Before the door closed, Wyatt heard her starting to tell Mr. Wagstaff about the three helpings of tuna casserole.
Wyatt walked back home. A bank foreclosure sign hung in front of the house across the street, and someone had spray-painted JOHN 3:16 on the front door. The wind rose, and Wyatt thought it carried the distant sound of a baseball smacking into a glove, and was listening for it again when his phone rang. UNKNOWN CALLER.
“Hello?” Wyatt said.
“Hi, Wyatt. It’s Sonny.”
“Hi.”
“Just thought I’d give you a call. How’s everything?”
“Not bad.”
“Been up to anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither,” Sonny said. He laughed. “Rude to laugh at my own joke, I know, but humor gets you through sometimes. There are some funny guys in here, believe it or not. One even did the Laugh Factory before his bail got revoked.” There was a silence. “Ever been to a comedy club?”
“No.”
“I took your mother to one in Fort Collins. We laughed so hard our stomach muscles hurt.”
“She never mentioned that.”
“No?”
There was a silence. Wyatt heard a man speaking Spanish in the background. His hand tightened on the cell phone. “Where was she the night of the-that night in Millerville.”
Pause. “That’s a strange question. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” He waited for an answer.
“Just a strange question out of nowhere,” Sonny said. Another pause. Boys from East Canton, especially boys like Wyatt, learned the value of keeping their mouths shut at an early age. “Where are you right now?” Sonny said.
“Out walking,” Wyatt said, avoiding a precise geographical answer.
“A nice day for it?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s raining here,” Sonny said. “In Silver City, I mean. Fair weather in Millerville and East Canton-at least according to the weather report.”
Wyatt felt himself turning red, kind of crazy all by himself, the other person hundreds of miles away.
“But what’s more boring than talking about the weather?” Sonny said. “The answer to your question is that Linda was at the apartment we had at the time-Bates Street in East Canton. They woke her up in the middle of the night with a search warrant. I always felt bad about that.” Another pause. “Any other questions?”
“No.”
“You’re sure? Take a rain check if you like-I’m not going anywhere.” Another joke? If so, Sonny wasn’t laughing this time. “I enjoyed your visit-hope it wasn’t too unpleasant for you.”
“No,” Wyatt said.
“You’re welcome to come back whenever you like-goes without saying.”
