Reprisal (32 page)

"Be careful," Joanna said--then was suddenly afraid the girl hadn't heard her, and hurried after the car and called out again over its engine's harsh buzz.

"Be careful. Drive carefully!"

Charis, backed into the street, smiled and nodded, then started down the hill, going slow over Slope's cobbles.

Joanna thought Charis had heard her ... but wasn't absolutely certain, so she went out into the street--saw the girl was already too far down to call to--and began to trot after her. She went faster, almost running to catch up, to be sure Charis was reminded to drive very carefully, so that nothing terrible would happen.

Almost down to Strand, Charis must have seen her in the rearview mirror. She stopped the car as Joanna ran down to her, unsteady on the cobbles and oddly out of breath.

"I just wanted ... just wanted to remind you." She supposed someone on the hill, some woman in her kitchen, had seen her running after the car. "--Please drive carefully. Be very careful."

Charis smiled, and reached out to take Joanna's hand. "I will. Don't worry, I'll be careful."

"Thank you," Joanna said, and meant thanks for agreeing to be careful. She held Charis's hand for a moment, a living girl's hand, then let it go.

"Good-bye." Charis started her car.

"If you want to come out again and visit," Joanna said, raising her voice over the engine's sound, "--if you want to do that, Charis, you'd be ... you're really welcome. There are things to do out here--the beach, and we could go lobstering. And boys are out here for the summer. It's ... there really are things to do."

"I'd like that. I'd like to come out, but I wouldn't want to bother you."

"It wouldn't bother me! You could come out anytime, come right back after your exams--I don't know why the hell they have summer midterms, anyway; it's ridiculous. Oh, but you still have classes. ..."

Charis put the VW in gear. "I only have five weeks left. I think I can finesse that--just write papers for them."

"Well, then please think about it."

"You're sure you want me hanging around?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Okay. Well, I'll see if I can. ..." And she smiled and drove away, put up a hand to wave good-bye at the bottom of the hill ... then turned right on Strand. There was plenty of time for her to make the ferry.

Joanna climbed the hill, and walked down the drive into the backyard. The house seemed too empty to go into. She was so glad she had the whole day before night ... and the backyard's struggling flowers, its tough little weeds and countless threading insects to keep her company. Here, in a small green handkerchief draped across a dune, was life enough for a city. Life enough so death made no difference, and could never catch up.

The world outside was full as the house was empty. Out here she'd miss no voices, and no one would think it strange, in such sunny summer weather, that she stayed in her backyard.

She went up the back steps and into the house, then upstairs to change into old clothes--and did that as quickly as she could, humming to fill the silence.

When she came out, she collected her few gardening tools from the garage, then went into the yard and lay down along the flower-bed border ... sinking into soft grasses, volunteering again to be commander and commando in the war against the weeds.--She had wondered why so many men enjoyed at least the idea of war, and now she knew. It was a second, separate, and simpler universe, much less cruel and arbitrary than the first.

... She worked through the morning, and into early afternoon, her right shoulder aching from digging and pulling roots. And it was an odd thing, but the more weeds she came against, dug up, defeated, and destroyed for the flowers' sake--the more she admired the little plants' determination, their slender rough-stemmed courage. And as she honored the dying weeds, she began to doubt the flowers--that had nothing to offer but slavishly colored pleasure to the people who had planted them.

... The telephone rang in the house just after three, and didn't stop ringing.

Joanna had thought it was still broken, disconnected, but they must have come into the cottage and fixed it while she was gone.

Reluctant, her muscles sore and stiff from working lying down, Joanna went into the house ... walked up the hall to the phone.

"Mrs. Reed ...?"

"Yes?"

"It's Marilyn. Marilyn Early?"

"Yes. ... Oh, yes. I believe you brought my things over to the hospital, and I'd like to thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, dear--and I don't want to trouble you; I don't want to be a nuisance. But I would like you to know that I'd be happy to help in any way I can. Some friends and I--if you do want something done, housecleaning or shopping, we'll be happy to do that for you."

"Thank you. That's very nice. But I don't think I need anything. ..."

"All right. But now listen, Joanna--may I call you Joanna?"

"Yes."

"Well, listen, now. If you do need help-maybe just some prepared dishes so you don't have to cook--if you do need help, or just want company for a little while, you call me. The Earlys --we're in the island book."

"Thank you very much ... Marilyn."

"Well, I won't trouble you any longer, dear. But if you need something, you call. Okay?"

"Okay. ..."

Joanna put the phone down, and got out of the house.

Too hungry and tired by the end of the day to stay out any longer, she cleaned the tools and put them away, then went into the kitchen.

Still no milk. ... There was a can of BandMore baked beans in the pantry--easier than making spaghetti, easier than making a sardine sandwich, or peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Joanna opened the can of beans, and turned back the lid. She took a spoon from the counter drawer, went to sit on the back steps, and looked out over the yard ... out along the ridge of the hill as she ate. The baked beans were good, cold; she could taste the molasses in them.

... Joanna had just finished, was scraping the bottom of the can with her spoon, when the phone rang again. She got up, went into the kitchen and down the hall to answer it.

Someone said something she didn't understand ... then her name.

"Yes, I'm Joanna Reed."

"Mrs. Reed--I deeply regret troubling you at this time. My name's Gosden, Jack Gosden of White River Memorial. We've been called by the County Clinic, and I've checked with the police and talked with Dean Wi.ner, and the dean suggested I get in touch with you out there."

"Why are you calling me?"

"This is really difficult. ... I am very sorry, but some decision is required about your daughter's remains. The law enforcement people have released them, and County Clinic also has released them.--If you prefer, Mrs. Reed, some other funeral home could handle the matter. And there's also the question of any service or memorial gathering you might wish to be held. Dean Wi.ner has offered the college chapel. ..."

"What's your name?"

"Gosden, Mrs. Reed. Jack Gosden."

"Do what you want. Do what's fastest. I don't want her to be dead there any longer."

"Well ... cremation would be the most ... it would be quickest."

"Then do it. Do that."

"Would you like any service, any viewing--"

"No."

"No service?"

"No."

"Well, on cremation, Mrs. Reed--the costs there would amount to ... to approximately one thousand, five hundred dollars, with a small bronze urn.

That would be pretty much the total cost."

"I know what it costs--you're the people who did that with my husband."

"... Mr. Reed? When?--Oh ... that's right, we did. Another person handled that--I'm sorry."

"So, just go ahead with it."

"All right, then. We will."

"Wait, let me get you my credit card number." Joanna went through her purse on the entrance-hall table, found her wallet, and took the card out.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. ..."

Joanna read out the numbers, and expiration date. "Do you have that?"

"Yes ... I do. And Mrs. Reed, I'm very sorry to have had to call you with this."

"That's all right. ... And pretty soon I will come and get her. Just keep her, and I promise I'll come and get her." She hung up, put her credit card away in her wallet, then reached down to grip the telephone cord--gripped it with both hands--and yanked as hard as she could, but it wouldn't come out of the wall.

Hauling on it only hurt her hands.

She looked down behind the table to see if the wire's connection was that little plastic fitting that clicked into place--but there was a small round thing fastened to the wall, with no way to get it free.

Joanna went to the kitchen and searched in the top counter drawer--regretting the fillet knife lost on the hill. She selected a paring knife, went back to the entrance hall, picked up the phone cord and sawed at it. It was a tough cord, with metal in the middle, but she cut it through.

She took the knife back to the kitchen, drank two glasses of water at the sink, then went outside to sit on the back steps again. ... It was startling to be so perfectly alone; a constant reminder seemed to flow under every minute like groundwater, recalling her solitude to her.

The summer evening was slowly coming on, softening light and easing the brilliance of every color. The quality of air changed as the light changed-Joanna could feel it by rubbing her hands together. She held them open--aching, dirt-grimed--then clapped them together in slow motion to capture a texture of the air. Rubbed them lightly together. The evening's air was more manageable than the afternoon's --it felt like soft cloth ... almost gathering, pleating between her hands.

Joanna sat on the back steps for a long time, until the last of light had risen up, and the dark came down. Then, by starlight, she got up and went into the house. She walked to the staircase, climbed halfway up--then turned and came down again, took one of Bobby's blankets from the hall closet, and went outside. She wrapped herself in the blanket, lay down in the grass beneath the sea grapes, and went to sleep.

She dreamt that the moonlight woke her ... found that was so, and slept again.

Joanna woke to morning sunlight and the odor of earth, turned her head, and saw a pair of shoes--brown tasseled loafers.

"Mrs. Reed. ..." Carl Early, in a tan summer suit, bent over her. He was still handsome, viewed from the ground. Joanna saw what she supposed was the bottom edge of a pistol holster--black leather--under the hem of his jacket. ... And he was carrying something in his left hand, something small in plastic wrap.

"Too warm in the house ... decided to sleep out," she said, so Early wouldn't think she was crazy to be lying in the yard. She wriggled out of the blanket and stood up.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine. Fine."

Early looked her up and down, blue eyes taking in the caving pants, smeared with dirt ... her grimy work shirt and torn sneakers.

"--Gardening," Joanna said. "I've been gardening." She put her dirty hands behind her back.

"Your phone's out again--did you know that?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I did. I'm going to town today; I was going to stop at the office and have them come out."

"I'll do that for you."

"No, really. I'll take care of it."

They stood together in the sunshine, silent a few moments, like friends too familiar for constant conversation.

"Chief, before the phone went out? Your wife called ... to see if I needed anything. It was very good of her. Will you thank her for me?"

Early nodded, seemed to be waiting for something.

"Do you ... do you want to go inside?"

"I guess we better," the old man said, and followed Joanna across the yard and up the steps into the kitchen.

He pulled out a chair, and sat at the kitchen table. Joanna stayed by the sink.

"Got something here for you, Mrs. Reed. My wife sent it over--some of her banana bread; it's very good."

"I'm sure it is. Please thank her; I know I'll enjoy it. ... Would you like a cup of coffee?--Tea, I'm out of coffee. Get some when I go to town."

"No, thanks, Mrs. Reed. I already had my coffee." The chief suddenly tilted his chair far back--a boy's or young man's move, careless of accident.

Apparently a coordinated old man. It made Joanna nervous to watch him balancing that way.

"--I do have some things to tell you ... let you know, Mrs. Reed. First thing is, I need to apologize to you for my brusque manner those two times you came to me. That was out-of-line behavior with a lady who'd lost her husband and then her dad. I'm sorry for it."

"No, no. I knew you were busy. ..."

"No excuse for rudeness. What happens to a man been a law officer a long time, is he sometimes confuses himself with God almighty. So, you have my apologies for that."

"Not necessary. ... You don't want any tea?"

"No, dear, I don't." He leaned forward, brought his chair upright, and folded his hands on the table in front of him. "--ationow, let me tell you what I've done the last few days. When I got the call that your girl died like that ...

well, that really tore it. I never in my life heard of anything so bad, that a person's family would go like that--one, two, three. About the worst thing I ever heard."

Joanna nodded and smiled. Then, so as not to listen anymore, she turned to the sink and began to wash her hands.

Early sat and watched her soap her hands, scrub, and rinse them. Watched as she dried her hands with a dish towel taken from a counter drawer.

"... So, what we did was review everything we have on your husband's drowning--and we rechecked the Coast Guard's findings, and the coroner's, looking for anything out of the way, no matter what. ... Then I sent a deputy down to Gloucester, to interview Bobby Moffit again--man had to rent a helicopter, go out to the Banks to find that boat, then go down a rope ladder at sea."

"That ... that was a lot of trouble."

"Wouldn't believe what they charge to rent those machines."

"Thank you, Chief. It was good of you to do that."

"Then I went up to Chaumette," Early said, and Joanna couldn't think of anything to do so as not to hear. "--Went up to Chaumette and talked with the officers up there--checking on possible harassment of old people out at that lake, vandalism and so forth. And an officer and I went out and we reinterviewed the people living two, three houses each side of your dad's cabin. ... I also went to see your dad's attorney of record-lady was home, sick--but the secretary, paralegal, assured me there was no amount in the willed estate worth a serious felony."