Thieves I've Known (26 page)

Nate wasn't there. She looked down the staircase. She could see the coffee table and the decanter and the book and the swan. She walked down to the girl's room and went in. The room was very large and there
were many shelves of books on the wall. There were no toys or posters. Nate was standing at the girl's window, across the room from her, looking outside toward the water. The girl was sitting up in bed, studying him.

“What are you doing?” Merrill said.

“I'm not doing anything,” said Nate.

“You're going to scare her,” she said.

He turned and looked at his sister. He shrugged and didn't say anything.

“He's going to leave,” said the girl.

“Yes,” said Merrill. “We're both going to leave.”

“No,” said the girl. “He's going to leave you. If you argue like that. You mustn't argue so much.”

Merrill looked at her brother. He put his hands in his pockets.

“I'm not going to leave her,” he said. “It's okay to argue sometimes.”

“It's not ever okay,” said the girl. “That's how the men leave.”

Nate smiled at that. “Don't believe everything you hear.”

The girl cleared her throat. “Has anyone ever told you that you are quite handsome?”

This made both Nate and Merrill laugh. Such an odd tone in the girl's voice.

“It sounds like you've been practicing that,” said Nate.

The girl nodded. “My mother said that to a man who was not my father.”

They didn't say anything to that.

“Did you put the dress back?” the girl said. She was looking at Merrill.

“Yes,” said Merrill. She pointed to Nate. “I don't think he's all that handsome. He's kind of funny-looking, don't you think?”

“Nice,” said Nate.

The girl stared up at them. She put her fingers up to the edge of the covers.

“You'd better be careful,” she said.

“I don't want to be careful,” said Merrill. “He's funny-looking. I want to hear you say it.”

“No,” said the girl.

“Yes,” said Merrill.

The girl looked at Nate. She pulled the covers up an inch. She smiled and tucked her hair back behind her ears.

“He's a little funny-looking.”

Nate rolled his eyes. He looked incredibly young to Merrill when he did that.

The girl pulled her arms from under the covers. She flattened the covers down.

“Does your father like him?” she said. She was looking over at Merrill.

“Of course,” said Merrill.

“That's very important,” the girl said. “What is he like?”

“My father?”

“Yes,” said the girl. “I should be quiet.”

Merrill leaned into the doorway. She looked back behind her, down the stairs. “He's a small man, but he has a big head,” she said.

“Very big?” said the girl.

“Very, very big,” said Merrill. She held her hands out from her ears for a moment, making an enormous head. “He's quiet, and he's sick. He has trouble with his heart.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Merrill looked at her brother. He was staring at the sack in her hand, and he tapped his fingers twice against his wrist, though there was no watch there.

“Two minutes,” she said to him, then she looked at the girl. “It doesn't work right. He needs some medicine so it will tick right again.”

“Is it broken?” said the girl.

“No,” said Merrill.

“What does it sound like, when it's not ticking right?”

Merrill smiled at that. She looked back behind her. Down the stairs. “It's probably a little off.”

“And will you give him the medicine?”

“Yes. We'll give it to him tomorrow.”

“And will that fix it?”

“Yes,” said Merrill.

“I'm glad.”

Merrill nodded at her. “I'll tell him you said that.”

“Please do,” said the girl. “Do you hear the dogs out there?”

They listened for them. They held still and listened. They could hear the coyotes howling off in the distance. It was very faint, but they could hear it.

“We hear them,” said Nate.

“If I'm very good I'll get a dog,” said the girl.

“I'm sure it will be a very nice dog,” he said.

“They are very well behaved if you pick the right one,” she said. “And they are very handsome to look at.”

“That's right,” said Nate.

“Have you seen them?”

The boy pointed at the window. “Those dogs?”

“Yes.”

“I have,” he said. “They're just as you said.”

“Handsome?”

“Very much so,” he said.

The girl looked out the window. The clouds had cleared, and the moon and the stars made a blue light.

“I saw you in the boat,” the girl said. “I was supposed to stay in bed, but I didn't. I saw you come across in the boat.”

Nate looked at her. He breathed in deeply. He'd been talking about dogs, but his mind was on his father.

“That's not how you get a dog,” he said.

“No,” said the girl. “You've got to stay in the bed.”

They heard the key in the lock downstairs, a turn of the switch, then someone stumbling in. Merrill looked down the stairs. She saw the mother standing there, as if the woman were regaining her balance. She
was dressed in a white dress, and she had dark hair. The woman ran her hands through it.

“Quiet,” said the girl, and she held her finger up to her lips.

The woman came upstairs. She took a long time coming up the stairs. She stood there for a moment, looking down the hallway.

“Nadia?” she said.

The girl sat up in bed. “Yes?”

“I need you,” said the woman.

The girl got out of the bed. She went out into the hallway and followed her mother into the bedroom. The woman stood facing the bed, and she pointed back to the zipper of her dress. The girl unzipped it, let the dress fall to the floor, and her mother stepped out of it. She pulled back the covers, the mother did, and slipped into bed.

Nadia took the dress and shook it once. Then again. She pulled up a chair. She found a hanger in the closet, next to the dress that the beautiful girl had worn. The dress had no wrinkles and had been hung correctly. She closed the closet and looked at her mother. She turned out the light.

“Did you see Father tonight?” said the girl.

“I saw him.”

“Was he well?”

“He was very well.”

The girl stood at the edge of the bed. She could hear the boy and the girl walk past in the hallway.

“I've had a very exciting evening,” she said.

“Well that makes one of us,” said the woman.

The girl waited there. She listened to the boy and the girl walk down the stairs. Heard them open the door and go out. She imagined the boat in her mind. She walked around and stood next to the bed. Her mother smelled of alcohol and smoke. The girl wondered what her heart sounded like.

“Who's the best dancer?” said the girl.

“You are,” said the woman.

The girl waited to be let into the bed. She wanted to go look out the window, but she stood there instead. She waited.

They untied the boat from the tree and pushed out into the water. Merrill took the oars this time, and Nate sat at the stern of the boat. He held the sack in his hands. The half-moon was high and it left a strange blue glow across the water. The ferryboat was out again, making its last run to the mainland. There were a few lights on their father's side of the sound. The water rippled against the boat, and above that sound they could hear the coyotes. The creatures were closer this time, as if they were just on the edge of the shore. Nate looked there, tried to make out the shapes in the moonlight.

He stood up in the boat and cupped his hands around his mouth. He took a breath and howled back to them, high first, then low, and his howl trailed off across the water, as if what he'd said had been a question. The echo sounded against the trees.

“Sit down,” said Merrill. “Don't be foolish.”

“Who will care about us?” he said. “Two trailer kids?”

She was very angry then, Merrill. She set the oars in her lap and let the boat drift along the water.
Use your head
, she signed. She poked her fingers against her temple. She was very quick with her signing.
If you don't use your head that is all you will ever be
.

There is nothing wrong with what I am
, he signed.
This is our water. We can go where we want
. He waved his hands across the sound.

You will go where you want
, she signed.
That is what you mean
. She looked at him for a long time. They couldn't hear the coyotes anymore. She looked at him till he sat down in the boat.

What is wrong with you?

She signed very quickly at him.
You are nobody to me. You are leaving me and now you are nobody
.

He stared at her. He was very angry, and he put his hands together to sign. He tried to find the right sign, but he made no motion. The boat dipped in a wave, and Merrill took up the oars again.

She pulled them toward home. He tried to make out their lights on the other side of the sound. But they were too far away. He thought again about their father's heart. The boy opened the sack and looked inside. He put his hands down into the money and looked for the jewelry. He fished around in the money. The Coast Guard buoys were still a ways off, and they headed out toward them. The red lights ticked on and again, and the hurricane was hours past. The air smelled of ozone and the bottom of the sea.

He found the wine bottle in the sack, but nothing else. Merrill had put the jewelry back in the bedroom drawer. Nate took a breath. He took out the bottle and set it at the bottom of the boat. It floated there, and the water was ankle deep. He would have to start bailing soon, or they would sink to the bottom. The water was very deep where they were headed.

That is foolish
, he signed.
I'm not going to leave you
.

Merrill didn't say anything.

You know who I am
, he signed.
I have listened to you
.

Merrill watched him, watched the houses they were leaving in the distance, the dark water between. She watched the motion of her brother's hands in the strange blue light. He spelled out his name very carefully.
I am Nate
, he signed.

I received a lot of help, from a lot of people, in a variety of ways, in writing this book. This list is long, yet each thank-you is sincere, and I am most grateful for your encouragement and support.

Thanks especially to Ann Fitzmaurice, David Roderick, Chellis Ying, Jim Shepner, Terry Cole, Helen Kealey, Jack Kealey, Kerri Kealey, Scott Hutchins, Glen La Barber, and Shaila Djurovich for all of their moral, literary, and spiritual support over the years.

Thank-you to the Stegner Fellowship Program at Stanford University, the Blue Mountain Center, and Intersection for the Arts for their financial support and belief in my writing.

Everyone at the University of Georgia Press has been so generous, gracious, and wise. I especially want to thank Nancy Zafris, the Flannery O'Connor Award series editor, who chose
Thieves I've Known
, and who gave expert and generous advice about the book throughout this process. Thanks very much to Jon Davies, my editor, who guided me smartly and deftly throughout this process and who made many very helpful suggestions about the text. Thanks also to Sydney Dupre, who enthusiastically and expertly represented the book within the press. Thanks also to Mindy Conner, Kaelin Broaddus, and Jane Kobres for their patient help and thoughtful attention.

I've worked at Stanford University, in one form or another, for more than ten years now, so there are many, many people to thank there. Two of my biggest supporters have been Eavan Boland and John L'Heureux, and I am deeply grateful and appreciative for all of their wise counsel and enthusiastic energy over the years. Thanks also especially to Tobias
Wolff, Ken Fields, Adam Johnson, Elizabeth Tallent, and David MacDonald for teaching me (and so many of us) about writing, teaching, and living. My colleagues at Stanford are an absolute joy to work with, so great thanks to Scott again, Shimon Tanaka, Bruce Snider, Maria Hummel, Molly Antopol, Keith Ekiss, Skip Horack, Sarah Frisch, Sara Michas-Martin, Harriet Clark, Kirstin Valdez Quade, John Evans, Stephanie Soileau, and Brittany Perham.

I have many, many reasons to thank our administrative staff at Stanford, both in ways known and I'm sure unknown to me, so special thanks to Christina Ablaza, Mary Popek, Krystal Griffiths, Dagmar Logie, Alyce Bolster, Judy Candell, Katie Dooling, Nelia Peralta, and Nicole Bridges.

Why is Stephen Elliott all the way down here? I'm sure I'm going to hear about that one. Stephen is a writer's writer and a friend's friend and has helped me out of many a jam in the past. At the very least he gets to share a paragraph with so many wonderful friends and supporters like Cathy Schlund-Vials, John Kavanagh, Sara Young, Mark Purcell, Rachel Richardson, Ben Peterson, Wendy McKennon, Isaac Fitzgerald, Eric and Ashly Morrison, Steadman Harrison, Alyssa Harrison, Kristen Bahman, Peggy Cartner, Bruce again, Lysley Tenorio, Doug Klesch, Dorothy Hans, Andrew Altschul, Robin Ekiss, and Julie Greicius. Thank-you very sincerely to each of you.

Over the years I've received so many smart comments and insights about these stories and other writings from friends in workshops at Stanford, the University of Massachusetts, and elsewhere. Thank you very much to Katharine Noel, Steve again, Lysley again, Andrew again, Otis Haschemeyer, Tom McNeely, Jack Livings, Tamara Guirado, Sam Michel, Noy Holland, Peggy Woods, Nick Montemarano, Susan Steinberg, Malena Watrous, Kaui Hemmings, Eric Puchner, Stephanie Reents, Felicia Ward, Scott again, Adam again, and Skip again.