Wrapped in Rain(60)

I nodded, surprised at so clear a thought.

Mutt continued. "I've been sitting here thinking about Abraham holding the knife above Isaac."

"What about it?" I asked.

"You think he would have done it?"



"Yeah." I nodded. "I think he would've. I think God thought that too."

Mutt nodded and spoke as if the truth were absolute. "I think you're right. I think he would too."

We sat a few moments more as the dark surrounded its. "I can take you back if you like." Mutt shook his head. "Not to your room," I said, shaking my head. "Home."

Mutt looked up, and his eyebrows grew close together. "Gibby okay with that?"

"I'm not giving him a choice."

Mutt looked out across the spring and through it as if looking into the halls of Spiraling Oaks. "Gibby's a good man."

I nodded, walked to the canoe, and returned with my jacket. I pulled the plastic box from my pocket and held it out so Mutt could see it. He didn't even blink. "I need to give you this."

Mutt looked at his left shoulder, then at me. I twisted off the plastic cap, squeezed out any air, pulled up his short sleeve, and injected the needle through the caked mud and into the soft muscle at the top of his arm. I squeezed in the Thorazine, pitched the syringe deep in the swamp, and returned the plastic box to my jacket pocket. Mutt never even flinched.

He stood from his burrow, and his size surprised me. He was bigger than when I left him but was by no means heavy. Still skinny, just fuller in places. He shoved his fisted left hand into his pocket and kept it there. I stepped back, watched him from a safe distance, and didn't say anything.

He retracted his hand and patted his pocket. "It helps me remember." He walked to his canoe, gathered his chess set, stuffed it into his zippered fanny pack, and stepped into my canoe. He looked at the front seat but decided against it. He lay down in the middle, pulled his knees tightly into his chest, and balled up.



I pushed the canoe off the bank and paddled through the dark beneath the tree limbs, around the cypress tree, and out into black water. I knew it would take longer, but I purposefully didn't crank the Honda.

We slid up next to the dock at ten thirty. I beached the canoe and saw Gibby's light on in his office. I tapped on the window, and a minute later he came running around the bank, through the ferns, and crept up to the canoe. I pointed inside and held my fingers to my lips. Gibby knelt down, saw Mutt, and gently put his hand on top of Mutt's head. He stroked his head twice and looked at me. I held out the plastic box and showed him the one syringe, and Gibby nodded. I carried Mutt inside, laid him on his bed, turned out the light, and shut the door.

I told Gibby the story, but I wasn't interested in talking with Gibby. My mind was at the Marriott. I picked up Gibby's phone and dialed the room number. After nine rings I set the phone back in the receiver and sat down, my disappointment evident. Gibby said, "They're not there."

I looked up, confused.

"I called this morning," he said, "to see if I could take them fishing, but the lady at the counter said they had called a taxi before lunch and left with their bags. I haven't heard from them all day."

"See you in the morning. And ... thanks, Gibby."

I walked down the hall, past Mutt's room, and out the sliding doors. When I got to the Marriot and opened my room door, the beds were made and my duffel bag was sitting neatly on the couch. I searched the bedside table, the bathroom, and the coffee table, but there was no note.

The restaurant and bar were empty save the bartender and a traveling salesman who had loosened his tie and wedged his beer belly into a booth in the corner. He held a beer in one hand, his anchor to the earth, and shoveled peanuts with the other. Scattered on the floor beneath him were two bowl's worth of shells. With one eye trained on a game he wasn't watching, he clasped the glass with a hand and watched the bubbles and foam settle as the urinecolored liquid swirled about. He chewed, threw more shells on the floor, and turned the glass slowly, letting the foam rise to the rim and circle the edges. Minus the face, I was looking at Rex's ghost. A man and his liquor. Caught somewhere between his demons and the hope of all mankind.



The bartender polished the top of the bar and asked, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for an attractive lady, about five-eight, and a little kid, maybe five years old."

"Good-looking lady with short hair? Handsome kid wearing a two-holster belt?"

"That'd be them."

"They ate lunch over there, but that was a while ago. Haven't seen them since."

"Thanks."

With nowhere left to look, I changed clothes and started running down a long winding road that paralleled the river. Huge, sprawling oaks covered the road from both sides and draped over the street like Christmas lights. Fresh, deep gashes and old, weathered scars on the undersides of the limbs betrayed accidental hit and runs by the local delivery trucks. An hour later, I returned to the room, but I hadn't run the loneliness out. It would take more than an hour to do that.

I jumped into the Jacuzzi, closed my eyes, and let the heat and bubbles bore into my back. What if they hadn't gone shopping? What if they were halfway to California? What if ... ?



Bubbles popped around my neck while the jets drilled further through my back and legs. I hadn't felt this lonely since Miss Ella died. Chances were pretty good that they had taken a taxi to the airport and were four states from Florida by now.