Insomnia (14 page)

‘Yes,’ Ralph said. ‘I can. It’s a good thing, Helen.’

‘I’m going to see her again tomorrow, at WomanCare. It’s ironic, you know, that I should be going there. I mean, if I hadn’t signed that petition . . .’

‘If it hadn’t been the petition, it would have been something else.’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I guess that might be true.
Is
true. Anyway, Gretchen says I can’t solve Ed’s problems, but I can start solving some of my own.’ Helen started to cry again and then took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry – I’ve cried so much today I never want to cry again. I told her I loved him. I felt ashamed to say it, and I’m not even sure it’s true, but it
feels
true. I said I wanted to give him another chance. She said that meant I was committing Natalie to give him another chance, too, and that made me think of how she looked sitting there in the kitchen, with pureed spinach all over her face, screaming her head off while Ed hit me. God, I hate the way people like her drive you into a corner and won’t let you out.’

‘She’s trying to help, that’s all.’

‘I hate that, too. I’m very confused, Ralph. Probably you didn’t know that, but I am.’ A wan chuckle drifted down the telephone line.

‘That’s okay, Helen. It’s natural for you to be confused.’

‘Just before she left, she told me about High Ridge. Right now that sounds like just the place for me.’

‘What is it?’

‘A kind of halfway house – she kept explaining that it was a
house,
not a shelter – for battered women. Which is what I guess I now officially am.’ This time the wan chuckle sounded perilously close to a sob. ‘I can have Nat with me if I go, and that’s a major part of the attraction.’

‘Where is this place?’

‘In the country. Out toward Newport, I think.’

‘Yeah, I guess I knew that.’

Of course he did; Ham Davenport had told him during his WomanCare spiel.
They’re involved in family counselling . . . spouse and child abuse . . . they run a shelter for abused women over by the Newport town line
. All at once WomanCare seemed to be everywhere in his life. Ed would undoubtedly have seen sinister implications in this.

‘That Gretchen Tillbury is one hard sugarbun,’ Helen was saying. ‘Just before she left she told me it was all right for me to love Ed – “It
has
to be all right,” she said, “because love doesn’t come out of a faucet you can turn on and off whenever you want to” – but that I had to remember my love couldn’t fix him, that not even Ed’s love for Natalie could fix him, and that no amount of love changed my responsibility to take care of my child. I’ve been lying in bed, thinking about that. I think I liked lying in bed and being mad better. It was certainly easier.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I can see how it might be. Helen, why don’t you just take your pill and let it all go for awhile?’

‘I will, but first I wanted to say thanks.’

‘You know you don’t have to do that.’

‘I don’t think I know any such thing,’ she said, and Ralph was glad to hear the flash of emotion in her voice. It meant the essential Helen Deepneau was still there. ‘I haven’t quit being mad at you, Ralph, but I’m glad you didn’t listen when I told you not to call the police. It’s just that I was afraid, you know? Afraid.’

‘Helen, I –’ His voice was thick, close to cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘I just didn’t want to see you hurt any more than you already were. When I saw you coming across the parking lot with blood all over your face, I was so afraid . . .’

‘Don’t talk about that part. Please. I’ll cry if you do, and I can’t stand to cry anymore.’

‘Okay.’ He had a thousand questions about Ed, but this was clearly not the time to ask them. ‘Can I come see you tomorrow?’

There was a short hesitation and then Helen said, ‘I don’t think so. Not for a little while. I have a lot of thinking to do, a lot of things to sort out, and it’s going to be hard. I’ll be in touch, Ralph. Okay?’

‘Of course. That’s fine. What are you doing about the house?’

‘Candy’s husband is going to go over and lock it up. I gave him my keys. Gretchen Tillbury said that Ed isn’t supposed to go back for anything, not even his checkbook or a change of underwear. If there’s stuff he needs, he gives a list and his housekey to a policeman, and the policeman goes to get it. I suppose he’ll go to Fresh Harbor. There’s plenty of housing there for lab employees. These little cottages. They’re actually sort of cute . . .’ The brief flash of fire he’d heard in her voice was long gone. Helen now sounded depressed, forlorn, and very, very tired.

‘Helen, I’m delighted that you called. And relieved, I won’t kid you about that. Now get some sleep.’

‘What about you, Ralph?’ she asked unexpectedly. ‘Are
you
getting any sleep these days?’

The switch in focus startled him into an honesty he might not otherwise have managed. ‘Some . . . but maybe not as much as I need. Probably not as much as I need.’

‘Well, take care of yourself. You were very brave today, like a knight in a story about King Arthur, but I think even Sir Lancelot had to fall out every now and then.’

He was touched by this, and also amused. A momentary picture, very vivid, arose in his mind: Ralph Roberts dressed in armor and mounted on a snow-white steed while Bill McGovern, his faithful squire, rode behind him on his pony, dressed in a leather jerkin and his snappy Panama hat.

‘Thank you, dear,’ he said. ‘I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me since Lyndon Johnson was President. Have the best night you can, okay?’

‘Okay. You too.’

She hung up. Ralph stood looking at the phone thoughtfully for a moment or two, then put it back in its cradle. Perhaps he
would
have a good night. After everything that had happened today, he certainly deserved one. For the time being he thought he might go downstairs, sit on the porch, watch the sun go down, and let later take care of itself.

McGovern was back, slouched in his favorite chair on the porch. He was looking at something up the street and didn’t immediately turn when his upstairs neighbor stepped outside. Ralph followed his gaze and saw a blue step-van parked at the curb half a block up Harris Avenue, on the Red Apple side of the street.
DERRY MEDICAL SERVICES
was printed across the rear doors in large white letters.

‘Hi, Bill,’ Ralph said, and dropped into his own chair. The rocker where Lois Chasse always sat when she came over stood between them. A little twilight breeze had sprung up, delightfully cool after the heat of the afternoon, and the empty rocker moved lazily back and forth at its whim.

‘Hi,’ McGovern said, glancing over at Ralph. He started to look away, then did a doubletake. ‘Man, you better start pinning up the bags under your eyes. You’re going to be stepping on them pretty soon if you don’t.’ Ralph thought this was supposed to come out sounding like one of the caustic little
bons mots
for which McGovern was famous along the street, but the look in his eyes was one of genuine concern.

‘It’s been a bitch of a day,’ he said. He told McGovern about Helen’s call, editing out the things he thought she might be uncomfortable with McGovern’s knowing. Bill had never been one of her favorite people.

‘Glad she’s okay,’ McGovern said. ‘I’ll tell you something, Ralph – you impressed me today, marching up the street that way, like Gary Cooper in
High Noon
. Maybe it was insane, but it was also pretty cool.’ He paused. ‘To tell the truth, I was a little in awe of you.’

This was the second time in fifteen minutes that someone had come close to calling Ralph a hero. It made him uncomfortable. ‘I was too mad at him to realize how dumb I was being until later. Where you been, Bill? I tried to call you a little while ago.’

‘I took a walk out to the Extension,’ McGovern said. ‘Trying to cool my engine off a little, I guess. I’ve felt headachey and sick to my stomach ever since Johnny Leydecker and that other one took Ed away.’

Ralph nodded. ‘Me, too.’

‘Really?’ McGovern looked surprised, and a little skeptical.

‘Really,’ Ralph said with a faint smile.

‘Anyway, Faye Chapin was at the picnic area where those old lags usually hang out during the hot weather, and he coaxed me into a game of chess. What a piece of work that guy is, Ralph – he thinks he’s the reincarnation of Ruy López, but he plays chess more like Soupy Sales . . . and he
never
shuts up.’

‘Faye’s all right, though,’ Ralph said quietly.

McGovern seemed not to have heard him. ‘And that creepy Dorrance Marstellar was out there,’ he went on. ‘If we’re old, he’s a fossil. He just stands there by the fence between the picnic area and the airport with a book of poetry in his hands, watching the planes take off and land. Does he really read those books he carries around, do you think, or are they just props?’

‘Good question,’ Ralph said, but he was thinking about the word McGovern had employed to describe Dorrance –
creepy
. It wasn’t one he would have used himself, but there could be no doubt that old Dor was one of life’s originals. He wasn’t senile (at least Ralph didn’t
think
he was); it was more as if the few things he said were the product of a mind that was slightly skewed and perceptions that were slightly bent.

He remembered that Dorrance had been there that day last summer when Ed ran into the guy in the pickup truck. At the time he’d thought that Dorrance’s arrival had added the final screwy touch to the festivities. And Dorrance had said something funny. Ralph tried to recall what it was and couldn’t.

McGovern was gazing back up the street, where a whistling young man in a gray coverall had just come out of the house in front of which the Medical Services step-van was parked. This young man, looking all of twenty-four and as if he hadn’t needed a single medical service in his entire life, was rolling a dolly with a long green tank strapped to it.

‘That’s the empty,’ McGovern said. ‘You missed them taking in the full one.’

A second young man, also dressed in a coverall, stepped out through the front door of the small house, which combined yellow paint and deep pink trim in an unfortunate manner. He stood on the stoop for a moment, hand on the doorknob, apparently speaking to someone inside. Then he pulled the door shut and ran lithely down the walk. He was in time to help his colleague lift the dolly, with the tank still strapped to it, into the back of the van.

‘Oxygen?’ Ralph asked.

McGovern nodded.

‘For Mrs Locher?’

McGovern nodded again, watching as the Medical Services workers slammed the doors of the step-van and then stood behind them, talking quietly in the fading light. ‘I went to grammar school and junior high with May Locher. Way out in Cardville, home of the brave and land of the cows. There were only five of us in our graduating class. Back in those days she was known as a hot ticket and fellows like me were known as “a wee bit lavender”. In that amusingly antique era, gay was how you described your Christmas tree after it was decorated.’

Ralph looked down at his hands, uncomfortable and tongue-tied. Of course he knew that McGovern was a homosexual, had known it for years, but Bill had never spoken of it out loud until this evening. Ralph wished he could have saved it for another day . . . preferably one when Ralph himself wasn’t feeling as if most of his brains had been replaced with goosedown.

‘That was about a thousand years ago,’ McGovern said. ‘Who’d’ve thought we’d both wash up on the shores of Harris Avenue.’

‘It’s emphysema she has, isn’t that right? I think that’s what I heard.’

‘Yep. One of those diseases that keep on giving. Getting old is certainly no job for sissies, is it?’

‘No, it’s not,’ Ralph said, and then his mind brought the truth of it home with sudden force. It was Carolyn he thought of, and the terror he had felt when he came squelching into the apartment in his soaked sneakers and had seen her lying half in and half out of the kitchen . . . exactly where he had stood during most of his conversation with Helen, in fact. Facing Ed Deepneau had been nothing compared to the terror he had felt at that moment, when he had been sure Carolyn was dead.

‘I can remember when they just brought May oxygen once every two weeks or so,’ McGovern said. ‘Now they come every Monday and Thursday evening, like clock-work. I go over and see her when I can. Sometimes I read to her – the most boring women’s magazine bullshit you can imagine – and sometimes we just sit and talk. She says it feels as if her lungs are filling up with seaweed. It won’t be long now. They’ll come one day, and instead of loading an empty oxy tank into the back of that wagon, they’ll load May in. They’ll take her off to Derry Home, and that’ll be the end.’

‘Was it cigarettes?’ Ralph asked.

McGovern favored him with a look so alien to that lean, mild face that it took Ralph several moments to realize it was contempt. ‘May Perrault never smoked a cigarette in her whole life. What she’s paying off is twenty years in the dyehouse at a mill in Corinna and another twenty working the picker at a mill in Newport. It’s cotton, wool, and nylon she’s trying to breathe through, not seaweed.’

The two young men from Derry Medical Services got into their van and drove away.

‘Maine’s the north-eastern anchor of Appalachia, Ralph – a lot of people don’t realize that, but it’s true – and May’s dying of an Appalachian disease. The doctors call it Textile Lung.’

‘That’s a shame. I guess she means a lot to you.’

McGovern laughed ruefully. ‘Nah. I visit her because she happens to be the last visible piece of my misspent youth. Sometimes I read to her and I always manage to get down one or two of her dry old oatmeal cookies, but that’s about as far as it goes. My concern is safely selfish, I assure you.’

Safely selfish,
Ralph thought.
What a really odd phrase. What a really
McGovern
phrase
.