The Searcher(114)

“Was it your mam that done it?”

“Nope,” Cal says. “My mama had the softest heart in town. She couldn’t swat a mosquito.”

“Your dad?”

“Nah. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body either. My dad, when he showed up, he’d bring me little toy cars and candy, flowers for my mama, show me card tricks, stick around a couple of weeks and then take off again. No, this was a couple of guys from school. I don’t even remember what it was about. They got me pretty good, though. Two cracked ribs, and my face looked like a rotten pumpkin.”

“Worse’n mine?”

“About the same. More bruises, less blood. What I remember most, though, is how tired I was afterwards. For most of a week, all’s I could do was lie on the couch and watch TV, and eat whatever my gramma brought me. Getting hurt tires you right out.”

Trey works this over in her head. “Didja get them back?” she asks. “The lads that bet you up?”

“Yep,” Cal says. “It took a while, ’cause I had to wait till I grew as big as them, but I got there in the end.” He steps off the chair and gives the drop sheet a tug. It stays in place. “There,” he says. “Now you won’t have to worry about hiding in the bathroom if anyone comes round. You just get all the rest you need.”

The kid lets out another yawn, knuckling her good eye, and starts winding herself up in the bedclothes. “Sleep tight,” Cal says, and closes the door behind him.

She sleeps for four hours. Cal strips wallpaper in the second bedroom, at a slow, steady rhythm, so as not to make any sudden noises. Dust motes whirl and flare in the sunlight slanting through the windowpane. Out among the harvested fields, sheep call back and forth, and a flock of tardy geese sets up a faraway clamor. No one comes looking for anyone.





NINETEEN


Hunger finally rouses Trey, and Cal makes them both peanut butter sandwiches and then locks Trey in again so he can head into town. Even if Donie called Austin straightaway, this is hardly going to be high enough on Austin’s priority list to make him leap into action, but Cal still wants to be back home by dark. As he backs out of his driveway, the house, low and stolid amid his overgrown fields and the brown smudge of mountains on the horizon, looks very far away from anything else.

On the drive, he phones Lena. “Hey,” he says. “How’re the dogs doing?”

“Grand. Nellie destroyed one of my shoes to punish me, but it was an old one.” In the background, men’s voices are calling back and forth. She’s at work. “How’s Trey?”

“OK. Still kinda shaky, but better. How ’bout you? Did the aches and pains wear off yet?”

“You mean,” Lena says, “have I blocked it out enough that I’d be on for doing it all over again.”

“Well,” Cal says, “that too. The kid wants to stay one more night at my place. Would you help me out again? If I get that mattress?”

After a moment Lena makes a sound that could be laughter or exasperation, or both. “You should’ve just taken the pup,” she says. “It would’ve been less hassle.”

“It’s just one more night.” Cal is pretty sure this is true. This isn’t something he can let lie for any length of time. “You could bring Nellie, if you want. Keep the rest of your shoes out of danger.” He doesn’t mention the part where a beagle’s alert ears might come in handy, but he’s pretty sure Lena catches it anyway.

The men’s voices get smaller; Lena is moving away from them. She says, “One more night. If you get that air mattress.”

“Heading there now,” Cal says. “Thank you. If ever you need a favor, you know where to come.”

“Next time one of the pups gets the runs all over the floor, I’m ringing you.”

“I’ll be there. Can I invite you to join us for dinner?”

“No, I’ll make my own and call over to you after. Around eight, say. Can the two of ye protect yourselves till then?”

“We’ll do our best,” Cal says. “While I’m pushing my luck, could you do me one more favor? Can you call Sheila Reddy and tell her Trey’s OK?”

There’s a silence.

“She oughta know,” Cal says. He’s not feeling particularly warm towards Sheila, but it wouldn’t be right to leave her wondering if Trey is helpless or dying somewhere on the mountainside. “Just tell her the kid’s safe, is all.”

“Ah, yeah, right. And when she asks where Trey is, I just say I’ve no clue, is it? Or I say, ‘Ha ha, not telling,’ and hang up on her?”

“Just tell her, I don’t know, tell her the kid doesn’t want to talk to her right now, but she’ll be home tomorrow. Something like that.” Into another silence that has a distinct air of raised eyebrows, he says: “I’d do it myself, except Sheila might get upset if she finds out the kid’s staying at my house. I don’t want her calling the police on me. Or banging on my door.”

“But it’s grand if she does that on me, yeah?”

“She won’t call the cops on you. If she comes to your place, you can show her you don’t have the kid. And if she comes after eight, you won’t be there anyway.”

After a minute Lena says, “I’d be happier if I could figure out how I ended up in the middle of this.”