But as he drank and smiled and waited, the miracle that he'd come for didn't happen. He kept looking around, struggling to maintain his calm. Helen and John. Where were they? They're supposed to be here.
They have to be!
He swallowed more bourbon. "Hey, Brian?"
"What is it, Ben?"
"My wife and son. Where are they?"
"I'm afraid they can't be here yet," Brian said.
"Why not?" Grady frowned.
"There's something you have to do first."
"I don't understand."
"Think about it."
"I don't know what you mean. Help me, Brian."
"Think about the shrine."
And then everything was clear. "Thank you, Brian."
Grady set down the bottle, stood, and left the swimming pool, walking toward the shrine. Inside, candles were lit. He passed the church pew in the sanctuary and reverently studied the photographs above the mantel, the pictures that grief-destroyed parents had hung there, the heart-breaking images of the eight dead children.
Is that all it takes? Grady thought. Is that all I need to do?
He removed his wallet from his trousers, opened it, caressed the photographs of Helen and John that he always carried with him, and removed them from their protective, transparent, plastic sleeves. After kissing them, he set them on the mantel.
Now? he wondered, his heart pounding. Now?
But Brian and Betsy don't have their photographs up here, he thought. The couples who were killed in the accident, their photographs aren't here, either.
Maybe, though, Grady wondered. Maybe if you've been here long enough, it isn't necessary to put up photographs.
On the other hand, the children. They never had the chance to come here. They died before Brian built the shrine. For them, the photographs were necessary, just as photographs were necessary for…
Heart pounding faster, Grady turned and left the shrine, hurrying back to the swimming pool. He felt terrified that his loneliness wouldn't be broken, but at once he saw Helen and John waiting for him, and his chest hurt unbearably. Helen was holding out her arms. John was jumping up and down with excitement.
Grady ran.
Reached them.
Embraced them.
And felt his arms go through them just as their arms and bodies went through him.
"No!" he wailed. "I need to touch you!"
Then he realized. He had to give them time. In a little while, he'd be able to hold them. He spun to face them.
"I love you, Ben," Helen said.
Tears streamed down Grady's face.
"Dad, I've missed you," John said.
"And I love both of you, and I've missed you so much that – " Grady's voice broke. He sobbed harder. "It's so good to – "
Grady reached for them again, and this time, as his arms went through them, he felt as if he'd reached through a cloud. The sensation was subtle but unmistakably physical. It was happening. They'd soon be -
Grady's knees felt weak.
"Sweetheart, you'd better sit down," Helen said.
Grady nodded. "Yes. The strain's been… I think I could use a rest."
As he walked with his wife and son toward the swimming pool, Brian, Betsy, and the others nodded with approval.
"Dad, the kids in the pool are having so much fun. Can I take a swim?"
"Absolutely. Anything you want, son. Your mother and I will watch."
Grady sat in his chair by the pool. Helen sat close beside him, stroking his arm. The sensation was stronger. Soon. Soon he'd be able to hold her.
Betsy called to him, "Ben, would you like a steak?"
"Not right now, thanks. I'm not hungry. Maybe later."
"Any time. All you have to do is ask."
"I appreciate that, Betsy."
"Maybe another drink would improve your appetite."
"I bet it would." Grady raised the bottle to his lips. Helen stroked his arm, and now her touch was almost solid. John dove into the pool.
"Together," Helen said.
"Yes," Grady said. "At last."
It became the most wonderful evening of his life. In a while, Helen's touch was totally firm. Grady was able to hold her, to hug her, to kiss her. And John.
When the sun disappeared, a full moon lit the darkness, illuminating the festive specters.
There was just one problem. Before Grady had driven to the compound from the mausoleum, he'd made several stops in town. One had been to the liquor store. Another had been to the courthouse, to find out who'd owned the land that Brian had purchased to build the compound. Grady had hoped to be able to question whoever had owned the land and to find out if there was anything unusual about this area, anything – even an old campfire story – that might provide a hint, the start of an explanation for this miracle.
But the former owner had long ago moved away.
Several other stops had been to Brian Roth's former hunting companions. Grady had hoped that one of them might be able to describe what had happened to Brian the day they'd taken him hunting in this area. He'd hoped that they might have an explanation for Brian's sudden determination to buy this land.
But none of them even remembered that afternoon.
Grady's final stop had been to his attorney. Ida Roth's lawyer had already been in touch with him. Ida was determined to contest the will and make sure that Grady didn't inherit the property. Grady was shocked to hear his attorney say that Brian had clearly not been in his right mind if he'd amended his will while contemplating suicide. Brian's own attorney apparently agreed. The consensus was that Grady would lose his fight against Ida. The compound would be denied to him.
So as Grady sat beside his wife and son, watching his eerily moonlit companions near the pool, he kept drinking and brooding and telling himself that he couldn't bear to be separated from his family again.
But what was the alternative?
Grady hugged Helen and John. "You might want to take a walk."
"We'll stay," Helen said. "So you won't be afraid."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. I don't want you to feel alone."
Grady kissed her, drank more bourbon, then unholstered his revolver.
He understood now why Brian and Betsy had made this choice. How lonely they must have felt, seeing their dead children and eventually their dead companions. In their presence but not truly with them.
Grady cocked his revolver. The final speck of his sanity told him, your wife and son aren't real, you know. The others aren't, either. This is all your imagination.
Maybe, Grady thought. Maybe not.
But even if it is my imagination, when Ida gets control of the compound, I'll never have the chance to see Helen and John again. Even if I only imagine them.
It was an agonizing dilemma.
It required more thought.
So with his wife and son beside him, Grady held his revolver in one hand while he drank from his bottle with the other. The alcohol made him sleepy. The specters were beginning to fade. He'd soon have to make a choice, and he wondered what it would be. As the stupor from the bourbon overwhelmed him, which would feel heavier? Would the bottle drop from his hand first? Or would the revolver?
Afterword
From "The Dripping" in 1972 to "The Shrine" twenty years later, these stories represent a significant portion of my life – and significant events along the way. The year the final story was published, I made a further significant choice by leaving Iowa City, where I had lived since 1970, and taking up residence in Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the summer of 1992.
My wife and I did it suddenly. Watching a segment of Public Broadcasting's This Old House that was devoted to Santa Fe 's distinctive adobe-pueblo style of architecture, we found the city of holy faith and its surrounding mountains so picturesque that we decided to spend a long weekend visiting there. It was my forty-ninth birthday. I had just finished a long novel, Assumed Identity. A little time off sounded good. But we weren't prepared for the impact that the mystical mountains and the high desert would have on us. In three days, we were looking at houses. On the fourth day, we selected one and flew back to Iowa City to make preparations to move. Three months later, we were living in Santa Fe.