Ash Wednesday (38 page)

Soon Brad Meyers was moaning as well, grunting with each blow like a butcher killing sheep. At last he stopped, panting, sweating despite the cold and the falling snow, watching Jim Callendar as he lay on the wet whiteness, no longer able to rise to be struck once again. "We'll hear no more of this night, will we?" he said, and then knelt and repeated his words.

"No." Jim's reply was a red, bubbling whisper, and Brad turned away, walked to his car. Jim lay there for a long time, until the cold started to feel warm.

Alice Meadows frowned. She didn't like fights, and the harsh voices filtering from the bar through the decorative fishnet promised a real brawl. But soon they faded, and were replaced by clinking glasses and tableware, music, other more peaceful voices. She finished her sherry leisurely, paid her bill, and left the Anchor.

The sound reached her just as she was about to open her car door, a thin, unmanly sound of quiet intensity. At first she thought it might be a dog or cat hit by a car, but there was a human depth to it, so she moved toward it and found Jim Callendar, lying against a slatted wooden fence that hid garbage cans.

"Oh, my God!" she cried, watching him from a few feet away. "I . . . I'll get help."

"No," he croaked, raising a snowy head. "No.”

“But an ambulance—"

"No," he said again. "No one . . . You,
you
help me?"

She swallowed stiffly and knelt beside him. Small cuts scored his face, but the cold had made the blood run slowly, so that he looked painted, aboriginal. His lip was puffy and split in several places. His eyes were swollen, the left one nearly closed. The nose, though bleeding, was unbroken. He held his stomach oddly, as though trying to make the pain captive so that it would not leave him. "What shall I do?" she asked.

"You have a car?" She nodded. "Take me to your car."

She got an arm under him and heaved. Had he been completely helpless, she could not have begun to move him, but he used her as a lever, rising to his feet of his own volition, gagging as he swayed erect. They staggered together to her car, where he fell into the passenger seat, his teeth suddenly chattering like ratchets. She got behind the wheel, started the engine, turned the heat to maximum. "Look, I'm going to take you to a hospital."

"
No!
Please . . . I don't . . . I don't want questions. I'll be all right. If you'll just take me home."

"You could be very badly hurt."

"I'm not. Please,
please
take me home."

He told her where he lived and she took him there, helped him out of the car, unlocked the door, and guided him onto the living room couch. Then she stood, uncertain of what to do next. "Do you . . . have any antiseptic? Bandages?"

He nodded. "The bathroom. Through there."

She scanned the cabinets, noticing the touches of femininity in towels and accessories. She noticed too that large sections of the bathroom cabinets were empty, as if denuded of what they had formerly held. There were no women's products at all. At last she found Sea Breeze, cotton balls, some gauze and adhesive tape; which she clutched under her arm while she soaked a washcloth in warm water.

Rejoining him, she wiped the caked blood from his face and moistened the cotton with Sea Breeze, which she daubed on the open cuts. She was surprised when he did not flinch as the alcohol seared the raw tissues, but thought that perhaps some other pain of which she was not aware was greater. Then she put gauze on the still-oozing cuts, and secured them lightly with tape. "I hope that's all right," she said. "I've never done this before."

"It's fine," he said from a corner of his mouth. "I must look like a mummy." The corner turned up, just a little, in a vain try at a smile. "Thank you."

"Sure. I just hope you'll see a doctor." She looked at his hands, still locked over his middle. "How's your stomach?”

“Not so hot. Could use some coffee."

"Warm milk would probably be better," she said. "You have milk?"

"In the fridge. But look, you've done enough already.”

“Don't be silly. I won't be a minute."

The kitchen bore the same male-female dichotomy as the bathroom had, and she wondered where the woman could be. She heated a cup of milk and made herself some instant coffee, then put the drinks on a tray and took them into the living room.

"Here we are," she said. "This should help." He thanked her and took the cup, sipping from it as though the act hurt him. She drank the coffee, watching. Finally she asked it. "Where's your wife?"

His mouth wrinkled, and he didn't answer immediately. "That's why I was drinking tonight."

"She . . . left?"

He nodded, grimacing. "Yes. Today."

"I'm sorry."

He tried to shrug. "It wasn't like she didn't warn me." After a moment he added, "I shouldn't have let her go.”

“Sometimes you
have
to let people go."

"You sound like you know."

She shook her head. "Just an observation."

"No. You know." He sipped more milk. "Do you want to know why she left me?"

"No. I'd rather know how you got like
that
."

"Basically the same reasons," he said with a grin. "Who I am and what I've done."

"That's a broad reason," she said, smiling back. "Who we are and what we do are all the reasons any of us have for what happens to us."

"Do you want me to pour out my life story, then? It's not wholesome, or even particularly entertaining."

"The not wholesome part I can believe—but not entertaining? From a man who gets abandoned and beat up on the same day? Now
that
has the stuff of tragedy in it.”

“No. Melodrama at best."

"I like a good melodrama."

"I really don't think I'm up to it just now."

She got to her feet nervously, remembering his injuries. "I'm sorry. You must be exhausted."

"Yeah. I'm tired." He set down the milk and tried to rise, but slumped back into the sofa.

"Let me help," she said, slipping an arm around him. Together they got to the bedroom, and Jim collapsed across the quilted spread. She started to tug off his wet shoes when he stopped her.

"Listen," he said sleepily, "unless you're a nurse, I can undress myself, okay?"

She didn't believe him. He seemed incapable of fluffing up a pillow. "I
am
a nurse," she lied.

"Come on . . ."

"No, really, at Lansford General. I was visiting relatives today in Merridale."

She wasn't sure if he believed her, but after a moment he said, "All right, all right, I can use the help. . . . Will you bill me?"

"The coffee's payment enough."

With her help, he stripped to his underwear, and she pulled the covers over him. He looked like a little boy with only his head sticking out from beneath the sheet, and she could not help touching his forehead, pushing his fair hair back gently.

"Thanks," he murmured, almost asleep. She stepped to the door and turned out the light. "You're not a nurse," his voice said from the darkness. "When you patched me up, you said you'd never done it before."

"Oh . . . I . . ."

"Never mind. You may be a liar, but you're a beautiful one." With the next words his voice drifted into silence. "I'm glad you were there." Only soft breathing followed.

She closed the door and walked back into the living room, sat, finished her coffee. When it was gone, she did not leave.

She was there when he woke up in the morning.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Kim."

"Dave!"

"Surprised to hear from me?"

"Why haven't you called me?"

"I did. You're never in."

"Jesus, I'm always in."

"That's not what Mr. and Mrs. Davison say when I call.”

“Those bastards! I'm in all the time."

"Why didn't you call
me?
"

"Dad doesn't want me to. He's crazy about this Merridale thing. He doesn't want anything to do with the town, and he doesn't want me seeing anybody who lives there.”

“Holy shit."

"He's closing on a house in Lansford next week.”

“Kim, I'm not gonna let you go like this. I
love
you.”

“And I love you. So what are we gonna do?"

~*~

"Hello, Thornton here."

"Mr. Thornton, this is Marie Snyder."

"Yes. Hello."

"Mr. Thornton, I was thinking that we should have a little chat."

"A chat.”

"Yes. You know, I have a bit of a reputation for being gossipy. I don't know if you realize that."

"No, I didn't."

"I'm afraid you're just being polite. . . . Are you all right? I can hardly hear you."

"I'm fine."

"Oh, that's better. I guess you just weren't speaking up. Anyways, I put two and two together out of something that happened today, and I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to know how I got four?"

~*~

"You think you can really do it, Kim?"

"Well, if
you
won't . . .”

"I
can't
. He watches the odometer like a hawk. Forty thousand miles on the damn thing and he still figures his mileage."

"Mom could put thirty miles on it as easy as anything. He'd never know."

"But without them hearing you?"

"I'll let it drift out onto the road."

~*~

"That's an interesting theory, Mrs. Snyder."

"I just thought you might like to hear it, Mr. Thornton.”

“Yes. Well."

"I was thinking that since I found it so interesting, other folks might find it interesting too."

"Uh . . . I don't know if they would. Maybe you could keep it a secret."

"Some secrets are valuable, Mr. Thornton. How valuable do you think this one is?"

~*~

"Oh, sure, I can sneak out okay."

"I'll meet you on the corner of Park and Spruce, then. Around twelve-thirty."

"That's good, good. I love you, Kim."

"I love you, Dave.”

~*~

"Look, that's just
unreasonable
. I mean, there may be nothing to this."

"Maybe not, Mr. Thornton. Only you know for sure. And only you know what it's worth to you."