The Narrows(35)

“Evan, I don’t know. Maybe.”

Evan Quedentock took a few steps around the car, looking for any imperfections he might have missed. He bent down and looked at one of the car’s tires. When he stood, reappearing above the car’s hood, he had an expression of deep contemplation on his face.

Fleetingly, Maggie considered leaving town this evening after he left for the night shift. Stupid. Where would I go?

(gud time last nite)

“What’s the name of that kid I smacked around at Crossroads two weeks ago? The one who was staring at your tits?”

“Shit, Evan. I don’t remember.”

“Goddamn punk kid.” He peeled his cap off his head and ran one gloved hand along the bristles of his hair. “Codger, ain’t it? Ricky Codger.”

Maggie knew damn well it had been Ricky Codger. But she found herself incapable of speaking now.

“If that little motherf*cker did this,” Evan said, his voice trailing off. All too clearly Maggie could hear the bitter aggression in her husband’s tone.

Maggie tried to speak but her voice cracked.

“Spit it out,” her husband barked.

“You don’t know it was him.”

“Who else would it be?” He scratched his chin. “You hear any noise around the house last night? In the yard?”

Her mind slipped backward to the previous night. She recalled the horrible nightmares. She recalled waking to noises in the yard—how had Evan known?—and getting up, shutting the bedroom window.

“Yes.”

Evan’s eyebrows arched. “Yeah?”

Maggie blinked. She caught a whiff of Tom Schuler in her nose. “I mean, yeah, I thought I heard something last night. It was loud. I looked outside but couldn’t see anything. I just shut the bedroom window then went back to bed.”

Evan had begun nodding midway through her little monologue. “Okay,” he breathed. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”

She didn’t like the look in her husband’s eyes.

Later that night, after Maggie had showered and dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, Evan had departed for work in the VW. His instruction to his wife upon leaving was to keep an eye on the car. If she heard any noise tonight, or caught a glimpse of something out of the ordinary, she was to call him on his cell immediately. She agreed that she would.

At eleven that night she was sitting in the living room with her Heather Graham novel open yet unread on her lap, the TV across the room on but with the volume turned down low.

He’s going to do something bad, she thought. He’ll either go to the police and find out the truth or go straight to Ricky Codger and drive a fist into the kid’s face. Either way, no good will come of this.

Why hadn’t she just told him she’d hit a deer out on Full Hill Road?

You know why, said a sly little voice at the back of her head. Because he would have called the police to confirm the story and, when he found out you were out there at midnight, he’d start questioning you. He’d find out about you and Tom and what you were doing out there and then you’d be in a world of hurt.

She could have told him the story without admitting that the police had gotten involved. She could have said she’d gone out shopping in Cumberland and that the accident had happened earlier in the day, on her way back into town. Goddamn it, why hadn’t she just said that to him instead of lying?

He knows, she thought. She’d known all along. He knows I’m lying.

Again, she wondered where she’d go if Evan kicked her to the curb. She tried to imagine herself moving in with Tom Schuler; not only did she find the prospect implausible, but she found it wholly unappealing as well. Tom was not good looking, Tom was not polite or chivalrous, Tom did not make a lot of money and did not treat his girlfriends very well. What would it be like living with messy Tom Schuler?

This reminded her that her cell phone was wedged between two towels in the bathroom. She retrieved it to find two more messages, both from Tom.

The first: doin ok?

The second: cum over tonite pls.

For several long seconds she considered what to do with those texts. In the end, she deleted them without responding. If she ignored him would he go away?

Cum over tonite pls.

Back in the living room, she turned on the floodlights that lit up the backyard. The Pontiac sat there in the middle of the turnabout like a dark secret. The windows were open, letting in a cool autumn breeze that smelled of firewood and cinders. It chilled her bones.

In her hand, her cell phone rang, startling her. She looked at the number and found that it belonged to Tom.

Don’t answer it, said that same sly voice.

“Hello, Tom,” she said, bringing the phone to her ear. What was the matter with her? Was she bent on a path of self-destruction?

“Hey, doll. You doin’ okay?”

“No, Tom. I’m not. I messed up the car leaving your place last night and Evan’s asking questions.”

“Shit. What’d you do?”

I think I hit a kid, she almost said. Instead, she uttered, “I’m not sure. I might have struck a deer or something. Either way, the car’s all f*cked up.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I didn’t know what happened.”

“Okay, cool.”