Goldilocks
Page 32
Ben Baker was released from the hospital on that same day. Clarence, blinding in his freshly laundered work whites, walked Ben down the flower-lined path to the pickup truck, where Mrs. Mennick and her brother, Howard, were waiting. Clarence handed over Ben’s old leather suitcase to Howard, who unceremoniously tossed it into the back of the truck. Clarence stuck out his large placid face, which looked as if a little of everything were kneaded into it. “You take care of yourself, Mr. Baker.”
But Ben had forgotten him. He was gazing wildly about. “Where’s Lou?” he whined.
Mrs. Mennick opened the passenger door of the truck. “Get in, Mr. Ben.”
When he failed to move, Howard gave him a push.
• • •
Aged aunts and forgotten cousins shed tears in the central viewing room of John Breen’s Funeral Home. The mother who had borne him was dry-eyed until she approached the casket, and then she broke down. Old drinking buddies reached in for a final touch. A flicker of light on the dead man’s face softened the features, and for an amazing moment the eyelids seemed ready to twitch open, as if the deceased were moved by all the attention and grief.
Barney Cole moved from the casket to Edith Shea, who immediately gripped his upper arms. Her eyes were liquid, like oil. She said, “His left hand should be over his right. Could you tell Mr. Breen?”
“Yes,” Cole said, “I’ll tell him.”
“Barney, I didn’t even give him a proper kiss good-bye. I had the chance, I didn’t take it.” For a moment her mouth was all muscle. “If I could have him back for one more minute, that would do it. But Mr. Breen can’t do that for me, can he?”
A while later Cole left the funeral home, stood beside his car, and immersed himself in the dark air, his eyes reaching upward. The night sky was a jewelry box thrown open. Kit Fletcher climbed out of the old Cutlass and joined him, slinging an arm inside his.
“What do you see up there?”
“Too many stars to count,” he said, and took a breath. “I don’t get it. A guy dies, the sky stays bright.”
“The world goes on, Barney, with or without us.” She pressed closer. “How are you doing?”
“Good. Fine. I’m OK.” He looked at her. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“You’ve got that wrong,” he said. “I didn’t call, you did.”
Her smile was mysterious. “Are you sure of that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Could I persuade you otherwise?”
Heated smells of the city drifted through the lot. Across the way were low brick buildings for the elderly, where the only signs of life were from Sonys and Zeniths, their colors fluttering in the windows like flowers no more comforting than the bouquets girding Daisy Shea’s casket. “Why would I want to fool myself?” he asked.
“So I won’t have to beg.”
“I wouldn’t want you ever to do that.”
The night murmured. People trickled out of the funeral home, a couple of the men heaving around to look at Kit, whose arm had tightened against Cole’s. “We had something, Barney. Do we really want to say good-bye to it?”
Cole had no answer, only a sensation of heat lurking in the ashes. Loosening his arm, he opened the Cutlass door for her and then moved around to the other side and slipped in behind the wheel. She had taken the key from the ignition.
“I know what’s going on in your mind,” she said. “You’re wondering to what extent I’m dishonest. If my word’s good for anything, I can promise you I’ll never do anything again behind your back.” She smiled into his face. “Scout’s honor.”
Lights from a turning car swept over them and made them stark. Cole returned the smile but stayed within himself. The moon was radiant, like a sort of cake. At that moment he could no more believe that men had walked on the moon than he could that he and Daisy Shea had once been nineteen years old, with everything ahead of them. He was still smiling.
“What’s the joke?” she asked.
“You’re not a Girl Scout.”
“That’s right. Just an attractive and intelligent person like you.” She handed over the ignition key. “Let’s go home and have that kid. A damn waste of nature if we don’t.”
Leaning into the windshield, he took a final look at the stars and said, “Most of us can’t come anywhere near predicting the future, but the guy lying in there knew exactly what his was.”
“We can predict a little of ours,” she said with confidence as more headlights poured over them. Her voice, turning husky and playful, touched his cheek. “By the way, I’m giving up a lot for you. A trip to Italy.”
He said, “I think you’d better take it.”
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Sweetheart
Voices in the Dark
No Way Home
Love Nest
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Copyright © 1989 by Andrew Coburn
All rights reserved.
Cover Images ©123rf/Engin Korkmaz, Natalia Bratslavsky, Maxim Ahner
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4510-3
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4510-8