Via Dolorosa(80)

Granger remained staring at the gun. Nick, too, stared at it from across the room. Then he stared at Granger. Even from this distance, he could see the large pocks in Granger’s skin, running along his cheek and up to his hairline; he could see the redness of the flesh; he could see the squint-lines around the old, old eyes.

Granger set the gun down on the bed and folded his hands in his lap. He seemed to slump forward the slightest bit.

So then, Nick told himself, the decision has been made.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally entering the room. He stood before the fetal curl of the bell captain at the foot of the bed, looking down. Handwritten letters on loose-leaf paper, strewn about like confetti, littered the bedspread.

“Yes,” said the bell captain.

“And we’ve decided now, haven’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Will you let me walk you downstairs?”

“All right,” Granger said passively, not meeting Nick’s eyes. Suddenly, he had become a small child. “I know it’s done with but, just for the ride down the elevator—just for those six floors—could I call you ‘son’?”

“If it’s just for those six floors,” Nick said.

“Just the six.”

“Then all right.”

“I know you’re not Myles. I know you’re not my son and I’m not your father. I mean, I know that perfectly. It’s just…well, I want to pretend one last time.”

“For six floors,” Nick said.

“Six floors,” agreed the bell captain.

“And you should leave your gun here,” Nick added as an afterthought.

“This isn’t my gun.”

“No?”

“It’s your gun.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was here in the room when I brought the letters in,” Granger said. “It was sitting right in the center of the bed.”

“Was it?” A cold dread overtook him.

“Isn’t it yours?”

“I don’t have a gun,” Nick said. His eyes went to the little black handgun. And he recalled something Isabella had said—something about having a gun in the glove compartment of her car, and wouldn’t he, Nick, want to use it on those three men that had sailed to the island in their cabin cruiser?

Reaching out, Nick picked up the gun, hefted it, looked at it. He could see it was loaded. He slipped it into the waistband of his pants and, with that same hand, assisted Granger in removing himself from the bed.

In the hallway, Granger said, “Those are some bugs outside.”

“Yes.”

In the elevator, as if testing the feel of a new pair of shoes, Granger said, “Son.”





—Chapter XXII—





Again, the lobby was eerily silent. Nick walked Granger to the front doors, his one good hand at the small of the bell captain’s back. Outside, a light drizzle began to fall. Nick paused just inside the lobby doors, looking out. The upper portion of the windows was laden with cicadas, now having some difficulty adhering to the glass in the rain. Granger gathered his coat and keys from his workstation, gave Nick a quick hug, then examined him at arms’ length.

“I wish I could think of something profound to say,” Granger managed.

“You did that back in the elevator.”

Something akin to a smile surfaced on Granger’s thin, tired lips. “Yes,” he said eventually. “All right.”

And the bell captain left, walking out into the night and the rain and the bugs as if he never existed at all.

From behind him, the Palauan said, “Sir.”

Nick’s eyes focused on the Palauan’s reflection in the glass of the lobby doors. Then he turned. “What is it?”

“Sir,” said the Palauan. “I have many beautiful shells. I have—”

“Have you seen my wife?”

“No, sir, I have not. You have misplaced her?”

“Never mind.” He began walking toward the elevators.

“Sir! Please wait! You must purchase something.”

“You have nothing I want.”

“There is always something, sir. There is always something someone wants.”

Nick paused. In the semi-darkness of the corridor, he could see his mural. The painting had come alive, the painted characters actually moving…

No; there were cicadas creeping along the wall, crawling across the mural, scaling it. Bugs. Big bugs.

“Sir,” the Palauan said again, and Nick turned.

“What?” His voiced echoed down the otherwise empty hallway.

“I have something for everyone.”

“Not for me.”

“Ahhh,” said the Palauan, “but I do, sir. But I do.”

And the handsome, dark-skinned Palauan held something up in one hand. He held it draped around two fingers, and it hung from those fingers, faintly swaying in a nonexistent breeze.

“What is it?” Nick asked, taking a step closer. The Palauan didn’t answer, but Nick suddenly knew what it was: strung to a length of hemp adorned with colorful seabed stones hung a small plastic card. The keycard to unlock hotel room doors.

“For you, sir.” The Palauan extended the item as Nick approached. The man brought his fingers out and let the hemp cord spiral into the palm of Nick’s good hand.