“Suppose I don’t love you, Don. Suppose I don’t feel that way toward you. More like a friend, I guess. A good friend.”
“I’ll take my chances. All that will come later. Believe me.”
“Do you think so?” she asked in a half whisper.
He leaned forward, took her hand harshly, his fingers pressing deep. “No one can say you haven’t done wonderfully here, Ginny. You’ve done more than anyone had any right to expect.”
“Perhaps.”
He released her hand, settled back. “I want to be one hundred percent honest with you, my darling. Right at this point, I’m onto something big. I’ve put everything into it. I’m in it with Redling. If we can hang on for another three or four months, we won’t even have to think about money for the rest of our lives. And to be brutal about it, that dowry of fifteen thousand will help a hell of a lot. We could borrow, but that would mean letting a third party in on it. And that would cut the profit.”
“So you want me for my money, eh?” she said.
In the darkness, she saw him twirl an imaginary mustache. “Exactly, my fair young maiden. At heart, I’m a confidence man.”
“Fool!”
“Seriously, darling, don’t be annoyed with me, but I can’t help feeling there’s something a bit morbid about — working yourself to death to run this thing as a sort of monument to Scott Mallory. And I’m sure he’d be one of the first to tell you that.”
“He had such a big dream, Don. This was going to be the first of a whole chain. And then we were going to get into the restaurant business too. And you don’t know how hard he worked before... before the accident.”
“Really, Ginny! You believed that big fat dream?”
“Don’t sneer, please, Don. Everybody needs some kind of a dream, I guess.”
“I’m sorry. I came out here to — make sure that next time I come, I can take you back with me.”
She brushed at the thin high whine near her ear. “I can’t decide — boom, all of a sudden.”
“Think about it. But don’t think too long.”
An airliner went over, running lights green and red against the dark sky. She could see into the gas station, through the wide sheet of glass that turned it into a bright white box. Johnny was racking cans on one of his display shelves. He completed the pyramid and backed up to see how it looked. She watched him turn and walk outside, hook up the hose and begin to wash down the concrete apron in front of the station. A mosquito pierced her ankle with its thin sting. She heard footsteps on the gravel and turned to see Mr. Brown from Boston standing there, tall and angular against the light from the office.
“Yes?” she said.
He loomed over her. “What are you telling this man about me?” he asked, quite coldly.
3
For a moment the question dazed her, it was so meaningless. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I had my lights out and I’ve been watching you out here, talking and talking.” He moved his head a little and the floodlights of the gas station across the way caught the lenses of his glasses. The man sounded righteously indignant.
Ginny stood up, a small shivery feeling at the nape of her neck.
Mr. Brown said, “I suppose you told him I put my car in back.”
Don had stood up. “Relax, my friend. Neither of us has the slightest interest in you.”
“That’s so easy to say,” Mr. Brown said. “I heard the plane, too. And the cars slow down when they go by. You must all think I’m a fool, or blind. Why are you all waiting?”
Ginny held her hands clasped tightly. Across the way the small radio was tuned to brassy jazz. A distant truck moved toward them, the sound beginning to smother the music.
Don said, “I don’t think you’re well. Why don’t you go back in your room and let Mrs. Mallory phone a doctor for you?”
Brown took a slow backward step. “Would it be — a doctor?” he asked softly. He turned his head toward Ginny and once again his glasses caught the light. “I suggest you do not use the phone, Mrs. Mallory.” The truck roared by, the motor sound changing to a minor key as it rushed south down the dark road. Mr. Brown turned and walked away, his stride long and slow. They watched him go into his darkened room, and they could not hear the door close.
Ginny giggled, and it was a strained thin sound. Don said, “A crazy, darling. Pure and simple. Persecution complex. I don’t know what else. A paranoiac, maybe.”
“He seemed all right when he registered. He just wanted to put his car in back instead of in front. I didn’t think anything about that.”
“I don’t like this. He might be dangerous.”
“What can we do?”
“I can phone to town, to the police.”
“Maybe he’ll go to sleep now. And leave in the morning.”
“And hurt somebody on the highway, further down the road? We have some responsibility, I think.”
“He said not to phone.”
“How would he know? Come on.” He walked beside her. “Don’t walk so fast, darling. He’s probably watching out the window.”
It’s — creepy.
“He just needs help.”
They walked slowly to the office, and Ginny went in first. Don followed her and she heard the click of the lock after he shut the door. He went briskly behind the counter, took the phone from under it, listened for a moment, hung up. “Somebody’s using it,” he said.
She stood, waiting, and she felt that it was grotesquely melodramatic. The man was just a bit odd. She heard a small clicking against the glass panel of the locked door. She turned and saw Mr. Brown standing outside the office door. He held his elbow a bit away from his side. He tapped again on the glass, metal clicking against glass. A small round metal eye against the glass. He motioned to her with his free hand. For a moment she did not comprehend.
Don said, and his voice trembled a bit, “I think you better let him in.” She turned and stared at Don and he was looking beyond her, at the door, and he ran his tongue quickly along his underlip. She moved to the door and she had the odd feeling that she was floating, her feet not touching the tiles. The world looked bright and faraway, as though she were looking at it through a long tube. She unlocked the door and the round metal eye looked up a little; looked, it seemed, at her throat. She put her hand there instinctively. The screen door was slanted against his shoulder. Across the way Johnny was hosing down the concrete near the pumps.
“I want you and your friend to come and help me, Mrs. Mallory,” Brown said.
“We’ll be glad to help you,” Don said quickly.
Brown moved back a little, “What is your name?” he asked Don.
“Ferris.”
“Mr. Ferris, please walk beside Mrs. Mallory. Walk down to my room and go in and turn on the light as you go in. Don’t walk fast.”
The concrete walk that led down the length of the court was roofed. Metal chairs were aligned against the wall on the right. They walked side by side. Don whispered, so that she could barely hear it, “Do exactly what he says.”
She turned on the lights and they stood inside the room, their backs to the screen door.
“Mrs. Mallory, please stand right there. Mr. Ferris, please close the blinds on the windows.”
As Don worked the cords on the blinds, Ginny heard Brown come in and close the door. She knew that he stood close behind her. She thought she could feel his breath stir her hair. The sudden blow against the back of her head shocked her. It drove her head forward, hurting her neck. She stumbled a few steps and her knee struck the edge of the bed and she fell awkwardly, catching her weight on her hands. She realized that he had hit the back of her head with the heel of his hand. She turned quickly. Brown looked at her calmly. She had not looked at him closely when he had registered, receiving only the impression of paleness and height and dark clothes.